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Re-piecing the fragments: insight into the

motivations and identities of the Koma Land

pottery and figurine makers, using ceramics

analysis

A thesis submitted to the University of Manchester for the

degree of Doctor of Philosophy in the Faculty of Humanities

2017

Holly J Atkinson

School of Arts, Languages and Cultures

2

List of contents Pages

Chapter 1 Introduction 17

1.1 Introduction and rationale 17-19

1.1.1 Research objectives 19-20

1.1.2 Thesis structure 20-22

1.2 Introducing Iron Age Koma Land 22

1.2.1 Koma Land’s environment and geology 22-23

1.2.2 The history of research in Yikpabongo 23-25

1.2.3 Identifying shrines in the material record 26-27

1.2.4 The YK10/11 shrine mound 27-29

1.2.5 The YK10/11 assemblage: fieldwork challenges 30-31

1.2.6 The figurines 31-33

1.2.7 Local perspectives and responsible archaeology 33-35

1.3 Nomenclature 35

1.3.1 What is a shrine? 35-37

1.3.2 Ceramics versus pottery 37-38

1.3.3 Style 38-40

Chapter 2 Literature Review 41

2.1 Introduction 41-44

2.2 The original research 44

2.2.1 The 1985 excavation and analyses: a critical overview 45-50

2.2.2 Art history and archaeology 51-54

2.2.3 Who were the ‘Koma Landers’? 54-61

2.2.4 Ethnography and ethnoarchaeology 61-65

2.2.5 Contextualising Sub-Saharan ‘figurine essentialism’ 65-68

2.3 Current research 68-71

2.4 Archaeological approaches to ceramics in the West African Iron Age 71-77

2.5 Summary and conclusions: understanding past and present approaches to

Koma archaeology

77-79

Chapter 3: Methodology 80

3.1 Introduction: research objectives and rationale 80-82

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3.2 Methods 82

3.2.1 Sampling 82-85

3.2.2 Data collection 85

3.2.2.1 The YK10/11 assemblage 85-86

3.2.2.2 Archaeometric samples 86-87

3.2.2.2.1 Clay 87-88

3.2.2.2.2 Rock 88-89

3.2.2.2.3 Pottery 89

3.3 Archaeometric techniques 89-90

3.3.1 Scanning electron microscopy (SEM) 90-91

3.3.2 X-ray fluorescence (XRF) 91-92

3.3.3 Portable X-ray fluorescence (p-XRF) 92-95

3.4 Summary and conclusions 95-96

Chapter 4: The YK10/11 pottery catalogue 97

4.1 Introduction to the YK10/11 pottery assemblage 97-98

4.2 Typology 99

4.2.1 Rims 99-101

4.2.1.1 Closed vessels 101-103

4.2.1.2 Open vessels 103

4.2.2 Bases and legs 104-107

4.2.3 Handles and lugs 107

4.2.4 Perforated vessels 108-110

4.2.5 Identification and discussion of YK10/11 vessel forms 110-112

4.3 Fabric macro-analysis 112-115

4.4 Fabrics micro-analysis 115-116

4.4.1 Scanning electron microscopy 116-119

4.4.2 X-ray fluorescence (XRF and p-XRF) 119-123

4.5 Forming techniques 123-124

4.6 Surface treatments 124

4.6.1 Slip 124-127

4.7 Decoration 127-128

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4.7.1 Roulettes 128-130

4.7.1.1 Strip 131

4.7.1.2 Cord 131-132

4.7.1.3 Carved wooden 132

4.7.2 Mat impressions 133

4.7.3 Incised lines and grooves 133-134

4.7.4 Stamped 134-136

4.7.5 Appliqué 136

4.7.6 Banding 136

4.7.7 Multiple decorations 138-139

4.8 Firing 139-141

4.9 Use-wear 141

4.10 Discussion: manufacture, function, and use 142-144

Chapter 5 Discussion and contextualisation 145


5.2 Pre-fragmentation: understanding the YK10/11 assemblage’s origins 146-149

5.3 Pre-fragmentation: decoration styles 149-150

5.4 Fragmentation: sherd reuse, discard, and deposition 151-158

5.5 Post-fragmentation: structure and concealment 158-164

5.6 Identity and gender: who were the Koma Land pottery makers? 165-169


Chapter 6: The pottery and figurines, a comparative analysis 174


6.2 Fabric 179-187

6.3 Manufacturing techniques 188

6.3.1 Shaping and forming 188-189

6.3.2 Decoration 189-193

6.3.3 Surface treatment 193-194

6.4 Approaches to fire 195-197

6.5 Fragmentation and deposition 197-202

6.6 Vessel-figurines 202-205

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6.7 Pottery discs 205-210


Chapter 7 The YK10/11 assemblage and Iron Age West Africa 213


7.2 Iron Age Ghana 214-225

7.3 Koma Land 225-233

7.3.1 Comparative analysis of the settlement and shrine ceramics 234

7.3.2.1 Sherd frequencies: issues and variables 234-236

7.3.2.2. Detailed comparative analysis of the six assemblages 236-249

7.4 Connecting worlds: mobility, trade, and transmission 249-254

7.4.1 Organic substances 254-256

7.4.2 Cowrie shells and glass beads 256-257

7.4.3 Figurines 258-259

7.4.4 Site abandonment 259-262

7.5. Summary and conclusions 262-265

Chapter 8: The motivations and identities of the Koma Land pottery and

figurine makers

266


8.2 Future research 268-270

Bibliography 271-307

Appendices 308-334

Word count: 79,811

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List of figures

Figure 1: A map showing the location of Yikpabongo in Northern Region, Ghana,

West Africa…18

Figure 2: The distribution of areas excavated in the YK10-3/11 mound (from

Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 481) …28

Figure 3: A selection of Koma Land figurines (Insoll et al. 2013) …33

Figure 4: Rock samples 4, 8, and 21…89

Figure 5: A bar chart showing the size-distribution of YK10/11 rim diameters…99

Figure 6: A visualisation showing the frequency of the rims in the YK10/11

assemblage by circumference…100

Figure 7: Rim profiles in the YK10/11 assemblage…101




Figure 11: A selection of illustrated bases, a pot-stand leg, as well as a lug…106

Figure 12: A perforated sherd with deliberately-inserted quartz pieces…109

Figure 13: Two examples of perforated sherds…109

Figure 14: A representative illustration of YK10/11 rim types…110

Figure 15: A graph showing the distribution of rim diameters by vessel form…112

Figure 16: YK10/11 fabric colours, expressed as percentages in a pie chart…113

Figure 17: A sherd decorated with irregularly-shaped triangles and a quartz

piece…114

Figure 18: A bar chart demonstrating the typical chemical composition of CS1…118


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Figure 21: A scatter graph showing variation exhibited in the 19 p-XRF analysed

sherds…120

Figure 22: The variation exhibited in 16 p-XRF analysed sherds, without the three

outliers, plotted on a scatter graph…120

Figure 23: A scatter graph plotting the variation exhibited in 19 p-XRF sherds (blue)

and the YK16 clay samples (orange)…121

Figure 24: A scatter graph plotting the variation exhibited in 16 sherds (blue),

outliers removed, and the YK16 clay samples (orange)…121

Figure 25: A scatter graph plotting the variation exhibited in the ten XRF analysed

samples. Key: sherds (blue), clay (orange), and minerals (red)…121

Figure 26: An example of accidental, slip-created fingerprints…124

Figure 27: A pie chart illustrating the top ten slip colours using the Munsell colour

system, in the YK10/11 assemblage…126

Figure 28: Examples of sherds accidentally slipped through careless handling (28a);

an example of slip deliberately applied to only undecorated areas of the sherd

(28b); slip applied in thick layers post-decoration, thus obscuring the decoration

(28c-28d).…127

Figure 29: Examples of roulette (and multiple) decorated sherds from the YK10/11

assemblage, including carved wooden roulettes, simple twisted cord wrapped stick,

simple twisted cord roulette, braided and knotted strip roulette...130

Figure 30: Representative examples of incised line decoration in the YK10/11

assemblage...134

Figure 31: An illustrated example of various representative decorated rim and body

sherds from the YK10/11 assemblage…137

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Figure 32: A trench plan of the YK10/11 excavation, highlighting the squares

recorded as excavated and the squares from which YK10/11 pottery sherds had

been recovered and stored for analysis…152

Figure 33: This photograph illustrates the “ball and socket joint” used in the

manufacture of some figurines (Insoll et al. 2013: 13) …189

Figure 34: A tomography scan of an incised figurine (Insoll et al. 2013: 13) …189

Figure 35: Clockwise from top left: Standing anthropomorphic figurine (No. 45;

Insoll et al. 2013: 34); Combined human/ bird with pointed base (No. 13; Insoll et al.

2013: 18, 22); Combined human/ animal head (No. 11; Insoll et al. 2013: 21);

Human head wearing textured cap (No. 38; Insoll et al. 2013: 29, 36); Chameleon

(No. 12; Insoll et al. 2013: 21); and Crocodile (No. 1; Insoll et al. 2013: 3) …192

Figure 36: The horse-and-rider figurine (YK08-AB9-L7) in situ, with pottery sherds

(Insoll et al. 2013: 10) ...196

Figure 37: An image the horse-and-rider on display (Insoll et al. 2013: 11) …196

Figure 38: A ‘Janus’ head hybrid vessel-figurine (Insoll et al. 2013: 32) …202

Figure 39: Pot discs from Koma Land, and a modern example of a gourd container

they might have been used to stopper (after Insoll et al. 2013: 21) …205

Figure 40: A map of all published Iron Age Ghanaian sites with geographical

coordinates available…215

Figure 41: A burial excavated by Asamoah-Mensah covered in large pot sherds that

appear to refit (after Asamoah-Mensah 2013: 54) …232

Figure 42: A comparison of the percentage frequency (%) of each sherd type in the

six Koma Land ceramic assemblage using data from Tables 29, and 30... 242

Figure 43: Multiple-decorated sherds from Tando-Fagusa, “including stamping”

(Nkumbaan 2016: 128), and YK10/11 sherds with carved wooden roulette …243

Figure 44: Notched decoration on a sherd, Tando Fagusa (Nkumbaan 2016: 130)

…244

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List of tables

Table 1: A summary of all known artefact types, their frequency, and description, in

the YK10/11 shrine assemblage…29

Table 2: A comparative summary of the 1985 Koma Land artefact assemblage

(Anquandah 1998; Anquandah and Van Ham 1998) …47

Table 3: A comparative summary of the Koma Land pottery analyses from

Anquandah and Van Ham (1985) and Anquandah (1998) …49

Table 4: The categories of data collected for every sherd, as appropriate, in the

YK10/11 assemblage…86

Table 5: A summary of the YK10/11 sherd types by frequency…97

Table 6: A summary as to how issues in the field affected analysis…98

Table 7: A breakdown of the perforated sherds, by sherd type…108

Table 8: The frequency of slipped sherds in the YK10/11 assemblage, by sherd

type…125

Table 9: Comparison of the frequencies of single and multiple slipped sherds, by

sherd type…125

Table 10: Comparison of the frequencies of sherds with single/ multiple slipped

surfaces…126

Table 11: A list of the top ten most frequent slip colours, in numerical order…126

Table 12: A breakdown of the decorated assemblage, by sherd type…128

Table 13: A summary of the decorated sherds in the YK10/11 assemblage, by

decoration type and frequency…128

Table 14: The frequency of the roulette types in the YK10/11 assemblage…129

Table 15: The YK10/11 cord roulette types…132

Table 16: The YK10/11 carved wooden roulette types…132

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Table 17: A breakdown of the YK10/11 grooved and incised decoration

categories…133

Table 18: The frequency of the stamped decoration types in the YK10/11

assemblage…135

Table 19: A comprehensive summary of the multiple-decorated YK10/11

sherds…138

Table 20: The YK10/11 firing condition types…139

Table 21: A summary of the YK10/11 artefact types by trench square using all

available published data…153

Table 22: A comparative summary of the Koma Land pottery’s and figurines’ chaîne

opératoire…179

Table 23: Comparison of the decorative techniques used for YK10/11 pottery

assemblage and the YK07, YK08, YK10, andYK11 figurines…190

Table 24: A catalogue of all the of figurines from Insoll et al. 2013 and the

decoration(s) they exhibit…190-191

Table 25: A catalogue of all published vessel-figurines from Iron Age Koma Land

without archaeological provenance…203

Table 26: All known published Iron Age Ghanaian sites…218

Table 27: Sites of archaeological interest for the Iron Age Koma Land cultural

complex…224

Table 28: A summary of the four excavated/ partially excavated Iron Age Koma

Land sites…226

Table 29: A summary of the six settlement and shrine mound pottery

assemblages…237

Table 30: A summary of sherd types in each assemblage by number and percentage

frequency…237

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Table 31: A summary of fabric types for each of the six assemblages…237

Table 32: A summary of inclusions/ temper for each of the six assemblages…238

Table 33: The pottery manufacturing methods used for each Koma Land

assemblage…238

Table 34: A summary of rim profiles for each of the six assemblages…238

Table 35: A descriptive summary of each assemblage’s pottery forms…239

Table 36: A summary of surface treatments for each of the six assemblages…239

Table 37: A comparative summary of decoration types for all six Koma Land

assemblages…240

Table 38: The firing techniques identified in the six assemblages…240

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List of appendices:

Appendix 1: All categories of data collected for analysis of the YK10/11

assemblage…308-310

Appendix 2: YK10/11 rim diameters…311

Appendix 3: Rim diameters by vessel form type…311

Appendix 4: Circumferences in the YK10/11 assemblage…311-312

Appendix 5: Average sherd thicknesses in the YK10/11 assemblage…313

Appendix 6: Average rim thicknesses in the YK10/11 assemblage…313-314

Appendix 7: A list of all archaeometric samples…314

Appendix 8: The p-XRF data for the YK16 clay samples…315

Appendix 9: The p-XRF data for the YK10/11 sherds…316-317

Appendix 10: The p-XRF data for the YK10/11 mineral samples…318

Appendix 11: The data from the XRF analysis, undertaken via the University of

Exeter with kind assistance from Prof. Insoll…319

Appendix 12: The high-resolution images of samples captured during SEM analysis

at the University of Manchester…320-329

Appendix 13: A summary of the SEM results by element type…330

Appendix 14: Documenting strip roulettes…331-332

Appendix 15: The data used to create Figure 32…333-334

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Abstract

Until recently, the Iron Age archaeology in Koma Land, Northern Ghana was

characterised almost solely by the fired-clay human, animal, and anthropomorphic

figurines excavated from it. The pottery, contextually and chronologically-

associated with the figurines, and found in much larger quantities in shrine and

settlement contexts, has traditionally been overlooked; detrimental to

archaeological understanding not only of the material excavated from the region,

but to the motivations and identities of its makers.

Thus, the primary objective of this thesis was the analysis of an almost 10,000-

strong domestic pottery assemblage excavated from an AD 800-1100 shrine mound

in the village of Yikpabongo in Koma Land. The pottery – the YK10/11 assemblage –

was catalogued on the basis of forms, functions, fabrics, decorations, surface

treatments, firing, and use-wear, and was analysed with the assistance of

exploratory archaeometric techniques. The second objective was to reintegrate

analysis of the pottery and figurines, which historically, have been treated as

separate, unrelated categories despite their shared contexts, chronology, and

materiality.

Regardless of the arbitrary divisions between the pottery and figurine makers, it is

evident from the analysis in this thesis that the two were almost certainly the same.

Further, that the sherds, whilst originally belonging to vessels made for domestic

purposes, had significant post-breakage, pre-deposition biographies, and were

crucial to the YK10/11 shrine’s structure, meaning, and function.

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Declaration

I confirm that no portion of the work referred to in this thesis has been submitted

in support of an application for another degree or qualification for this or any other

university or institute of learning.

15

Copyright statement

i. The author of this thesis (including any appendices and/or schedules to

this thesis) owns certain copyright or related rights in it (the “Copyright”)

and s/he has given The University of Manchester certain rights to use

such Copyright, including for administrative purposes.

ii. Copies of this thesis, either in full or in extracts and whether in hard or

electronic copy, may be made only in accordance with the Copyright,

Designs and Patents Act 1988 (as amended) and regulations issued

under it or, where appropriate, in accordance with licensing agreements

which the University has from time to time. This page must form part of

any such copies made.

iii. The ownership of certain Copyright, patents, designs, trademarks and

other intellectual property (the “Intellectual Property”) and any

reproductions of copyright works in the thesis, for example graphs and

tables (“Reproductions”), which may be described in this thesis, may not

be owned by the author and may be owned by third parties. Such

Intellectual Property and Reproductions cannot and must not be made

available for use without the prior written permission of the owner(s) of

the relevant Intellectual Property and/or Reproductions.

iv. Further information on the conditions under which disclosure,

publication and commercialisation of this thesis, the Copyright and any

Intellectual Property and/or Reproductions described in it may take

place is available in the University IP Policy (see

http://documents.manchester.ac.uk/DocuInfo.aspx?DocID=2442 0), in

any relevant Thesis restriction declarations deposited in the University

Library, The University Library’s regulations (see

http://www.library.manchester.ac.uk/about/regulations/) and in The

University’s policy on Presentation of Theses.

16

Acknowledgement

I am very grateful to my first supervisor, Professor Tim Insoll, for his support,

advice, and enthusiasm since my undergraduate, to my second supervisor, Dr. Ina

Berg for her guidance in all things pots, and to the entire staff and student

community in the Department of Archaeology at the University of Manchester,

which has been my home for eight years. Our lecturers make the Department the

amazing community it is and they all deserve recognition. Dr. Mel Giles, thanks for

always being there for us.

I am grateful to Dr. Stuart Campbell for allowing me the use of his p-XRF

equipment, and for his assistance with processing the samples.

I am grateful to my Ghanaian colleagues for their support and friendship, including

but not limited to Christiana, Victoria, Abena, Emmanuel, Patricia, and Vincent.

Thanks to Professor Benjamin Kankpeyeng, and Dr. Gertrude Eyifa-Dzidzienyo, for

welcoming me to the Department of Archaeology and Heritage Studies at the

University of Ghana.

My friends’ and family’s encouragement and support has been invaluable. I would

not be where I am today without my parents, sister, or my second family; especially

Kate.

Preface

The author has a first-class BA (Hons) in Ancient History and Archaeology from the

University of Manchester (2009-2012), and was awarded a Distinction for her MA in

Archaeology at the University of Manchester (2012-2014). She began her PhD in

2014.

West African research experience consists of nine weeks of fieldwork in Ghana to

collect data for this thesis (1st December 2015 – 1st February 2016). Other

experience includes fifteen weeks of excavation, research, and archive experience,

in the United Kingdom.

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Chapter 1: Introduction

1.1 Introduction and rationale

The original title of this thesis was Re-piecing the fragments: insight into the

motivations and identities of the Koma Land figurine makers. This was intended as a

deliberate commentary about the fact that archaeological knowledge of Iron Age

Koma Land has historically been defined by the fired-clay human, animal, and

anthropomorphic figurines uncovered from it. Since the discovery of the Koma

cultural complex in the 1980s, the international academic worlds of archaeology,

anthropology, and art history, as well as, unfortunately, the illegal antiquities

market, have been captivated by the figurines’ meanings and aesthetics. Academic

predilection for ancient figurines is a phenomenon Bailey has termed “figurine

essentialism” (Bailey 2005; 2017; Chapter 6.1); an issue acknowledged by

archaeologists working in the Koma region (Insoll et al. 2016; Kankpeyeng et al.

2013: 486). As well intentioned as this initial title was, on reflection it appeared to

be describing yet another research piece showcasing the figurines at the expense of

the remaining material culture; an immense, diverse, and informative collection in

its own right.

To resolve this inadvertent misdirection, the title was amended to Re-piecing the

fragments: insight into the motivations and identities of the Koma Land pottery and

figurine makers using ceramics analysis. Whilst the figurines play a comparative role

(see Chapters 5 and 6; and Chapter 1.2.6 for a brief introduction), this thesis is

about pottery. Specifically, it is the analysis of a 9692-piece pot-sherd assemblage

excavated from one 9th to 12th century AD shrine mound in the village of

Yikpabongo in Koma Land, in Ghana’s Northern Region, by archaeologists from the

Universities of Ghana, and Manchester, during the 2010 (designated YK10-3), and

2011 (designated YK11) field seasons (hereafter, YK10/11). The research for this

thesis began in 2014, and the pottery was examined, in storage in Ghana, over nine

weeks from December 2015 to January 2016 (see Chapter 3).

18

Figure 1: Yikpabongo, Northern Region, Ghana. Produced using open-source GQIS software.

19

The historical proclivity of Koma figurine analyses has made the need for a

comprehensive pottery analysis self-evident. Not only is this thesis the first in-depth

Koma Land analysis of its type (but see Asamoah-Mensah 2013 and Nkumbaan

2016), it is the first to clearly explore and define the relationships that exist

between the pottery, figurines, and other types of clay material excavated from a

single Koma shrine context. Alongside the pottery assemblage, the YK10/11 ceramic

material included 251 figurines and figurine fragments, an unspecified number of

deliberately modified sherds – including discs and other shapes – two complete

vessels, plus low-fired pieces of clay, and clay structures (Kankpeyeng et al. 2013:

484, 487, 488).

1.1.1 Research objectives

Thus, this thesis was based on the need to: (a) redress the existing knowledge-

imbalance between the pottery and figurines by characterising the formers’

conditions, forms, functions, fabrics, and decorations; (b) understand how pottery

was used within the shrine, for what purposes, and if possible, with what meanings;

(c) understand how the pottery related to the remainder of the YK10/11 shrine

assemblage, with specific focus on the figurines; and finally, (d) spatially and

temporally contextualise the assemblage within Koma Land and West Africa more

widely.

Addressing these points was necessary to characterise the pottery assemblage and

to gain insight into the motivations and identities of its creator(s). To this end, the

primary objective: what conclusions can be drawn about the motivations and

identities of the Koma Land pottery and figurine makers? was supported by four

secondary research questions:

1) What types of ceramics were being produced, in what quantities, and what

techniques were used to make them?

2) Does the choice of clay(s) and temper remain consistent across the

assemblage?

3) Are the same sources/ types of clay chosen for both the pottery vessels and

the figurines?

4) Was the same level of sophistication, and are the same stylistic choices,

involved in the production of the pottery vessels and figurines?

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These questions reflect the conviction that to gain real insight into Iron Age Koma

Land, and its inhabitants, it was essential not only to typify the ceramics, but to

integrate analysis of all types of ceramic material. Again, the title was altered to

also reflect this necessity – the Koma Land pottery and figurine makers – and

further, was designed to reflect the expectation that the makers of the pottery and

figurines were likely to be one and the same. Whilst the figurines’ makers have

been celebrated as “artists”, and “craftsmen” (Abasi 1991; Anquandah 1987a, 2002,

2003 passim; Beltrami 1992 passim; Dagan 1989 passim; Schaedler 1987; Scheutz et

al. 2016 passim; also, Ross 1987: 76 for commentary), the pottery makers have

mostly been ignored. It is argued throughout, however, that the division between

them was an arbitrary side-effect of historic emphasis on the figurines. Indeed, the

conclusions of Chapter 5 and 6 indicate this hypothesis is correct.

The relationships and interactions between the pottery sherds and figurines were

complex, and have been made, unconsciously perhaps, more complicated by the

unhelpful historic designation of the figurines as ritual artefacts, and the pottery

sherds as domestic ones. Unmistakably, the YK10/11 sherds once belonged to

vessels made for domestic purposes, but their recontextualisation within a shrine

challenges the binary sacred/ mundane divide conceptualised by Durkheim (2008

[1915]) and so often reflexively – and problematically – adhered to by West African

archaeologists, and more widely (e.g. see Anquandah 1987b; Arnold, D. E. 1981: 32;

Bedaux 1988; Eyo 1968; Dagan: 1989: 3, Sira-Bazuin 1968; for discussion see Berns

1993; Brück 1999: 317, 325; McNiven 2013: 560; Stahl 2008: 182). This issue is

addressed in Chapters 5.8, and 6.

1.1.2 Thesis structure

This thesis is composed of eight chapters whose organisation shadows the research

objectives outlined in 1.1.1. Chapter 2 provides the necessary theoretical

grounding, through critical analysis of the historic archaeological, ethnographical,

and art historical approaches to Iron Age Koma Land. It examines how these

approaches reflect and were reflected by early attitudes to the Iron Age in West

Africa, and reviews both the paradigms in which West African archaeology has been

seated, and those perceived relevant for the purposes of this thesis. Some of these

21

paradigms are methodological, and their influence is assessed and problematised in

Chapter 3; alongside discussion of the fieldwork challenges experienced during

analysis of the YK10/11 assemblage. As expected of a methodology, Chapter 3

rationalises the quantitative and semi-quantitative methods employed to

investigate the pottery, and also makes evident why other methods were excluded.

The findings of the analysis of the YK10/11 pot-sherd assemblage is presented in

Chapter 4, with the support of Appendices signposted as relevant. The conditions,

profiles, forms, manufacturing techniques, fabric, surface and decorative

treatments, and firing process are all considered. To prevent overcomplication,

Chapter 4 presents only the results of the analysis. It is Chapter 5 that discusses and

evaluates the research. Chapter 5 follows the sherds’ biographies, considering pre-

fragmentation, fragmentation, and post-fragmentation processes each in turn. In

the last section, the themes examined in Chapter 5 form the starting point as to a

critical discussion of the Koma Land ceramic makers’ identities and motivations.

Chapter 6 expands upon the concluding meditations of Chapter 5 by examining how

the YK10/11 pottery assemblage interacted with the other types of Koma shrine

ceramics, firstly, and secondly, the relationships they shared with the shrine itself.

In particular, the figurines and the pottery sherds are comparatively analysed.

Crucial to this discussion are the concepts of habitus, accumulation, and

enchainment, and the theoretical divisions between ritual and domestic, touched

upon above, and in Chapter 2, are comprehensively problematised.

Chapter 7 expands outwards even further by setting the YK10/11 assemblage into a

comparative framework populated by other known and accessible Iron Age Koma

Land pottery assemblages. These are a mixture of both settlement and shrine

mound assemblages, one of which was also excavated from Yikpabongo (Asamoah-

Mensah 2013), and the remainder of which were excavated from the nearby Koma

site of Tando Fagusa, 24km from Yikpabongo on the bank of the Kulpawn river

(Nkumbaan 2016: 207). Despite restrictions caused by methodological differences,

and slight chronological variations, the assemblages were found to exhibit

numerous, unmistakable affinities. Once these comparisons are established,

Chapter 7 takes a thematic approach to examine the place of the YK10/11 shrine

22

mound, and Koma Land as a whole, within the wider West African Iron Age. Here,

the themes of mobility, transmission and integration, trade, exchange, and site

abandonment are central to discussion.

Preceding these chapters is the remainder of Chapter 1. It is used to establish,

briefly, the geographical, climatic, and geological environment in which Koma Land

sits (Section 1.2.1); the history of archaeological research in Yikpabongo and Koma

Land (Section 1.2.2); the background of the YK10/11 shrine mound and its

identification as a shrine (Sections 1.2.3-1.2.4); a brief introduction to fieldwork

challenges (1.2.5), an introduction to the figurines (1.2.6) and the attitudes and

beliefs of the current inhabitants of the village of Yikpabongo in relation to the

archaeological material (1.2.7). Further, Section 1.3 defines the terms fundamental

to the succeeding chapters, to ensure clarity from the outset.

1.2 Introducing Iron Age Koma Land

1.2.1 Koma Land’s environment and geology

The region archaeologically defined as Iron Age Koma Land is approximately

150km2 (Insoll et al. 2013: 2) and is underlain by three diverse geological systems:

the Late Proterozoic – Early Palaeozoic Voltaian system, the Middle Precambrian

Birimian system, and the Middle Precambrian Granitoids (Yendaw n.d.). Yikpabongo

itself rests on the Voltaian system, which covers one-third of Ghana and consists

primarily of sandstone (Yendaw n.d: 26). Nevertheless, the other systems –

Birimian, which consists of phyllite, schist, tuff, and greywacke, and the Granitoids,

which consist of potash-rich muscovite biotite granite – are within an accessible

travelling distance (Wright 2012: 41; Yendaw n.d: 7), suggesting Koma Land’s

inhabitants potentially had access to a wide range of mineral resources.

North-western Ghana’s topography consists of high plains 150m to 300m in

elevation, characterised by arable soil, and a tropical savannah climate (Tijani 2014:

374). Large mammals such as lions, and hyena, are no longer typically found in the

savannah except in nature reserves (such as Mole National Park), and the

vegetation is “characterised by shea trees, acacias, and baobabs” (Tijani 2014: 374).

Comparatively, southern Ghana is covered in rainforest belts, although this cover

23

has dwindled with population expansion and development, except in preserved

forest areas such as Kakum National Park, which is still inhabited by antelope,

leopards, monkeys, and forest elephants.

Koma Land is a river basin surrounded by watercourses to the south and east (the

Kulpawn River) and to the west (the Sisili River). Ghana’s climate is tropical, and

there are two seasons, the rainy season, which in the north lasts from March to

November, and the dry season, from November to February (Tijani 2014: 374).

During the rainy season, flooding makes the northern regions inaccessible to would-

be travellers, to the point that in Ghana, they are jokingly referred to as ‘Overseas’.

The dry season in northern Ghana is typically harsher than in the south, and is often

subject to harmattan winds. The average annual rainfall is 1000mm to 1500mm, the

majority of which, unsurprisingly, falls within the rainy season (Tijani 2014: 373).

1.2.2 The history of research in Yikpabongo

Archaeological research in Koma Land began in 1985, when Professor James

Anquandah excavated four mounds in the vicinity of the inhabited village of

Yikpabongo (Anquandah and Van Ham 1985). Within these mounds, he uncovered

fired-clay human, animal, and anthropomorphic figurines, copious amounts of

pottery sherds, occasional complete vessels, iron tools, copper and iron jewellery,

and iron arrow heads, cowrie shells, glass beads, querns and quern stones, daub,

complete and partial human burials, and selected animal remains, including fowl,

cow, sheep/ goat, and monkey (Anquandah 1998: 87-91). Anquandah and Van Ham

interpreted these mounds as high-status burials, the material as grave goods, and

described them as “stone circle mounds” because some were ringed with stones

(Anquandah and Van Ham 1985: 24; Anquandah 2002). The mounds were

provisionally dated to AD 1400 – 1600 on the basis of a single thermoluminescence

date (480 +/- 80 BP) produced from the analysis of one figurine at a laboratory in

Clamart, France (Anquandah and Van Ham 1985: 34).

The material was named the “Koma-Bulsa” complex after the Konni, the

ethnolinguistic group occupying Yikpabongo and the wider region that would come

to be collectively known as Koma Land, and their neighbours, the Bulsa. Anquandah

24

chose this name to reflect his belief that the historic, and contemporary, population

of Bulsa-speakers were directly linked to this earlier, figurine-producing population

(Anquandah 1998: 33-34, 111-112), a now-questionable perspective critiqued in

Chapter 2. The Konni, although well-established in the region, had only migrated

into it in the last two hundred years (Kröger and Saibu 2010: 74). Their oral histories

revealed no knowledge of the local archaeology and made clear that the area was

settled because it had been uninhabited; Yikpabongo, meaning “ruins in the forest”,

(Kröger and Saibu 2010: 74) demonstrates the area’s condition when it was

reoccupied. So far, radiocarbon and thermoluminescence dates from Iron Age

Koma Land suggest that the area was abandoned around the 14th century AD (Insoll

et al. 2013: 9).

The inhabitants of Yikpabongo and the surrounding areas regularly uncovered

figurines whilst farming and building houses (pers comm. B. Saibu, January 2016).

Anquandah’s and Van Ham’s excavation was prompted by Mr. Ben Baluri Saibu, an

inhabitant of Yikpabongo, who realised the figurines might be significant and

brought them to the attention of academics in the Department of Archaeology at

the University of Ghana in the early 1980s (Kröger and Saibu 2010; pers comm. B.

Saibu, January 2016), at the same time as reports of unusual fired-clay figurines

written by Franz Kröger, an anthropologist working in the same area, were

emerging (Kröger 1983, 1988; Kröger and Saibu 2010). As such, it was evident from

the beginning that the local inhabitants had not produced the material being

discovered, that it predated their occupation, and thus, that archaeological

investigation was crucial to characterise the artefacts and site(s). No other sources

– oral, linguistic, or documentary – were (or are) available.

Anquandah’s and Van Ham’s excavation sparked interest in the region and led to

numerous publications on Koma Land. Of these, three were archaeological or semi-

archaeological in nature, and the literature was shaped by emphasis on figurines

(Anquandah 1987b, 1998; Anquandah and Van Ham 1985). The remainder of these

early publications were responses to the 1985 excavation, including the publication

of art historical analyses of private Koma figurine collections, and art historical

venerations, or critiques, of Anquandah’s (and Van Ham’s) publications (e.g. Abasi

25

1991; Barich 1998; Beltrami 1992; Berns 1993; Cocle 1991; Dagan 1989; Davis 1988;

Detavernier 1990, 2003; Kröger 1988; Ross 1989; and the much more recent

Scheutz et al. 2016). Subsequent analysis of the 1985 excavation led Anquandah to

revise some elements of his analysis, such as the region’s chronology (Anquandah

2002). This literature is extensively reviewed in Chapter 2.

In 2006, archaeological investigations in Yikpabongo recommenced (Kankpeyeng

and Nkumbaan 2008, 2009; Kankpeyeng et al. 2011; Kankpeyeng et al. 2013). Since

then, the Department of Archaeology and Heritage Studies (hereafter, DAHS) at the

University of Ghana have conducted fieldwork in Koma Land every January (pers

comm. B. Kankpeyeng, July 2017) under the auspices of Professor. Benjamin

Kankpeyeng, then Head of Department. In 2010, Professor Timothy Insoll from the

Archaeology Department at the University of Manchester was invited to excavate in

Yikpabongo; the beginning of a productive partnership between the two

universities that has led to the first lawful exhibition of Koma material at a museum

outside of Ghana (Manchester Museum; see Insoll et al. 2013), computed

tomography scanning to analyse the internal structure of a selection of figurines

(Insoll et al. 2016), the first successful DNA residue analysis in Sub-Saharan Africa

(Robinson et al. 2017), as well as research opportunities such as this PhD.

The resumption of investigations of Koma Land locales, structures, and artefacts

has led to further revisions of the area’s chronology, the expansion of excavations

to sites beyond Yikpabongo, the identification of different site-types, and increased

understanding of its material culture. Iron Age Koma Land sites in Tando Fagusa

(Nkumbaan 2016), Tando (Zakari 2011), and Zoboku (Dartey 2011), as well as

further sites in Yikpabongo (Asamoah-Mensah 2013; Kankpeyeng et al. 2011, 2013),

have all been excavated, revealing the presence of shrine and settlement sites with

a combined chronology stretching from the 6th to 14th centuries AD (Kankpeyeng et

al. 2011: 209). Further potential sites for excavation have also been identified

(Appiah-Adu et al. 2016; see Chapter 7.3 for a detailed analysis of all known Iron

Age Koma Land sites).

26

1.2.3 Identifying shrines in the Koma Land material record

The identification of different site-types has challenged the high-status burial

“stone circle mound” description Anquandah used to interpret the four mounds

excavated with Van Ham in 1985 (1998 passim). Mounds excavated since the mid-

2000s, some of which match Anquandah’s descriptions, have been instead

convincingly reinterpreted as shrine mounds for the following reasons:

(a) the forms of the figurines found within them suggests their use for

spiritual and medicinal purposes (Insoll 2011: 149; Insoll 2015: 52, 240;

Insoll and Kankpeyeng 2014a; Insoll et al. 2012: 36, 39; Insoll et al. 2013;

Insoll et al. 2016: 27; Kankpeyeng and Nkumbaan 2008: 97, 100, 101;

Kankpeyeng et al. 2011: 209; Kankpeyeng et al. 2013). Recently, some have

been found to contain organic residues of probable medicinal substances

(see Robinson et al. 2017);

(b) the inclusion of figurine types traditionally associated with witchcraft in

Ghanaian cosmologies (Insoll et al. 2013: 15, 19);

(c) the presence of figurine types with realistically depicted medical

disorders (Insoll et al. 2013: 26);

(d) the presence of gong-shaped figurines, similar to iron gongs

ethnographically known to be used in dances and making announcements

(Insoll et al. 2013: 23);

(e) the presence of iron tools, such as razors, which may have been used in

medical treatments (Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 482, 484), and/ or in

scarification practices (Kankpeyeng 2017);

(f) the presence of probable libation structures (Insoll et al. 2012: 36, 39;

Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 493);

(g) the presence of complete pottery vessels interpreted as too small to

have had a domestic function (Insoll et al. 2013: 21), and;

(h) a form and structure distinctive from settlement mounds (Insoll et al.

2016).

27

Comparatively, the settlement mounds contain postholes, hearths, middens, hard-

packed earth-and-gravel floors, and complete, under-floor human burials

(Asamoah-Mensah 2013: 58, 65, 84, 118-119; Kankpeyeng et al. 2011: 209;

Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 492; Nkumbaan 2016: 76, 137, 146; Chapter 7.3).

Conversely, the human remains within the shrine mounds are disarticulated, and

very selective elements, of different individuals (Insoll et al. 2012: 41; Insoll et al.

2013: 5; Insoll et al. 2016: 27).

1.2.4 The YK10/11 shrine mound

“A low mound measuring approximately 18m east to west and 15m north to south.

It was excavated using an L-shaped grid measuring 10m x 5m x 10m x 5m, extended

in 2011 to form an overall grid of 10m x 10m…the mound stratigraphy was simple

with an inconsistent depth of archaeological material between 20 and 30cm depth

overlaid with a thin layer of modern dust and rubbish (c. 1-3cm) and below this by a

sterile or nearly sterile soil (c. 10cm) before the natural red gravel filled deposits

were reached at a depth of between 40-50cm from the surface” (Insoll et al. 2016:

26).

The YK10/11 shrine mound is in Yikpabongo, an occupied village in Northern

Region, one of Ghana’s ten administrative districts (see Figure 1). The mound has

been dated to Cal AD 1010 – 1170 (970 +/- 40 BP) from one radiocarbon date

obtained from a human bone sample retrieved during the 2010 field season

(Kankpeyeng et al. 2011: 209), placing it securely within West Africa’s Iron Age, 500

BC to AD 1400 (Dueppen 2012b: 18). The majority of the material assemblage was

excavated from the top 30cm (Insoll et al. 2012: 36), and some of the material from

the mound’s top appeared to have been disturbed by recent domestic digging

activity (Insoll et al. 2010: 25-27). The mound was excavated in 10cm spits (Insoll et

al. 2010). It was not entirely excavated, but trenches were randomly sampled in the

northern, north-eastern, south-eastern, and western sections of the mound, and

then enlarged in the following year (Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 481; see Figure 2,

below). Each square was 100cm X 100cm (Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 481).

28

Figure 2: The excavated areas of the YK10-3/11 mound by year (Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 481)

As well as the ceramic assemblage, described in Section 1.1, the shrine contained

iron objects, including a razor, numerous querns and grinding stones – the former

granite, and the latter, predominantly quartz – 156 ‘money cowries’ or, Cypraea

moneta (pers comm. A. Christie, July 2017), the occasional glass bead, the

fragmented remains of two individual humans, a few cow’s teeth, and unworked

quartz and sandstone pieces (Insoll et al. 2010; Insoll et al. 2012: 36; Insoll et al.

2016: 27; Kankpeyeng et al. 2011; Kankpeyeng et al. 2013; see Chapter 5.4 for

analysis and Table 1 for a synthesis). This material was deliberately structured;

typically characterised by layers of pot sherds excavated to reveal figurines

underneath, with the remainder of the material mixed throughout (Insoll et al.

2012: 36; Insoll et al. 2016: 27).

29

Material Number Description Source

Complete pottery

vessels/ containers

2 1. Small, “flat-bottomed pot incised with lines and

dots forming decorative chevron patterns on

the exterior”.

2. “Half a ceramic gourd or seed…drawn from a

single lump of clay”.

1. Insoll et al. 2013: 23.

2. Insoll et al. 2012: 39.

Pottery sherds 9,642 See Chapter 4. See Chapter 4.

Complete figurines 13 “7 complete figurines and 6 largely complete

figurines”. None taller than 20cm. Human, part

human and animal, animal, and anthropomorphic

forms. Containing cavities incised into orifices and/ or

the top of the head.

Insoll et al. 2012: 29, 30;

See Chapter 6.1-6.5. Figurine fragments 238

Libation structure 2 1. Low-fired clay/ daub c. 15-18cm from the

mound’s surface, “arranged in a circular pattern

interwoven with potsherds.”

2. Potsherds from a depth of 15-20cm “associated

with a clay structure, perhaps a libation hole”.

Insoll et al. 2012: 36.

Pottery discs

X 28 recorded in 2011. Edged deliberately chipped to

create discs and other shapes.

Insoll et al. 2010: 32;


Insoll et al. 2013: 17; See

Chapter 6.7.

Querns/ grinding

stones

X Spherical. Granite and quartz. Insoll et al. 2012: 38;


See Chapter 6.2.

Unworked rock X Quartz and sandstone pieces. Insoll et al. 2010; Insoll et

al. 2012: 36; personal

observation.

Human remains - “A fragmentary human skull placed facing into the

earth, with fragments of human long bones

southeast and southwest of the skull, A human

jawbone was also recorded along with a separate pile

of human teeth, the latter east of the skull. These

teeth were from two individuals, a younger adult of

about 20 years of age, two of whose 19 teeth had

been filed, and the other 18 teeth were from an

older adult…it is clear the human remains had been

deliberately selected and arranged”.


Kankpeyeng et al. 2013:

483.

Iron tools X In trench square YK10-3-I15 “an iron razor, ring, point

and part of an iron bracelet” were recovered. Other

iron objects may also have been recovered.


Iron jewellery X

Faunal assemblage X Cow’s teeth. One tooth found to the northwest of

the first libation structure described above. Number

unspecified.


483.

Cowries 156 Cypraea moneta. Only two cowries from this

assemblage have been examined, both were

perforated.

Pers comm. A. Christie

July 2017.

Beads X Glass. Insoll et al. 2012: 28, 36;


485.

Table 1: A summary of all known YK10/11 shrine artefacts, their frequency, and description. “X”

means no data was available.

30

1.2.5 The YK10/11 assemblage: fieldwork challenges

Whilst in Ghana conducting fieldwork, challenges arose relating to sample size,

storage and climatic conditions, and data access. These required ad hoc alterations

to the prepared methodology, in some instances, and in others, they altered the

boundaries and scope of analysis. Discussion here offers a useful commentary as to

the practical difficulties of fieldwork and the analytical implications of choices in the

field. Changes to the sample size, and thus, to the sampling strategy, have been

integrated into Chapter 3.2.1 (which discusses the sampling practices used in this

thesis) for convenience and clarity. The storage, climatic conditions, and data

issues, and their effect on analysis, will be briefly outlined here.

In Yikpabongo, the pottery had been stored securely in a shipping crate. Prior to the

January 2016 fieldwork season, it was moved to a small, freely-accessible room in

the village’s community and Bible Translation Centre, a room which was also used

as communal storage for material excavated elsewhere in the region, for furniture,

and gasoline canisters (pers comm. B. Kankpeyeng December 2015; personal

observation). Unfortunately, some of these objects had subsequently collapsed or

fallen onto the YK10/11 assemblage. This caused, firstly, a number of the finds bags

– already friable from the hot, dry climate – to split. Sherds from these bags were

scattered across the floor, and were intermixed. Unlabelled, unable to be

associated with specific finds bags, and thus unprovenanced, approximately 500

sherds were immediately discarded. A second outcome was that some sherds were

possibly more fragmented than they originally might have been. Fortuitously placed

finds bags that had avoided damage included greater quantities of larger sherds,

including rim and decorated sherds, in a fairer condition. The analysis and

discussion chapters (4 and 5) have taken this into consideration.

The third issue was data accessibility. Section 1.2.4 did not explain or illustrate

precisely how the YK10/11 shrine, and its material, was constructed and arranged.

This information cannot be provided because the shrine’s contextual data – for

either year – was not forthcoming from Professor Kankpeyeng, then Head of DAHS

at the University of Ghana, during my fieldwork, or subsequently (see Chapter 5.4

31

for a structural analysis of the YK10/11 mound based on the available data).

Professor Insoll, however, made his fieldwork journal for the YK10-3 shrine test-pit

he excavated during the 2010 Koma Land field season freely available for use in this

thesis (Insoll et al. 2010). These notes provide some useful context information that

is made full use of (see Chapter 5.4). Unfortunately, the overall lack of complete

contextual data means that no detailed plans or sections can be provided to aid the

reader’s understanding. This also means that, except where deliberately specified,

how many of each artefact type was excavated from the YK10/11 shrine mound

cannot be confirmed, as Table 1 indicates. Nor is it clear what level the radiocarbon

sample was retrieved from.

A further point affecting data accessibility and interpretability was that some of the

context numbers on the finds bags did not correspond to any of the excavated

trench squares (see Figure 2 in Chapter 1.2.4 for these). For instance, context

numbers “YK11 L2 G6”, and YK11 L2 G8”. Whilst the pottery from these contexts

has been included in the YK10/11 analysis, it is unclear what part of the trench they

originated from; G8 is located in an unexcavated sector of the trench, and G6 does

not exist on the published trench plan (see Figure 2). Possibly, “G6” identifies the

student group that excavated those particular ceramics, rather than the trench

square. What trench square(s) each group was assigned to is unknown.

The fieldwork challenges discussed here and in Chapter 3.3.1 created certain

obstacles that caused some of the methods and interpretive expectations in this

thesis to be altered or adapted. They have not, however, prevented either the

successful quantitative and semi-quantitative analysis of the YK10/11 Iron Age

Koma Land pottery assemblage, or the fulfilment of the research objectives.

1.2.6 The figurines

The focus here is pottery, but it would be remiss not to provide at least a brief idea

of the figurines’ forms and purposes. The Iron Age Koma figurines are made of low-

fired orange-brown clay and take human, animal, and anthropomorphic forms

(Insoll et al. 2013: 13). The majority do not exceed 20cm in height (Insoll et al. 2012:

30; Insoll et al. 2013). Anquandah reported life-size examples (Anquandah 1998:

32

78), but none were recorded during the 1985 excavation (Anquandah and Van Ham

1985) or have yet been discovered during renewed excavations (pers comm. T.

Insoll, April 2017).

The human-formed figurines often ‘wear’ accessories, such as caps, jewellery, and

daggers, and some have stylised beards and hair (Insoll et al. 2013: 11, 14, 16, 28-

29). The figurines do not appear to have been painted, but many display traces of

eroded red slip (Insoll et al. 2013: 4, 7, 11, 15, 1721-2326, 28-29) alike in colour to

that of the pottery. Navel hernias are commonly represented, as are ‘breasts’, or

nipples (Insoll et al. 2013). Early studies sought to sex the figurines (Anquandah

2002), but current researchers describe them as androgynous, because overt

depictions of primary sexual organs are rare (Insoll et al. 2013: 33; although see

Insoll et al. 2013: 33 for an example from Tando Fagusa).

Animal-forms include chameleons, snakes, birds, and crocodiles (Insoll et al. 2013:

3, 15, 21, 22). As mentioned in Section 1.2.3, there are also figurines that mix

human-animal elements, commonly birds (Insoll et al. 2013: 22). There are also

mixed figurines depicting mounts with riders (Insoll et al. 2013: 10-11). A further

category, termed “Janus” heads, involves two or four faces looking in opposite

directions (Insoll et al. 2013: 14-15). Some figurines realistically depict medical

conditions, such as anencephaly (Insoll et al. 2013: 26).

Typically, the Koma Land figurines (human, animal, or otherwise) are characterised

by wide-open mouths variously interpreted as singing, chanting, or wearing an

expression of pain or despair, bulbous eyes, and by incisions piercing the figurines

in the same places as many human bodily orifices occur. These incisions were made

before firing. Cone figurines – a human head tapering to a pointed base, possibly

designed to be inserted in the ground – also commonly contain incisions into and

through the top of the head (Insoll et al. 2013: 22). Some of these incisions pierce

through skeuomorphic clay-cowrie motifs moulded into the figurines’ concave

head-dome (Insoll et al. 2013: 22).

33

Figure 3: Three Koma Land figurines. Left to right: a damaged ‘Janus’ head type figurine; a bird

figurine; and a cone-head type figurine with the typical bowl-shaped impression in the head (Insoll et

al. 2013: 14, 17, and 22, respectively).

Computed tomography scans of a selection of figurines reveals the incisions are

long, and narrow (as if made with a sharp, thin stick), and are up to 3cm or 4cm in

depth in some of the larger figurines (Insoll et al. 2016). Swabs taken from within

some of these incisions reveal DNA evidence from residues including plantain/

banana, grasses (possibly cereals), and both monkey puzzle tree and species of pine

tree not native to Ghana (Robinson et al. 2017: 17). The figurines’ characteristics –

forms, fabrics, decorations, surface treatments – are examined in depth in Chapter

6, which offers a detailed comparative analysis with the YK10/11 pottery in order to

integrate analysis of the different types of ceramic.

1.2.7 Local perspectives and responsible archaeology

At this stage, it would be a mistake to presume that because Yikpabongo’s residents

did not create the Iron Age material, they are dissociated from it. The relationships

between the archaeological material and the inhabitants have enough merit to

warrant their own investigation as to the meanings attributed to the figurines and

their assimilation into everyday life. The figurines, in particular, are venerated by at

34

least part of Yikpabongo’s population. Carefully cloth-wrapped and cleaned

examples of figurines were shown to myself and other archaeologists working in

the region and it was made clear that they were valued and (although no attempt

was made to buy them) that they were not for sale (although other individuals did

seek us out with figurines for this purpose). In other cases, local children used the

figurines as toys.

During the 2016 field season, it became apparent that many of the village’s

residents wished to be informed about the archaeological process, as it related to

the figurines. They were interested as to how (and why) excavations were taking

place and there was concern over the fact that the excavated figurines were being

removed to DAHS at the University of Ghana. Offers to screen a documentary

explaining the archaeological process were met with frustration, as the interest was

in the process as it was contextualised by the figurines; thus, a seminar was held by

Ghanaian colleagues the next evening to inform the locals about the Koma Land

research process, excavations, and findings. In the long-term, there are plans to

create a local museum to exhibit some of the material and to provide local training

in heritage and archaeology. Interest in the material also stems from the possibility

that eco-tourism may be developed around it.

In the interim, an exploration of the relationships between Yikpabongo’s

inhabitants and the figurines they live alongside would be a valuable

anthropological undertaking. Whilst from a purely archaeological perspective, it

would be ideal for all of the Koma Land material to remain in situ until it can be

recorded, it is more important to acknowledge, and to respect, the local

population’s connections with the material, and their sense of ownership. It is easy

to forget that what for archaeologists is material that may illuminate the past, is,

for others, material that illuminates and engages with their lived present.

As such, enabling channels of discourse with the people who are local to, and

invested in, any archaeological site should be a priority that informs every project’s

methodology. In any context, prioritising research at the expense of residents’ life-

ways is arguably neo-colonial; occupants’ concerns and queries should be engaged

with to ensure mutual benefit and understanding, and local practices respected. An

35

excellent example of this in practice is archaeological investigations of shrines –

some still in use – recently conducted in the Tong Hills in Ghana’s Upper East

Region (Insoll 2008), for which prohibitions and customs were observed, the areas’

residents were consulted, and permission requested, before the excavation of any

sacred areas (Insoll 2008: 88-89).

1.3 Nomenclature

Before examining the YK10/11 ceramic assemblage in earnest, it is first important

to define the terms and concepts used to understand and contextualise it.

Thematically, some of the terminology discussed here also resonates with, or is

fundamental to, issues explored in the literature review (Chapter 2). However, it is

worth introducing and defining relevant terminology from the outset to ensure

clarity.

1.3.1 What is a shrine?

The shrine is a concept that underpins and contextualises all aspects of analysis

and interpretation in this thesis. It provides the framework that the YK10/11

assemblage – both ceramic and non-ceramic – is part of, and defined by. Asking the

question, ‘what is a shrine?’ is fundamental, but complex; shrines are

heterogeneous, context-specific entities embodied in any material believed to be

significant. The variety shown in ethnographic studies of West African shrines is

daunting, with shrine-forms including single artefacts, such as a pot, iron object, or

a rock; sets of artefacts, some or all of which may be organic; deliberately created

structures, such as posts topped with brass- or pottery-vessels; and natural features

that may, or may not, have undergone modification and manipulation (Apoh and

Gavua 2010: 214; Dawson 2009: xi; Douny 2011: 167; Fournier 2011: 1899; Insoll

2011: 145; Mather 1999: 1-2; Ottenberg 1970; Stahl 2008: 160). A further

distinction can be made between shrines, and sacred groves (Insoll 2007; Insoll

2015: 252), and between permanent shrines, and portable ones, which may

otherwise lead to “shrine franchising” (Insoll 2006).

Mather, working within West African contexts, has defined a shrine as a site “of

mediation where the ambiguity and unpredictability of relations are harnessed to

36

generate meaning” (2003: 23). Elsewhere, Dawson has observed that shrines “are

vessels…they can act as containers in a literal sense for the spirits of ancestors and

deities” whilst also being, “symbolic vessels and reference points for social

knowledge about the universe” (2009: vii-viii; emphasis original). In Africa, a

shrine’s purpose may be to legitimise habitation of an area, or claim it;

recontextualise the meanings and functions of artefacts, deactivate or change their

nature; to enforce or negotiate social and power relations; as a facilitator or active

participant in healing practices; or as a means of codifying practices and defining

traditions (Insoll 2015: 252-257, 260, 270).

All of these definitions and descriptions are derived from ethnographical, not

archaeological, examples. For archaeologists, how to successfully identify shrine

contexts in the material record is a conundrum. Whilst not unheard of (for instance,

see Garlake 1974, 1977; Stahl 2008: 170-171), the nature of shrines is not

conducive to their discovery in the archaeological record (Insoll 2015: 154).

Stahl has rightfully pointed out that this perspective – of deliberately seeking ritual

traces – is unhelpful, and ignores the arguments repeatedly put forth by

ethnographers, “against analytically separating religion and ritual from the domain

of daily life” (2008: 160). Instead, she argues there is a need to understand

“ritualisation as strategic practice” to illustrate how “ritual activity is simultaneously

embedded and distinguished from the flow of daily social activity, as well as the

effects of those practices on social life” (Stahl 2008: 160).

Whilst this argument has great merit, the situation in Koma Land can be

differentiated from the circumstances Stahl critiques, because the contextual data

makes it almost certain that the YK10/11 material was from a shrine deposit

(Section 1.2.3, above). Further, the ability to gain insight into how ritual activity was

embedded in social contexts is not beyond the capabilities of the YK10/11 material;

the pottery sherds in this assemblage were from domestic vessels, and their fabric

and manufacturing techniques were analogous with the spiritual/ medicinal figurine

assemblage’s (see Chapters 4.2, 4.10, and 6.2-6.6).

37

Another issue with establishing ‘what is a shrine?’ is the suitability of the term itself.

Insoll has remarked that: “‘shrine’ is a term that fails to describe the range of

structures included within its boundaries” because it is derived from the Latin for

“‘receptacle’”, and as such, it can be applied to numerous features, in numerous

contexts (Insoll 2011: 145). The above examples make this shortfall in terminology

abundantly clear. Conversely, no regionally-specific, contextually relevant term can

be determined for these site-types in Koma Land because only archaeological

evidence is available. As such, in this thesis shrine is used with the caveat that it is a

non-local, non-temporally specific term, but also with the awareness that it is the

most relevant one available. Producing a specific definition of a shrine for each

archaeological site the term is applied to would be contextually-valuable, but

methodologically-bewildering.

Nevertheless, on the basis of the types of material within it, and their relationships

with one another, the YK10/11 shrine is perceived in this thesis as a space of

containment that mediates, negotiates, and controls tangible and intangible

transformations to substances, interactions, and relationships between people, and

artefacts. This idea is explored in later chapters, as the analysis of the YK10/11

pottery assemblage, and the contexts in which it operated, is presented and

develops (see Chapter 5 and Chapter 7.4.1-7.4.4).

1.3.2 Ceramics versus pottery

In Rice’s comprehensive pottery handbook, pottery is defined as “low-fired,

nonvitrified objects including cooking, serving and storage vessels (as distinct from

high-fired ceramics)” whilst ceramics “in art and archaeology” are “high-fired,

usually vitrified cooking and serving utensils and art objects (as distinct from

pottery)” (Rice 2015: 460 and 453 respectively, emphasis original). It is evident from

the beginning of this thesis that I am guilty of using these terms somewhat

interchangeably. Whilst acknowledging the technical distinctions between ceramics

and pottery, the decision to overlook them was an attempt to prevent reader (and

writer) fatigue. Arguably, this is a habit of many archaeologists (Orton and Hughes

2013: 4). Further, as is traditional with many archaeological terms, definitions of

ceramics are not completely standardised. Darvill, for instance, defines ceramics as

38

“the state that clay achieves when converted into pottery by firing to a temperature

of not less than 500˚C” (Darvill 2008; Farbstein 2015), a temperature that Rice

(2015: 464) would not consider high-fired.

The distinction in this thesis between pottery and ceramics, where it occurs, is

theoretical more than technical, and has been influenced by Farbstein’s (2015)

interpretation of Darvill’s argument that ‘ceramics’ defines both pottery vessels and

figurines (2008), a point Rice appears to agree with (2015: 453; see above).

Farbstein’s interpretation is based on the desire, in Palaeolithic European settings,

to more closely integrate the study of different types of ceramic artefact by

acknowledging their shared materiality. Elsewhere, Gosselain has criticised the

practice of studying “pottery remains in isolation” from other types of artefacts

(2008: 67). Surely, this includes other clay-based material.

These points echo the emphasis placed in this thesis on the need to closely

integrate studies of artefacts that are different in form, but alike in material, a

practice that has historically been overlooked not just by early ‘figurine essentialist’

art historic and archaeological studies of Koma Land, but by the essentialist

paradigms pervading much of Western archaeology (Conneller 2013: 121; see

Chapter 6.1). Thus, in this thesis the term ‘ceramic assemblage’ is used to refer to

the entire collection of fired-clay artefacts in the YK10/11 shrine; be it figurines,

low-fired clay (daub) libation structures, pottery sherds, vessels, and modified

sherds, whereas ‘pottery assemblage’ is used specifically to distinguish the pottery

sherd assemblage from its compatriots. In the following chapter – the literature

review – the need to integrate archaeological studies of different types of ceramic

is further justified. Here, the historical theoretical paradigms applied not just to the

ceramics in Iron Age Koma Land, but to ceramics in the wider West African Iron

Age, are critically assessed.

1.3.3 Style

Archaeological debates about style have raged since at least the 1970s (Arnold, D.E

1985; Conkey 1985, 1990; Davis 1990; Hegmon 1992; Hodder 1981; Howard and

Morris 1981; Sackett 1977; Stark 2003). It is not the purpose here to relive this

39

interminable debate, but to discuss, briefly, what it means for this thesis. Most

importantly, to offer a definition of style to ensure clarity when it is used within this

work.

Traditionally, style has been perceived as a fixed set of visual criteria informing,

among other things, pottery forms and manufacture (Arnold, D.E 1985: 1; Davis

1990: 19; Hodder 1981: 215). It has thus, inevitably and problematically, been used

in theoretical constructions of ethnicity on the basis that particular styles assist in

defining particular (ethnic) groups within the archaeological material record

(Anquandah 1998; David et al. 1991; Mayor 2010b: 23; Sterner et al. 1988)

although this view has also been rejected (see Arnold, D. E 1985: 3; Gosselain 2000:

188, 2011).

Form and style have often been associated, but sometimes problematically, as

archaeologists dispute which is most influential for pottery production (Stark 2003:

211). Nevertheless, recent approaches have concluded “there is an inescapable co-

emergence of style and function” (Chapman and Gaydarska 2007: 20; see also

Sackett 1977: 370; Stark 2003: 211).

Style is approached in this thesis as “present whenever there is a possibility of

choice between equally viable options” (Gosselain 1992b: 560; emphasis original).

Arnold has observed that style is less a prescribed set of artefact features, or

“template”, and more of an entity influenced by motor habits (1985: 8), and as

such, a learned, unconscious process, as opposed to a deliberate and prescripted

one.

Using ethnographic studies of Sub-Saharan African potters, Gosselain has drawn

similar conclusions (2000: 192). The perception of style as fluid, something

supported by the widespread dispersal of decorative techniques such as roulette

(of which there are numerous varieties and manipulations possible) throughout

Sub-Saharan Africa (Livingstone Smith 2007), and the rejection of early culture

historic notions of style and the specific “cultures”, “types”, and, “units” identified

from assemblages using this system (Conkey 1990: 5, 9; Conkey and Hastorf 1990:

3), leads style to be treated here as a flexible process of learned behaviour that

40

involves processing and forming techniques as much as the traditionally more

‘visible’ stylistic elements of decoration and vessel structure (after Gosselain 2000:

188).

Following this, stylistic similarities shared by the Koma Land ceramics are treated

as evidence of communally learned behaviour – not as the product of a single

ethnic identity (see also Section 5.6 for a critique of this practice) – and as active,

informative, contextually-specific constituents of the pottery-making process (after

Conkey 1985: 15).

Linked with many definitions of style is locality; with the spatial distribution of

artefacts and their production centres historically viewed as an indicator of cultural

spread (Druc 2013: 487; Gosselain 2011: 211; Lucy 2005: 86). Pondering this

question, Druc asked “How far is local?” (2013: 490). For ceramics, ethnographers

have attempted to address this with analyses of the distances potters will go to

collect clay and temper (Arnold, D. E. 1981: 34, 1985: 50-52; Browman 1976; Druc

2013: 491, 501; Jones 2002: 86), and the range of pottery distribution centres from

the areas of manufacture (Casey 2010: 89; Costin 2000: 384; Crossland and

Posnansky 1978: 80; Howard 1981; Jones 2002: 86; Tite 1999). To resolve this

question, Druc used Andean ceramic ethnographic examples to identify “seven

spheres of understanding: physical, statistical, technological, economic, social,

political, and conceptual or representational” (2013: 504-505). Essentially, Druc’s

conclusion recommends a contextual, site specific approach.

In this thesis, ‘local’ refers to the Koma Land region. At present, this is the known

extent of the material identified as belonging to the Koma Land figurine and pottery

makers. It is fully acknowledged that the Koma pottery identified and catalogued

here might not be (1) unique in Koma Land, or, (2) unique to it. Africanist

archaeologists have been aware for some time that modern boundaries are

disingenuous to research; the 15th West African Archaeological Colloquium at the

University of Ghana in July 2017, for example, took “archaeology without borders”

as its theme.

41

Chapter 2: Literature Review

2.1 Introduction

Chapter 2 has four main objectives. The first is to review all the archaeological and

art historical publications on Iron Age Koma Land, with particular emphasis as to

how the pottery has previously been analysed. The second is to evaluate the

theoretical approaches that have shaped interpretations of Koma Land, past to

present. The third is to rationalise the theoretical paradigms that have been

employed in this thesis to assist analysis and understanding of the YK10/11

ceramics. The fourth, and final, objective is to set the theoretical and empirical

frameworks used to study the Koma ceramics into their wider West African

theoretical contexts; identifying the broader trends and issues that have shaped

archaeological understanding of the region’s archaeology.

There are two very different approaches to Koma Land in the existing literature.

The first, taken by the first researchers, Anquandah and Van Ham (1985; and

Anquandah 1987b, 1998, 2002, 2003), can be defined as archaeological research set

within an art historic framework. The second approach, begun with the re-initiation

of excavations in the mid-2000s, is almost entirely archaeological (Kankpeyeng and

Nkumbaan 2008, 2009; Kankpeyeng et al. 2011; Kankpeyeng et al. 2013). It has

focused on interdisciplinary and collaborative studies using earth and

environmental sciences (Insoll et al. 2016; Kankpeyeng 2017; Robinson et al. 2017;

Tiburu et al. 2017), museums and heritage studies (Insoll et al. 2013; Kankpeyeng et

al. 2008), use of ethnography to gain insight into medicinal and spiritual practices

(Insoll et al.2012; Kankpeyeng et al. 2011), movement and posture (Insoll and

Kankpeyeng 2014b), as well as partnerships that have led to projects such as this

thesis (see also Dartey 2011).

Within this large body of literature, the place of this research is ceramics. The

primary focus is the 9692 pottery sherds excavated from the YK10/11 shrine, but

the wider ceramic assemblage has been integrated into analysis and interpretation,

particularly in Chapters 6, and 7. All publications on Iron Age Koma Land have been

42

used to contextualise this research, not only from the desire to be thorough, but

from necessity.

Quite simply, knowledge and understanding of Iron Age Koma Land pottery has, to

date, been limited by the lack of detailed investigation into it. Reports on it have

often been brief, with data fragmented across multiple publications (Abasi 1991:

82; Anquandah 1987b: 174, 1998: 102-111; Anquandah and Van Ham 1985: 28;

Beltrami 1992: 427; Dagan 1989: 11; Insoll et al. 2012: 36, 39, 41; Insoll et al. 2013:

5, 7, 17, 21, 28; Kankpeyeng and Nkumbaan 2008, 2009; Kankpeyeng et al. 2011;

Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 480-482, 492; Kröger 1988: 138). This ‘breadcrumb’ trail of

data, has, in some early publications, also been misleading: because of data

inaccuracies, unexplained methodological practices (Anquandah 1998; Anquandah

and Van Ham 1985; see Section 2.2.1 for criticism), as well as the inappropriate

application of culture historic and ethnographic concepts to interpret the ceramics

and identify its makers (Anquandah 1998; Kröger 1988; see Chapter 2.2.2). These

issues – the lack of pottery studies, and imposition of irrelevant paradigms – are not

restricted to Koma Land, but were part of wider theoretical trends that could be

mapped across many historic forays into West African archaeology, as Section 2.4

will discuss.

More recently, three researchers have examined pottery assemblages from Koma

Land (Asamoah-Mensah 2013; Dartey 2011; Nkumbaan 2016). Whilst valuable

additions, Dartey’s (2011) study is not currently accessible, and Asamoah-Mensah’s

(2013), and Nkumbaan’s (2016) projects had a range of objectives, of which pottery

analysis was one part. As such, the analyses were not fully comprehensive, and in

Nkumbaan’s study, the ceramics from four mounds were discussed as a whole,

which meant that nuances between the pottery from different assemblages, and

different mound site-types, could not be understood. Asamoah-Mensah’s study, of

one Yikpabongo settlement mound (2013), as well as evidence from Nkumbaan’s

work (2016), are used in a detailed comparative analysis with the YK10/11 shrine

assemblage in Chapter 7.3.1.

The theoretical paradigms that have shaped interpretations in this thesis begin with

the aforementioned concept (see Chapter 1.3.2) that form should not be privileged

43

over material (Conneller 2013; Ingold 2007). This perspective could fairly be

described as a direct response to the majority of the historical research on Koma

Land, which has, overwhelmingly, taken the opposite perspective. For the most

part, the figurines and pottery have inhabited different analytical worlds, which

have rarely intersected; an issue rectified in Chapter 6.

The need to examine the YK10/11 ceramic assemblage’s materiality was also borne

out of Ingold’s argument that examination of material culture has continued “to

operate with a conception of the material world, and of the nonhuman, that

focuses on the artefactual domain at the expense of living organisms” (2012: 428).

It is entirely possible that the figurines transcended concepts of inanimate/ animate

objects, evidenced in the fact, firstly, that some had been ‘fed’ with organic

substances (Robinson et al. 2017), and secondly, that through this process, they

were not only vehicles for these substances, but probable agents to their activation

and efficacy (Atkinson 2014).

The same argument could be extended to the pottery assemblage, particularly in

light of the use of pots within Koma Land shrines as libation structures, which

would have come into contact with organic substances (e.g. beer), as well as Insoll’s

suggestion that the pottery discs may have been imbued with medicinal substances

(pers comm. T. Insoll, June 2017; see Chapter 6.7). If the shrine was conceived of as

powerful, either as a means of imbuing power, or containing it, it is possible that it

was also considered an animate entity.

The second concept used throughout is that of artefact biographies (after Gosden

and Marshall 1999; Jones 2002; Joy 2009; Kopytoff 1986). To fully understand the

use, reuse, and deposition contexts of the YK10/11 sherds, this approach is

employed to ‘follow’ the sherds’ pre-fragmentation, fragmentation, and post-

fragmentation lives, from the chaîne opératoire to (terminal) deposition. It is

vehemently argued that an artefact’s biography does not culminate with its

breakage, nor, necessarily, with its deposition. This is extremely relevant to the

YK10/11 assemblage, which almost entirely consisted of fragmented material.

44

As such, the third defining concept in this thesis is that of fragmentation,

enchainment, and accumulation (Chapman 2008; Chapman and Gaydarska 2007).

Whilst this has been critiqued (Bailey 2017: 826-828; Brittain and Harris 2010), the

theory of enchainment is used here in a modified form to address the fact that

terminological divisions between the shrine and its material are somewhat

misleading; the YK10/11 assemblage – both ceramic and non-ceramic elements –

formed the bulk of the shrine’s construction materials. The majority of YK10/11

sherds appear to have been products of accidentally broken vessels whose sherds

were then recontextualised, a process which the original enchainment theory has

not considered, but which is explored in this research (see Chapter 6.5). Discussion

of accumulation is also utilised to understand how the shrine might have been

spatially and temporally constructed.

Therefore, this literature review begins with an ‘unpacking’ of the historical

approaches to the Iron Age Koma Land ceramics, and is followed by a critical

discussion of the current state of archaeological research in the region. The

rationale behind the concepts that have informed this thesis is then offered, and

then the whole discussion is set within the wider discourses that have framed

archaeological research in West Africa since the colonial era, and which continue to

influence today’s projects.

2.2 The original research

The original Koma Land research was pivotal, but problematic. In Sections 2.2.1-

2.2.5, early responses to the archaeology of Iron Age Koma Land have been

reviewed and deconstructed. Analysis began with the first-ever archaeological

excavation of Koma Land in 1985 (Anquandah and Van Ham 1985) and

subsequently, has examined the central themes, perspectives, and paradigms that

influenced and contextualised the research and its researchers. The theoretical

precepts that have informed interpretations of Koma Land, and thus, shaped all

research that has followed, have been identified as tenets of art and culture history

(2.2.2), ethnicity (2.2.3), ethnography and ethnoarchaeology (2.2.4), and

evolutionary perspectives of African history and archaeology (2.2.5).

45

2.2.1 The 1985 excavation and analyses: a critical overview

For two decades, Anquandah’s and Van Ham’s excavation of four mounds in

Yikpabongo was the only legitimate, recorded archaeological work on Koma Land in

existence (Anquandah and Van Ham 1985; Kankpeyeng and Nkumbaan 2008, 2009).

Thus, their valuable research has been fundamental, forming and informing every

successive investigation, analysis, and interpretation – be it archaeological, art

historical, or ethnographic – on the region’s Iron Age archaeology. Without their

excavation, and subsequent publications (Anquandah 1987b, 1998, 2002, 2003;

Anquandah and Van Ham 1985) the last decade of renewed research into Koma

Land would have been less-cognisant and less-developed.

With this in mind, it is also true that Anquandah’s and Van Ham’s initial pottery

analysis, (Anquandah and Van Ham 1985: 28-31), and a second by Anquandah

(1998), contain mistakes that diminish their efficacy, both as standalone analyses,

and as comparative tools. Remaining appreciative of the significance of this early

research, whilst candid and critical, the objective here is, firstly, to critically unpack

Anquandah’s (and Van Ham’s) pottery analyses, in order to gain insight into the

ceramics they excavated. Secondly, to fully understand the (to date, largely

unaddressed) issues that have influenced later interpretations and approaches to

Koma Land, including those used in this thesis (see Section 2.1). These issues relate

to, (a) the reliability of the pottery analyses, and (b), their lack of detail, (c) the

misapplication of ethnography, and (d), the inappropriate use of culture historic

and art historic paradigms. All were crucial to the interpretive framework applied to

the evidence in this early literature.

First, some background. In the 1985 field season four mounds (designated L370,

H310, I220, and Bak.I) were excavated, and the first archaeological publication on

Koma Land, then known as “Komaland” was published later the same year

(Anquandah and Van Ham 1985). This publication’s primary focus was to showcase

the figurines, which, after all, was what had prompted excavations of the region to

begin with (Anquandah and Van Ham 1985). Although, this focus led one reviewer

of Anquandah’s and Van Ham’s (1985) publication to observe “this is a very well-

46

produced monograph, but…until a more detailed analysis has been made, much of

its value rests with visual presentation” (Ross 1987: 76).

In 1987, an article describing the excavation’s initial findings on the overall Koma

Land cultural complex was published, in which Anquandah suggested there was

adequate proof for “the existence of a Komaland ‘kingdom’, which may have been

linked with the trans-Saharan trade system” (1987: 79). The validity of this

interpretation was later questioned (Davies 1988) and has not yet been evidenced.

Whilst there is undisputed evidence of trans-Saharan trade in Koma Land (e.g.

Robinson et al. 2017) there is not yet evidence to support interpretations of its

political structure.

A more complete report – with a chapter devoted to pottery analysis – was

published by Anquandah in 1998, although again, the figurines remained the focal

point (Anquandah 1998). In 2002, a French-language piece was published in an art-

history monograph extolling the artistic value of the figurines and interpreting them

as depictions of high-status individuals and family scenes (Anquandah 2002),

followed by a similar art-focused piece a year later (Anquandah 2003).

In total, 39,632 pottery sherds were excavated from Mound L370, and Mound

H310, collectively; 5,179 from the former, and 34,453 from the latter (Anquandah

and Van Ham 1985: 28). At the time of the 1985 publication, the pottery from

Mounds I220 and Bak.I had not yet been counted, and only their figurines were

assessed (Anquandah and Van Ham 1985: 28). In 1998, 12,825 sherds were

recorded in Mound Bak.I (Anquandah 1998: 84), bringing the known pottery total

to 52,547 sherds from three mounds. The sherds from Mound I220 were included

in Anquandah’s pottery descriptions (Anquandah 1998: 110-113), but appear to

never have been formally counted or analysed. No exact figures exist for most of

the material from this mound (see Table 2).

47

Artefact Anquandah and Van Ham 1985 Anquandah and Van Ham 1998

H310 L370 Bak.I I220 H310 L370 Bak.I I220

Sherds 34,453 5,179 TBC TBC 34,453 5,179 12,825

Discs 77 77

Figurines 258 19 226 20 258 19 226

Grinding

stones/

querns

1,786 41 20 TBC 1,786 41 725 335

Iron/ copper

artefacts

9/6 22; 3 arrowheads, 2

knife blades, 3

bracelets, 1 anklet,

1 twisted pendant, 1

hoe blade, 2 finger

rings, 4 unidentified

pieces/ 1bracelet

✓ ✓ ✓

Human

remains

Multiple

burials

Single

burial

Multiple

burials

Single

burial

Left arm, fingers,

ribs; adult, 30.

Skull fragments, left

arm, right lower

arm; 18-20 male

“Skull,

rib, and

limb

bones of

an adult

female

aged

about

45”)

Skull, jaw,

14 teeth;

adult 30-35

Skull, thigh

and leg

bones;

youth

Human

remains

Animal

remains

Multiple

cattle

Single

animal

Multiple

cattle

Single

animal

Cattle, goat/ sheep,

fowl, 1 monkey skull

Sheep/

goat

Cattle

and/or

sheep, fowl

Cattle

and/ or

sheep

Cowries ✓ ✓ ✓

Beads

Daub 85 85 29

Table 2: A comparative summary of the 1985 and 1998 assemblages from the four Koma mounds

(Anquandah 1998; Anquandah and Van Ham 1985). The frequencies of some artefacts differ

between the two. A ‘tick’ was used when an artefact type was present, but its frequency was not

specified. A greyed-out cell meant no data.

48

The pottery sherds from these four “stone circle mounds” were described as

domestic (Anquandah 1987b: 174), and were interpreted as grave goods added to

high-status burials by mourners, possibly after feasting (Anquandah 1998: 88, 110;

Anquandah and Van Ham 1985: 24). Some complete vessels were interpreted as

headrests for the deceased or as libation-containers (Anquandah 1987b: 74).

Whilst there were some “slight differences in detail from site to site” (unspecified)

the pottery assemblages were generally analogous (Anquandah 1998: 101; it is also

unclear which sites were being referred to). The sherds were characterised as sand-

tempered “water jars, food bowls (diam. 6-8cm.), cooking vessels (diam. 10-12cm),

[and] water/ storage vessels (diam. 15-18cms.)” (Anquandah and Van Ham 1985:

28). Surface treatments included burnishing and slipping, and decorative

techniques included roulette, painting, incisions, channelling, and comb and carved

stamp (Anquandah and Van Ham 1985: 28). Slip was applied to vessels inside and

out, and was typically red (Anquandah 1998: 103). Vessels were hand-made by

“pressing and moulding” the base and coil-forming the body, neck, and rim

(Anquandah 1998: 103).

Further comparative analysis of the 1985 and 1998 pottery reports, however,

reveals the two do not completely reinforce and complement one another. Both

provided an analysis of the same two pottery assemblages, recovered from the

same two mounds: H310, and L370 (Anquandah 1998; Anquandah and Van Ham

1985). Table 2 shows matching pottery data for both mounds in both reports.

Nevertheless, there are noticeable variations in the two publications’ pottery

analyses. In Table 3, for instance, the two reports’ breakdowns of sherds by surface

treatments and decoration types show clear differences between the percentage

frequencies for each category, as well as the inclusion of new categories in the 1998

report.

49

Pottery characteristic (Anquandah 1998: 108) Percentage frequency (%)

(1985: 28) (1998: 108)

‘Plain vessel without slipping or surface decoration’ 32.5

‘Vessels showing burnishing and slipping’ 63.01 24.3

‘Vessels decorated with string or plaited grass or carved roulettes’ 33.672 15.8

‘Vessels combining decoration by painting and roulette impression’ 18.0

‘Vessels decorated with incisions or channelling’ 3.0 7.0

‘Vessels decorated by comb stamp’ 0.3 1.5

‘Vessels decorated by carved stamp (e.g. cowriform)’ 0.03 0.9

Table 3: A comparative breakdown of the 1985 and 1998 H310 and L370 pottery analyses. A greyed-

out box indicates there was no data. 1In the 1985 analysis this referred to slipping, only. 2In the 1985

analysis this category was “slipping with string or cord roulette decoration” (Anquandah and Van

Ham 1985: 28).

Whilst this is not stated in the 1998 publication, upon examining Table 3 it seems

possible that some decoration types were initially misidentified and later

reanalysed. For example, cord roulettes were identified in the original analysis

(Anquandah and Van Ham 1985: 28) but were not present in the second analysis

(Anquandah 1998: 108). This could account for the revision from 33.67% sherds

with roulette in 1985 to 15.8% in 1998; at which juncture a new “painting and

roulette impression” category, accounting for the other 18%, was added


The reasons behind other variations between the two analyses, however, are less

clear. In the 1985 publication, for instance, no undecorated and unslipped sherds

were noted (Anquandah and Van Ham 1985: 28). Yet, in 1998, this category

accounted for 32.5% of the assemblage (Anquandah 1998: 108). Possibly, the

undecorated and unslipped sherds were not included in the first analysis for want

of time but had still been included in the total sherd count. Similarly, there are

mistakes with other artefact types in the assemblage. In the 1985 assemblage, the

number of copper artefacts excavated from Mound H310 was recorded as six, and

the number of iron artefacts as nine (see Table 2). Conversely, in the 1998

50

publication one copper artefact, and 22 iron artefacts were recorded for this

mound (see Table 2).

It is evident from comparing the two reports that some analysis occurred in the

interim; the 1985 analysis contained no total sherd count for Bak.I (Anquandah and

Van Ham 1985: 28), whereas the 1998 analysis did (Anquandah 1998:108). This

lends weight to the possibility of a reanalysis. On the other hand, Anquandah

reasonably pointed out the vast quantities of pottery, cost of transport, and

climatic conditions as grounds for conducting the pottery analysis in the field

(Anquandah 1998: 64) – points that also influenced how fieldwork was conducted

for this thesis – and thus, for the same reasons was likely to have also discarded the

pottery in the field. There was no indication it had been stored, and to my

knowledge, it was not present in DAHS. This suggests that a full reanalysis could not

have been conducted in the time between the two reports.

Some confusion also exists because of the use of the term “vessels” rather than

‘sherds’ to describe the whole assemblage, when very few whole vessels were

recovered (see Table 3), and further, because of the decision to lump rather than

split the decoration, slipping, and painting categories – e.g. “painting and roulette”,

“burnishing and slipping” (Anquandah 1998: 108) – which has led to ambiguity as to

the exact numbers of each individual sherd type. Further, it is unclear from

Anquandah’s description how painting and slipping differed in this assemblage


The number of queries provoked by these analyses could have been mitigated by

the authors’ (Anquandah 1998; with Van Ham 1985) inclusion of more detailed

methodologies in both reports. Are the discrepancies a consequence of reanalysis,

for example? Did issues in the field affect the methodology? Without these detailed

methodologies, the data, whilst still adding significant value to both publications,

retains a measure of ambiguity. As such, the nature of H310’s and L370’s pottery

(and other) assemblages cannot be entirely understood. Having analysed the data,

the interpretive framework in which it was set is critically considered in the

following sections of Chapter 2.

51

2.2.2 Art history and archaeology

“This approach by art lovers, which emphasises mainly aesthetic aspects of the

[Koma Land] figurines, is sometimes seen as suspect by anthropologists,

archaeologists, or historians. They are critical of the fact that in exhibitions

ethnographic objects, presented in effective artificial light, are often removed from

their cultural context and that information about the function and meaning is

frequently neglected. On the other hand, it also seems overblown when students of

ethnology and archaeology are advised by their mentors to avoid the term “art” and

statements about the artistic value of an object in the description and analysis of

material culture completely” (Scheutz et al. 2016: 48).

The first publications of archaeological material from Koma Land (Anquandah

1987b, 1998; Anquandah and Van Ham 1985) sparked numerous academic

responses. This literature, however, has added little to archaeological knowledge

and understanding of the region and its material because many were either

figurine-oriented art historical derivatives (Abasi 1991; Barich 1998; Detavernier

1990, 2003), or analyses of private, unprovenanced collections of Koma figurines

(Cocle 1991; Beltrami 1992; Dagan 1989; Scheutz et al. 2016). The twenty-six cone

figurines in Dagan’s Galerie Amrad African Arts publication, for example, were

almost certainly looted examples (pers comm. T. Insoll, March 2015). Nowhere in

Dagan’s publication was this acknowledged. Examples of unprovenanced Koma

figurines in other collections, such as the ones reviewed by Cocle (1991) and then

reproduced in Anquandah (1998: 182) and Scheutz et al. (2016: 63) may actually be

fake (pers comm. T. Insoll, June 2017). Four of the five known Koma Land vessel-

figurines published in these three publications have no provenance (the fifth being

archaeologically excavated from YK08; see Insoll et al. 2013: 32 and Chapter 6.6)

and stylistically, do not correspond with the typical features of an Iron Age Koma

Land figurine (pers comm. T. Insoll, June 2017; see Chapter 6.6). Unfortunately,

examples of Koma figurines, held in private galleries, were still recently found to be

for sale (David 2012).

It is not argued here that stylistic evaluation – a mainstay of art historical analyses –

has no merits for figurine analysis. As is evident from above, stylistic understanding

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of the figurines has allowed archaeologists to recognise probable imitations, and it

also aids the identification of further sites of interest for investigation on the basis

of artefact-similarities (Appiah-Adu et al. 2016).

Instead, the problem with the overall use of art historical discourse for

archaeological artefacts is that it isolates them. It relegates them solely to the

dimensions that can be understood using Western aesthetic criteria, which

privileges visuality at the expense of contextualised insight. For example, in

Anquandah’s 2002 article, published in a Barbier-Mueller Museum monograph, the

figurines are treated as realistic depictions of high-status, gendered individuals in

family scenes (Anquandah 2002: 119; my translation). This interpretation appears

to be solely based on visual assessment. Currently, there is no archaeological

evidence from Koma Land that would confirm its validity. Indeed, it should not even

be presumed that all or any of the figurines were intended to be realistic, as is

evidenced by the existence of anthropomorphic and mixed human-animal figurine

types (Insoll et al. 2013: 15, 21-23).

The issue with relying only on visual understanding is encapsulated by a quote

from Scheutz et al. – if the reader will excuse an additional quote to the one above,

which will be discussed momentarily – from the sole paragraph discussing pottery

vessels in an entire volume on Iron Age Koma Land:

Terracotta figurines are easy to recognise as such because of their many

stylistic characteristics. The ceramic vessels minus any applications,

however, resemble those of other cultures very much (2016: 50; emphasis

added).

This perspective embodies why the use of art historic methods for archaeological

material has been rejected in this thesis. Analysis is restricted solely to visual

parameters, and on that basis, the vessels (and sherds, which form the largest

element of all known Koma Land ceramic assemblages), are entirely disregarded

because they do not conform to recognisable, predetermined aesthetic standards.

In this thesis, visual analysis is only one tool of many. Studying the YK10/11

pottery’s uses and deposition contexts, their ability to refit, use wear, material

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qualities and properties, and their relationships with the remainder of the

assemblage (both the ceramic and non-ceramic components), has enabled this

thesis to draw specific, evidenced conclusions about the assemblage, its makers,

and its shrine deposition context (Chapters 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8).

At the beginning of this section, the quote from Scheutz et al. (2016: 48) observed

that archaeologists are often suspect of practices that de-contextualise artefacts,

and excessive in decrying those that would analyse them as art objects. In the case

of this thesis, Scheutz’s accusation is justified. Although, it is argued here that

repudiating a mode of analysis that is determined to put the ‘art’ in artefact

regardless of context (the archaeological mainstay), and ignore categories of

artefacts that do not fit in with stylistic ideals, is not an excessive response.

The arbitrary division between fired-clay figurines and pottery created by art

historic analyses of figurines from Koma Land has been cemented by these

publications’ choice of language. The figurines are incessantly presented as “art”

(Anquandah 2002, 2003, 2006), “sculpture” (Dagan 1989: 11); “exquisite clay

representations” (Detavernier 1990); as “naïve, admirable” and “mysterious,

transcendal” (Schaedler 1987 in Anquandah 2002: 118; my translation); as having

“beauty” and a “universal quality” (Dagan 1989: 1). The makers of the figurines are

likewise described as sculptors, and artists (Anquandah 1987b: 178; 2002 passim;

Dagan 1989 passim). Further articles written by Abasi (1991), Barich (1998),

Beltrami (1992), and Kröger (1988), all contain similar observations and use similar

terminology for both the figurines and their makers.

Whilst, admittedly, these publications could only initially form their own pottery

interpretations using Anquandah’s and Van Ham’s brief ceramics analysis

(Anquandah and Van Ham 1985), discussion of the Koma pottery was still

noticeably absent from the early literature. Anquandah’s observations that

complete vessels potentially functioned as libation pots or head rests for the

deceased passed unnoticed, and universally, the pottery was described as

“domestic” (Abasi 1991: 82; Barich 1998; Beltrami 1992; Dagan 1989: 11).

Anquandah himself drew a clear distinction between the complete vessels and the

54

pottery sherds, the latter which he described only as “kitchen equipment” (1987:

174).

Classifying the Koma figurines as art objects and the pottery as functional and

domestic is a consequence of the application of preconceived ideas about what art

is (and is not), rather than a true reflection of the pottery’s and figurines’ purposes.

These perceptions were a product of Europe’s 19th century class system, in which

painting and sculpture were traditionally classed as ‘high-art’, and practices such as

pottery-making, and basket-weaving, because of their associations with

functionality and utilitarianism, were defined as ‘crafts’ (Biswas 2014; Risatti 2009:

209-210). As such, and contrary to Scheutz et al.’s arguments above (2016: 48),

these terms are irrelevant to this thesis and will not feature in it.

Further, by analysing the Koma Land pottery and figurines in separate spheres,

using distinct terminologies, their makers are likewise categorised; despite the

obvious but understated fact that both types of ceramic – found in close

relationships in the same contexts – probably had the same makers. Chapter 6

substantiates this theory. In the meantime, it is reiterated here that studies of all

types of ceramic material, not just in the Koma Land region, but at every

archaeological site, should be integrated. As Berns has pointed out using West

African contexts, individuals with the skillset to make pottery vessels almost

certainly had the capability, and the opportunity, to experiment with the

production of figurines (1993: 136). Here, Berns was speaking explicitly about

women, arguing against the historic androcentric perception that figurines were a

product of the male (ritual) domain, and the pottery, a (domestic) product of the

women’s (1993: 136), but the point is also relevant more generally.

2.2.3 Who were the ‘Koma Landers’?

Early attempts to address this question did not focus on gender, which Anquandah

acknowledged could not be concretely determined (1998: 103), but on ethnicity.

The pottery was described as the product of a “distinctive ancient ethnic group”

(Anquandah 1998: 101), and problematically, the tool of choice for identifying it

was ethnographic analogy, set within a culture historic framework (Anquandah and

55

Van Ham 1985). This ethnic group and their material was labelled the “Koma-Bulsa”

complex, as outlined in Chapter 1.2.2.

In archaeology, culture history developed as a classificatory system for artefacts

(and by extension, their makers), and led to the production of typologies based on

patterns of variation in excavated material. It worked from the position that the

following are true: (a) changes in material culture are gradual; and (b) that artefact

variation is a product of time (Jones 1996: 72), presumptions that created “what is

essentially an illusion of bounded, uniform cultural entities” (Jones 1996: 73). Stahl

has argued that the underlying principles of culture history still remain a critical

element of most interpretive frameworks of West African ceramics (Stahl 2001: 19).

Typology – the practice of grouping artefacts by shared characteristics into types,

each of which is mutually-exclusive – was the fundamental tenet of culture history

(Adams and Adams 1991: 214). It remains the basis of ceramics analysis in

archaeology (Hall 1984: 262; Orton and Hughes 2013: 82; Rice 2015: 244), including

the YK10/11 pottery assemblage. Nevertheless, the contexts and manner of its

application have evolved. Unlike in culture historic analyses, typology has been

used in Chapter 4 as one component of the ceramic analytical tool-kit, rather than

the sole product of it. Its use as a functional method of identifying entire cultures

(Adams 1981: 41) has been deliberately abandoned.

These culture historic processes can be seen in the practices and interpretations of

Anquandah (1998), Kröger (1988), and Scheutz et al. (2016). In these instances, the

‘bounded, uniform cultural entities’ that Jones described are represented in the

perception that Koma Land’s material culture has remained relatively unchanged

and can be linearly traced from past to present peoples. Possibly, these attempts to

anchor the present in the past were designed to prove that the population that

produced the figurines was indigenous; many colonial (and indeed, later) historians

of West African history wrote narratives that portrayed cultural and technological

complexity in Africa as the creation of non-Africans (see Section 2.2.5). However,

applying the ethnographic present to the archaeological past in order to try and

determine ethnicity is just as problematic. Firstly, it presents the society (or

societies) in question as unchanging, or, timeless (Coombes 1994; Hall 2002;

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MacEachern 2015: 25, 32; Wynne-Jones and Fleischer 2015: 12). Secondly, it

presumes modern, academic understandings of ethnicity, identity, and individuality

are compatible with historic ones.

Comparisons of the archaeological material and its manufacturing methods were

made with the modern Bulsa’s own possessions and ceramic processes (Anquandah

1998: 111). These comparisons were direct. The Bulsa people and culture appeared

“to provide this missing link with Iron Age Koma Land”, a fact “most clearly

demonstrated in the evidence of domestic pottery” (Anquandah 1998: 111).

Anquandah evidenced this by using the Bulsa’s own pottery forms and functions as

a comparative framework into which the Koma pottery was set (Anquandah 1998:

112).

From this basis, personal drinking vessels, food and shea-oil storage vessels (termed

“amphora”), flat-based bowls, perforated vessels for steaming and grilling food, or

for “charring/ dispensing medicinal herbs”, and vessels for storing beer and water,

were all identified in the Koma Land assemblage (Anquandah 1998: 112). Other

similarities were also noted: the iron artefacts from both communities were

compared (Anquandah 1998: 97, 101), and resemblances between the Koma

figurines’ accoutrements, such as jewellery, clothing, and hairstyles, were identified

as present in the modern Bulsa population (Anquandah 1998: 124, 163, 165). In a

more recent article, Anquandah again made similar arguments, directly equating

the figurines’ “iconography” with the practices, customs, and possessions of the

Bulsa, and arguing, subsequently, for the figurines’ association with “ancestral

veneration and totemic observances” (Anquandah 2006).

Anquandah was not alone in his aim to identify the ethnicity of the ancient

inhabitants of Koma Land. Kröger made similar observations, but argued that many

of the practices visible in the Koma pottery, such as the use of stamp and comb

decoration, had been discontinued by the Bulsa (1988: 138). Scheutz et al.’s art

historical analysis of a collection of unprovenanced Koma figurines led the authors

to conclude that the Gan (or Ga) an ethnolinguistic group populating the southeast

of Ghana, had historically migrated north, settled in the Koma region, and created

the figurines (2016: 44). This interpretation was made on the basis of stylistic

57

parallels – the cone-headed type figurines, and the imagery of snakes – evident in

both the Koma figurines and those produced by the Ga (Scheutz et al. 2016: 44).

There is no archaeological evidence to support this interpretation, however, which

can be criticised for its selective use of evidence, and focus only on visual style. The

Ga’s own oral traditions, which state that they migrated into southern Ghana from

southern Nigeria around the 16th century AD (Boahen 1999: 204; Henderson-

Quartey 2002: 49-50), also contradicts Scheutz et al.’s theory. The earliest

radiocarbon date for Koma Land is in the 6th century AD (Asamoah-Mensah 2013:

84).

Anquandah’s (1998), Kröger’s (1988), and Scheutz et al’s (2016) interpretive

approach was borne out of the culture historic tenet that variation in artefacts was

a consequence of population change or gradual stylistic change over time, whilst

stylistic similarities were irrefutable proof of production by the same group. Thus,

specific historic cultures and ethnicities could be identified and singled out by

comparing the stylistic similarities and differences in their assemblages. For this

reason, Scheutz et al. identified stylistic similarities in the Ga and Koma figurines as

evidence of their mutual creation (2016: 44), and Anquandah and Kröger felt

justified in arguing that the ancient Koma artefacts graduated into those of the

modern Bulsa (1998: 97, 101, 124, 163, 165; Kröger 1988: 138). Of course,

Anquandah and Kröger (1988) were writing in a period when Koma Land had only

been dated to the 16th century AD (Anquandah 1987b: 171; Anquandah and Van

Ham 1985: 34). Nevertheless, this critique is still relevant.

Having examined the arguments and practices of those that sought to recognise

ethnicity from the Koma Land material, it is important to deconstruct these

practices and their underlying theories. Three aspects have been identified: (a) the

culture historic perception that stylistic variation was a product of sweeping

change, and thus, in opposition, that similarities were evidence of cultural stasis; (b)

that ethnic groups were wholly defined by their material culture, and could, in

consequence, be fully identified from it; and (c) that it is appropriate to directly

associate ethnographic and archaeological entities with one another, regardless of

their chronology.

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Point (a) is addressed in detail in Section 2.4, but has also been highlighted here to

show its direct influence on Anquandah’s interpretations and theoretical

framework. Point (c) is discussed in the following Section, 2.2.4, which examines the

historic and current roles of ethnography and ethnoarchaeology in West African

archaeology, including both their contribution to this thesis, and the discussion of

recent literature, which has begun to problematise the theoretical origins of

ethnoarchaeology, and question its relevance for archaeologists. The remainder of

this section will consider point (b).

The ability to identify specific ethnicities from archaeological remains has been

severely called into question in recent years (Blench 2016; Dores Cruz 2011; Insoll

2015: 218; Jones 1997; Lane 2016; Lucy 2005: 86; Richard and MacDonald 2016;

Stahl 1991). Dores Cruz, for example, used 19th to 20th century AD Banda in Ghana

to demonstrate the problematic nature of identifying ethnicity from the material

record (2011). Originally a colonial endeavour, Dores Cruz argued that using specific

pottery-making techniques and aesthetic practices to pinpoint ethnic groups both

in Sub-Saharan Africa and the African diaspora was overly-simplistic and denied

both the complexity and fluidity of identity and identity formation – whether on an

individual scale, or larger – (Cruz 2011: 338) and the contribution made by more

recent ethnography on the continent. Particularly, ethnographic ceramic studies by

archaeologists such as Gosselain and Livingstone Smith (Gosselain 1992b, 2000,

2008, 2010, 2014; Gosselain et al. 2008). These have illustrated that diversity in the

ceramic chaîne opératoire may be the consequence of human preferences,

marketing, adaptation, taught and learned behaviours, and uncontrollable factors

within the pottery-making methodology, such as firing temperature, rather than

differences that stem from belonging to different ethnic groups (Gosselain 1992b,

2000, 2008, 2010, 2014; Gosselain et al. 2008; Jones 2002: 94).

Similarly, Stahl’s own examination of ethnolinguistic groups in Ghana’s Banda

region revealed that those groups’ own conception of ethnicity was fluid and

changeable, because of the adoption of individuals from other descent groups (as

war-captives, refugees, or political migrants), and by extension, these individuals’

practices and traditions (1991: 267). The changing concepts and criteria of

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particular ethnicities led Stahl to muse “how far back in time may we legitimately

employ contemporary ethnic or cultural labels in our reconstruction of the past?”

(1991: 268).

Mayor has used case studies of ethnicity from the Niger Bend to argue that where

communities had a long, continuous period of occupation, it is possible to identify

historic ethnic groups on the basis of artefact variability (2010b: 8). Particularly, the

variety (or consistency) in pottery forms, forming techniques, and decorations,

especially roulettes (Mayor 2010b: 23-27). Similarly, for Central Africa, De Maret

has argued that the history of ethnic groups could be identified using pottery styles,

“linking the pottery groups from the past with the ethnic groups of the present”

(2005: 436). Referring again to Stahl’s analysis (1991), however, is it apparent that

continuity of practice cannot be directly associated with continuity of meaning

behind that practice (Stahl 1991: 252-266). Conversely, in other instances, the self-

identity of some ethnic groups in Banda remained constant even when they

incorporated new practices (including new ceramic styles) from neighbouring

ethnicities or those of adopted descent (Stahl 1991: 252-266). Elsewhere, a seminal

study on Nubian ceramics by Adams made evident that variation in pottery styles

was independent of major historical changes (Adams 1979).

The definition of ethnicity itself has evolved to reflect such variable practices.

Traditionally, it was defined as meaning groups of the same origin or descent with

shared social, cultural, and linguistic practices (Lucy 2005: 86). Subsequently, it has

altered from being “some inherent characteristic” to “more a way of

behaving…something that has to be learnt, and it may well be fluid, both over an

individual’s lifetime, and depending on the contexts in which people interact” (Lucy

2005: 86; see also Stahl 1991). The shift from fixedness to fluidity is central to much

of the literature discussing ethnicity in archaeology, regardless of whether the focus

is a site- or regionally-specific case study, or a generalised overview of the topic

(Dores Cruz 2011; Jones 1997; Insoll 2015: 218; Lane 2016; Lucy 2005; Robertshaw

2000; Stahl 1991).

It is also recognised that identifying ethnicity using the archaeological record can

have political and ideological repercussions. Stylistic similarities in otherwise

60

incomparable ancient and modern material assemblages caused some – including

Anquandah – to conclude that the ethnic group for both sets of material was the

same (Anquandah 1998: Coombes 1994). Historically, this has led some to the belief

that stylistic similarities in chronologically-disparate material was equivalent with

lack of change, and lack of development, and that the creators of the modern

assemblage were timeless, or fossilised (Coombes 1994; Hall 2002; Lane 2005: 25;

MacEachern 1996: 245, 2015: 25, 32; Wynne-Jones and Fleischer 2015: 12). In other

parts of the world, including Sub-Saharan Africa, historic studies of ethnicity have

been appropriated by groups with particular political agendas, very often to the

severe detriment of those perceived of as outsiders, or of the ‘wrong’ ethnicity (De

Maret 2005: 433; Rathje et al. 2002: 529-530).

Certainly, it is argued throughout this thesis that the pottery and figurine makers

were one and the same, and that the ceramics so far excavated from Koma Land

sites were produced by people with shared manufacturing techniques and styles.

Yet, there is not adequate evidence to make the leap from inhabitants with shared

practices to a distinct, particular group, which can be identified, defined, and

labelled by one element of its material culture. ‘Material culture’ is, in itself, a term

which demonstrates how archaeologists have historically perceived the artefacts

they excavate – culture made material – and should be used with caution, or

perhaps, discarded.

As such, the term ‘Koma Landers’ is not used to describe the inhabitants of Koma

Land in this thesis, nor has any attempt been made to determine ethnicity (see

Chapter 5.6). Instead, they are referred to generally as the inhabitants, peoples,

population(s), societies, and groups, as has been the practice of previous

archaeologists working in the area (Insoll et al. 2013). ‘Koma Landers’ is not used

because it implies a discrete, bounded group, and it is culturally deterministic.

Similarly, (as discussed in Chapters 5.6, and 7.3) there has been no attempt to infer

sex or gender from any of the Iron Age Koma Land material. Anquandah observed

that whilst women in West Africa are, typically, the pottery makers – a point

substantiated by the majority of ethnographic literature on West African pottery

(e.g. Berns 1993; Casey 2010: 89; Crossland and Posnansky 1978: 82; Frank 1994;

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Gosselain 2011: 213, 2014: 900, 2016: 37; Insoll 2010: 100; although see Gosselain

2015 for a discussion of Hausa communities in which potters are predominantly

male) – it was not possible to determine this from any of the evidence available.

Anquandah’s outlook is shared here. Whilst in some Iron Age Koma settlement

contexts, intramural burials have been discovered, there is, as yet, no published

osteoarchaeological record of their biological sex; and of course, sex and gender are

not equivalents. Nkumbaan’s analysis of such burials from Tando Fagusa includes

interpretations of gender based on the direction the remains were facing, drawn

from ethnographic studies of known northern Ghanaian burial practices (Nkumbaan

2016: 201). This interpretation has been problematised in Chapter 7.3, however. It

is argued that whilst burial orientation might be linked to sex and gender, this

should not be presumed in ancient contexts from modern practices.

2.2.4 Ethnography and ethnoarchaeology

Ethnographic analogy is a tool that has been in use since archaeology’s inception

(Lane 2005: 24). Paradoxically, it has been used both to support the construction of

Western paradigms and presumptions about past societies (David and Kramer

2001: 14; Lane 2005: 24; MacEachern 1996: 246), and deconstruct them (Kramer

1985: 78, 87; Livingstone Smith 2000: 22). Which depends on what point in the

history of archaeological research in Sub-Saharan Africa is being investigated. Early

researchers sought contemporary examples from Sub-Saharan Africa – such as the

Kalahari San – to illuminate interpretations of European prehistory (Lane 2005: 25;

MacEachern 1996: 246). A practice comparable to Anquandah’s attempt to

superimpose the archaeology of Koma Land onto the modern Bulsa, in a bid to

create a continuous ethnohistoric narrative for the region (1998).

Later researchers rightly problematised and abandoned this practice, and

reinvented ethnographic analogy, and its ethnoarchaeological application, as a

means of gaining insight into concepts and cosmologies associated with actions,

practices, worldviews, artefacts, and technologies that would not typically be visible

in the material record (David and Kramer 2001; Stark 2003: 195). In the last three

decades, the combination of ethnographic and experimental archaeology, has, for

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example, generated useful understanding of ceramic technical processes and

disproven empirical assumptions about particular stages of the pottery chaîne

opératoire (Gosselain 1992a; Livingstone Smith 2000: 22).

The definitions of ethnoarchaeology are numerous, and sometimes contradictory

(David and Kramer 2001: 12), but it is defined here as the application of

ethnographic insight to archaeological contexts in order to gain insight into

alternative, unfamiliar worldviews and practices. This is the manner in which it has

been employed in this thesis. There is a thin line, however, between generating

awareness and understanding of the unfamiliar, and transforming the past into a

place categorised by the unfamiliar; arguments both Lane (2005: 25) and

MacEachern (1996: 243) have made using variations of Hartley’s famous quote “the

past becomes ‘a foreign country [where] they do things differently” (Hartley 1953:

1, in Lane 2005: 25; see also MacEachern 1996: 243).

Within ethnoarchaeology, ceramic ethnoarchaeology is a sub-discipline that has

focused on examining pottery-making peoples and using the insights gained to

analyse the manufacturing processes of pottery in the archaeological record. The

central focus of these studies are issues of variation, style, and choice, which

ethnoarchaeological studies have proven to be fluid and independent of historical

changes (Adams 1979; Ever and Hoffman 1988: 740; Hoffman 1989; Keightley 1987;

Miller 1985: 2). Advocates of behavioural archaeology hold that the potter’s

technical, functional choices were determined by their environment and the

decisions they made in reaction to it (Arnold, D. E. 1985; Arnold P. J. 1991, 2000;

Kolb 1989; Skibo 1993; Williams 1992). This school of thought is also known as

ceramic ecology; a term coined by Matson (1965) to disprove the notion that the

environment is a “neutral variable” in pottery-making (Arnold, D.E. 1985: 1).

Alternatively, cultural proponents argue that cultural choice is embedded in pottery

production, which itself is set within a framework of local traditions (Hodder 1981:

215), with behavioural archaeology critiqued as “deterministic” and functional

(Gosselain 1992b: 561; Miller 1985: 4).

Contrast, for instance, the view that pottery decoration is a “visual expression of

the underlying structures of belief and thought” in societies like those of the

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Mandara in Northern Cameroon – to the extent that it offers “the best evidence of

‘ethnicity’ generally preserved in the archaeological record” (David et al. 1988: 378)

– with the revelation that some potters choose a design for no other reason than its

personal aesthetic appeal (Gosselain 1992b: 574). In a critique of David et al.’s

equivalence of pots and people on the basis of the presence of shared terminology

for bodily and pottery adornment, Wandibba noted that whilst the researchers

emphasised the significance of decoration, they had also noted that the purchasers

of the pots were less interested in the decoration than the pot’s quality (Wandibba

1988: 741) Returning momentarily to Stahl’s use of ethnography in Ghana’s Banda

region to demonstrate that ethnicity is a fluid concept (1991), it is maintained

throughout this thesis that ethnicity cannot be identified or defined by a set of

artefacts, or by stylistic characteristics within a set of artefacts.

Alternatively, “To hell with ethnoarchaeology!”; is a paper in which Gosselain has

emphatically contended that ethnoarchaeology produces no tangible benefit to

archaeological investigations, and should be entirely removed from its analytical

repertoire (2016). Despite reinventions of ethnoarchaeology, Gosselain has argued

that the evolutionary concepts underpinning its inception still exist and have

“continued to haunt Western thought” (2016: 119). Ceramic ethnoarchaeology

does not escape this criticism (Gosselain 2016: 118), nor does Gosselain’s own

previous work (2016: 119).

In summary, Gosselain identifies the fundamental issues with ethnoarchaeology as

theoretical and methodological: communities chosen for study for

ethnoarchaeological purposes are often those perceived to best fit comparisons

with the ancient society in question (Gosselain 2016: 119); individual, anecdotal

testimonies are extrapolated to entire communities (2016: 221), societies are often

perceived as “traditional” and “static”, with overemphasis on the importance of

social and cultural elements such as collective memory, the symbolism integral to

everyday social praxis, and ritual practices, because these are less prevalent

elements in Western societies, and thus Western archaeologists pay greater

attention to them (2016: 222). The benefits of ethnoarchaeology are derivatives of

“theoretical and conceptual issues generated outside this sub-discipline” including

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its use with experimental archaeology, and its contribution to the understanding of

technological manufacturing techniques (Gosselain 2016: 224). Whilst others have

included caveats in their discussions of ethnoarchaeology (Lane 2005; MacEachern

1996), none have advocated its complete elimination from archaeological praxis.

In the face of Gosselain’s critique, the self-reflexive challenge here is reconciling

criticisms of earlier uses of ethnography in archaeological contexts, such as

Anquandah’s and Van Ham’s (1985), with the fact that ethnography has also been

used in this thesis. In Chapter 5, for example, Mather’s examination of shrine

abandonment among the Kusasi in Ghana’s Upper East Region (Mather 1999) was

used to inform interpretations of the fragmentation and reuse of sherds in the

YK10/11 assemblage. In the same chapter, sources on shrine use in the Tong Hills

(Insoll 2008; Insoll et al. 2013), plus my own personal observations from the region,

were used to inform understandings of organic material in shrines, and the role of

artefact-deposition in the creation of a shrine’s structure.

Speaking candidly, the rationale behind the use of ethnographic observations to

better comprehend the Iron Age YK10/11 assemblage – whether derived from first-

hand observations, or from secondary sources – was from a desire to gain

experience and understanding of a completely unknown sphere. As a British-born

researcher, there were no personal experiences that could be called upon to

meaningfully contextualise shrines; and as site-types that are notoriously

problematic to identify in the material record (Insoll 2015: 154; Mather 2003: 23;

Stahl 2008: 160) examining only archaeological examples would have made a poor

frame of reference for the interpretation of almost 10,000 shrine mound pottery

sherds, and other associated finds. Indeed, the use of ethnographic studies assisted

in the identification of the YK08 and YK10/11 mounds as shrines to begin with

(Insoll et al. 2013: 15, 19, 23; Kankpeyeng 2017), before other evidence supporting

this interpretation came to light (Insoll et al. 2016; Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 492;

Robinson et al. 2017).

The disparity between early ethnographic practices and ethnography’s use in

modern ethnoarchaeology – including in this thesis – is the existence of self-

reflexive awareness and of changing contexts of use. Processes and actions have

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been studied to gain insight into how material assemblages may have developed,

been produced and structured, and how they engaged in daily life; but the (culture

historic) perception that similarities in actions and materials between a modern and

historic group meant chronological consistency and changelessness is absent.

Progress in African ethnoarchaeology undertaken since the 1970s and 1980s has

also been made with regards to inclusivity, with the “increased involvement” of

African and female academics in the discipline (MacEachern 1996: 288).

Nevertheless, it is difficult to reach a definitive conclusion as to the merits of this

archaeological sub-discipline; ethnoarchaeology and ethnography are ingrained in

archaeological practice, and have been ‘good to think with’, but Gosselain’s

arguments resonate with criticisms made earlier about Anquandah’s own

ethnographic practices (1998). At present, it is maintained that ethnographic insight

is of value, but it is also acknowledged that Gosselain (2016) has instigated a

necessary and meaningful debate about the use of historic practices, of which

ethnoarchaeology is one, and their application to situations they were not originally

created for. In resolution, the need for archaeological self-reflexion is paramount,

not only for ethnographers and ethnoarchaeologists creating and enacting

fieldwork methodologies, but for the archaeologists ‘tapping in’ to both as an

illustrative and experiential resource for their own projects.

2.2.5 Contextualising Sub-Saharan ‘figurine essentialism’

It is easy to criticise earlier publications for omitting methods or perspectives later

perceived as indispensable to the archaeological process, or for pursing approaches

now unfashionable or irrelevant. Yet, it is crucial in a literature review to evaluate

not just the approaches to an archaeological site, assemblage, methodology, or

interpretation, but to examine and to understand the contexts which influenced

those approaches and led them to develop into the practice or perspective

subsequently critiqued.

Thus far, the pre-2000s literature on Iron Age Koma Land has been critiqued for (a)

its emphasis on figurines and the consequent neglect of the remaining material

culture, including pottery; (b) the use of figurines in the construction of superficial

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and de-contextualised art historical narratives; (c) and the ensuing arbitrary

assignation of artefact-types on the basis of form, without regard for material or

context; (d) the materialisation of these methodological divides in the material’s

interpretations, leading, for example, to the perception that figurines are inherently

ritual artefacts, and the pottery sherds and vessels are domestic ones; and (e), a

lack of methodological transparency, coherency, and standardisation.

To understand the historic emphasis on figurines in Koma Land, and indeed, West

Africa more widely, it is necessary to understand the political, cultural, and social

climates of the time. The concept of “figurine essentialism” has already been

introduced in this thesis, and its pertinence is discussed in Chapter 6.1. To

summarise, however, the phrase was coined to describe archaeological approaches

to Neolithic figurines discovered in the Balkans (Bailey 2005). Arguably, the

penchant for figurines in West African contexts has been created not just from

archaeological preferences, but initially, as an understandable response to negative

political and cultural discourses about the African continent and its history.

Previously, colonial narratives maintained the evolutionary stance that the African

continent was without history; “a traditional present connected seamlessly with a

relatively unchanging past” (Stahl 2001: 2), because it did not fit in with Western

concepts of organised society and was perceived to be on a lower rung of the state-

formation (read: civilisation) step-ladder (MacEachern 2005: 450). For much, if not

all, of West Africa, the academic perception was that “contact with the ‘outside’,

and therefore ‘history’, was perceived as recent and the source of only superficial

change”, whether or not this view was consciously or unconsciously expressed

(Stahl 2001: 2). Elsewhere, Kröger decried the perception, widely held before the

discovery of the Koma Land figurines, that the whole of Northern Ghana was

“unhistorical” (1988: 142, my translation).

Thus, early historical approaches to Sub-Saharan African archaeology and history

viewed development as a consequence of Islamic and European influence and

contact. Reading early publications, it was accepted without question that social,

technological, and artistic innovations in Africa were adaptations from, or

introductions by, non-African entities (e.g. see Arkell 1944; Trevor-Roper 1969;

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Wilks 1993; and examples in Ashton 2011; Coombes 1994; De Maret 2005;

Neumann 2005: 252; Shaw 1970: 260; Stahl 2001: 8-11; Willett 1967: 30).

Comparing African and European history, in his publication West Africa before the

Europeans, Davies remarked that “in Africa culture seems to be more static; there

have been no big states and no important wars before the coming of Islam” (Davies

1967: 32).

Tellingly, even in the 21st century AD, a visit to a museum such as Geneva’s Barbier-

Mueller Museum reveals modern, ‘ethnographic’ Sub-Saharan African material

displayed alongside Koma Land figurines, and artefacts from the European Neolithic

and earlier; all described as coming from “primitive” societies (Barbier-Mueller

2015). In London’s British Museum, examples of 16th century AD bronzes looted

from Benin are on display alongside West African metal and ceramic artefacts from

the past century. There are similar issues with the African displays in Manchester

Museum. Hall similarly criticised London’s Royal Academy’s 1995 exhibition Africa –

The Art of a Continent and the commentary that arose from it, which “cast Africa’s

history and culture, as at best, an amusing side-show, a vast colourful craft market,

a mass of people whose purpose is merely to survive” (Hall 2002: 440).

Arguably, therefore, pottery analysis was not a priority for early archaeological

researchers in Koma Land because the figurines represented a much more

immediate, impactful form of evidence in an academic and wider world that in

some contexts appeared to still require convincing of Sub-Saharan Africa’s cultural

and technological complexity, and social and political longevity. At the time, it was

necessary to do so within existing frameworks. This is evidenced in later articles on

the Koma Land material in art historic publications, in which Anquandah

deliberately sought the opinions of known art historians and critics as to the

figurines’ technical complexity and conformation to Western aesthetic principles

(Anquandah 2002, 2003; see also Dagan 1989).

It is to Anquandah’s credit that he was determined to give Ghana’s Koma

archaeology the widespread attention it deserved. However, as he himself later

concluded, appreciating the figurines’ complexity is better achieved with contextual

understanding. To this end, he later called for archaeologists and art historians to

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disregard Western standards and to pursue the development of what he has

termed “ethnoaesthetic” studies, in which Sub-Saharan African material is analysed

using Sub-Saharan African aesthetic criteria (Anquandah 2014: 215). This point is

returned to in Chapter 6.1.

2.3 Current research

Renewed research of Koma Land has refined many of Anquandah’s early theories

and created new insights. These have included the recognition of different site-

types – settlement and shrine mounds – as well as significantly increased

understanding of the figurines’ functions as ritual and medicinal agents and

facilitators. This was enabled by computed tomography of a selection of figurines

(Insoll et al. 2013: 13, 25; Insoll et al. 2016), as well as DNA analysis of residues

within their incisions; the first analysis of its type for a site in Sub-Saharan Africa

(Robinson et al. 2017). The interdisciplinary nature of investigations into Koma Land

is likely to continue (pers comm. B. Kankpeyeng, July 2017). Most recently,

archaeologists researching Iron Age Koma Land have collaborated with academics

from The University of Ghana’s Biophysics Department to analyse the potential

medicinal properties of local clays, with a view to furthering understanding of

potential ancient medicinal practices and ingredients in the region (Tiburu et al.

2017).

In this thesis, the YK10/11 assemblage is approached from a similar interdisciplinary

standpoint, with the use of exploratory X-ray fluorescence and scanning electron

microscopy, alongside statistical analysis and typology to gain greater

understanding of the pottery’s fabric. Further, the YK10/11 assemblage is

approached from the perspective that the study of the different types of ceramic

should be integrated, to divest archaeological understandings of the existing false

dichotomy between pottery vessels and sherds, and figurines, and between the

sacred and mundane.

Similarly, the pottery discs and other modified sherds should be contextualised by

their origins as pottery sherds, and preceding that, as pottery vessels, rather than

viewed in isolation as tokens or weights. Finally, the pottery assemblage should not

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be examined in isolation, but as a component part of the shrine from whence it

came. In later chapters (5 and 6), it is argued that the shrine and the material within

it were not separate entities. Instead, the YK10/11 material was the shrine. The

YK10/11 pottery sherds, which were the most abundant type of artefact found

within the shrine, were integral to its structure, functions, and meanings. Whilst

originally created for domestic purposes, the evidence for the pottery’s use, reuse,

and deposition transcends traditional perspectives of domesticity, and highlights

the sherds’ role as valuable social, cultural, and religious resources; not as mundane

artefacts to be discarded once fragmented.

The automatic application of the ritual/ domestic framework by authors in historic

publications has created unnecessary theoretical baggage, as it is necessary for

their successors not just to present evidence for a site, and to interpret and

contextualise it, but to justify how and why Western structural criteria are

irrelevant. The need to do this is not borne solely from the fact that previous

research accepted and used such principles, but also because this framework is still

a pervasive, if unconscious, tenet in archaeology. This issue has been recognised

elsewhere. McNiven, for instance, has argued that such perceptions are a

consequence of Western ethnocentrism (2013: 561).

Similarly, Brück has argued against the deliberate attempt to identify ritual in the

material record because ritual is ingrained and the boundaries between the two are

often indistinct (1999: 314, 317). Discussing materiality, Joyce has likewise argued

that archaeologists need to distance themselves from the notion that “material

things stand as vehicles of cultural meanings, waiting to be decoded and to yield

their singular sense” (2008: 26). This issue of singularity has been central to the

ritual/ domestic divide.

The use of object biography within this thesis is an endeavour to refute this

singularity. Indeed, according to Kopytoff’s notion of the “biographies of things” it is

not possible for an artefact to have only a ‘singular sense’, or to be entirely

understood from examining only one element of its existence (Kopytoff 1986: 66).

Instead, all “processes and cycles of production, exchange and consumption had to

be looked at as a whole” (Gosden and Marshall 1999: 170). In this thesis, the

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concept of object biography is manifest not only via the chaîne opératoire, which,

as is evident in Chapter 4, has been used as a means of structuring analysis, but also

via the social and other networks that the YK10/11 pottery was embedded in,

experienced, and accumulated.

The chaîne opératoire, is, by definition, a sequence; but whilst the pottery

manufacturing process may have – broadly – followed a series of typical stages,

such as collecting the clay, processing it, and so on, it is emphasised here that an

object’s biography is not, in itself, a linear entity (Joy 2009: 542). Within each stage

it is possible for several biographies, and for several types of biography, including

technical, economic, social relations, identity politics, and religious biographies, to

exist simultaneously (Kopytoff 1986: 68). Thus, the concept of the chaîne opératoire

is combined with that of object biographies to create a complete picture of the

production process and the wider contexts in which it was set, as well as the

artefact’s subsequent life-history, agency, and human-thing relationships (Joy 2008:

545; Joyce and Lopiparo 2005: 369).

Conversely, Walker has argued that the life of an object is linear and sequential;

following “a unique chain of behavioural events that begins with its acquisition as

raw materials” and “ends when someone disposes of or loses the object, and it

enters the material record” (1995: 64). Yet, this perspective implies that every

object’s biography is set within a linear narrative that has a tangible, and possibly

predictable, start and end. In so doing, it has failed to consider situations which

extend beyond the intrapersonal, such as episodes of conflict, involuntary

movement, and abandonment. This scenario is relevant to the YK10/11 shrine

mound, which the evidence suggests was abruptly abandoned (see Chapters 5.5

and 7.4.4). As Joy points out, artefact biography “does not necessarily have to

follow a coherent narrative” (2009: 545).

Walker’s definition also does not entertain the possibility of artefacts with post-

deposition biographies, but ends with the point at which “it enters the material

record” (1995: 64), which, incidentally, heralds the beginning of the archaeological

process and the archaeologist’s involvement. It is argued here that an object’s

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biography does not end with its deposition. Indeed, how should (or could) artefacts

made purposefully for deposition be conceptualised, if this were so?

Further, it is maintained that a deposited artefact continues to sustain its biography

– whether as a contributor to a larger entity, or as an accumulator of historical

narrative in its own right (Gosden and Marshall 1999: 176) – for as long as it is

remembered. The act of deposition itself has often been perceived as a deliberate

act of memory-making, or conversely, of forgetting (Joyce 2008a: 25, 32; Mills 2008:

82). In British Bronze Age contexts, Jones has argued that the concealment of an

artefact through deposition may have been a deliberate act to draw attention to it

(2010: 117). Thus, deposition was not necessarily an act designed to silence,

negate, or conclude an artefact’s biography. Archaeologists should also consider

whether the context in which an artefact was deposited indicates whether it was

intended to be a temporary or terminal deposition place.

Fragmentation and enchainment have also been linked to memory-making

(Chapman 2008). In this context, fragmentation (usually) describes the deliberate

breakage of an artefact, and enchainment, the process of fragmentation for the

purpose of socially – and spatially –meaningful dispersal of that artefact within/

throughout a landscape (Chapman 2008: 188). This may involve curation and

circulation practices, in which fragments “follow separate biographical pathways”

and act as a mnemonic for the whole object (Chapman 2008: 199). In Chapter 6.5,

these concepts are expounded and have been used critically to think through the

accidental and deliberate fragmentation of the pottery sherds and figurines, and

the relationships been this material and the YK10/11 shrine. Accidental breakage is

not a concept that Chapman’s enchainment theory has addressed, but it is used in

Chapter 6 to do so.

2.4 Archaeological approaches to ceramics in the West African Iron Age

Koma Land’s early archaeological and art historical narratives were a microcosm of

the topics and issues that have defined historic attitudes and approaches to

ceramics in West African archaeology. Thematically, many early West African

historical syntheses believed in sweeping change – of peoples, cultures,

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technologies (Ashley 2013: 77; Brandt and Fattovich 1990: 101, 107) – and

discussions of this change inordinately projected West Africa as a static entity

subject only to external influence (Ashley 2013: 78; Davies 1967: 32). This was not a

phenomenon limited to West Africa, but was a major component of many early

archaeological narratives in Europe and elsewhere; see, for example Childe’s

discussion of the urban and agricultural “revolutions” that swept Neolithic Europe

and the Near East with sharp population increases, the creation of urban centres,

and the swift uptake of new technology (Childe 1925: 235, 1950), Cole’s prosaically

titled The Neolithic Revolution (1959), or Piggott’s comparison of the “phases” of

advancement of societies in Mesopotamia and Europe (1970: 64), of Greek “centres

of higher civilisation” that expanded outwards (1970: 107) and his lexicon of

“transmission”, “movement”, and “change” (1970: passim).

Evidence of change or of population movement was provided by discontinuities and

variations in material assemblages (including pottery). This was a fundamental

precept of culture history, which, as discussed in Section 2.2.3, used stylistic

variations between material assemblages as proof of the existence of distinct

ethnocultural identities (Jones 1996: 73). Anquandah was working within this

perspective; the lack of variation between the Bulsa and Koma ceramic styles – the

lack of change – was sufficient evidence to conclude that the Bulsa were the

“missing link” with Iron Age Koma Land (1998: 111). In ethnographic contexts,

however, pottery styles often transcend one specific ethnic group (Druc 2013: 487;

Insoll 2015: 219), which in any case, may be distinguished by how the pottery was

used rather than its form or decoration, actions that are invisible in the material

record (Insoll 2015: 219; Sterner 1992: 178). Additionally, as discussed in Section

2.2.3, concepts of ethnicity were themselves often fluid (Stahl 1991).

The value attributed to pottery in early interpretations of West African history and

archaeology, as a vehicle for identifying and understanding cultural entities, has

been heavily offset by the fact early publications on West Africa often ignored or

examined it only superficially (Bellis 1972 [1978]: 12; Connah 2007; Garlake 1974:

148; McIntosh and McIntosh 1980: 16). Again, this is a criticism that has been

levelled at the early analyses of pottery from Koma Land (2.2.1).

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Universally, pottery sherds are almost always the most abundant type of artefact

excavated from post-prehistoric sites (Horejs et al. 2010: 9; Orton and Hughes

2013: 3), and the West African Iron Age is no exception (Anquandah 1987b: 174;

York 1973). Ironically, this is almost certainly why it was disregarded by

archaeologists. “Figurine essentialism” (Bailey 2005) was again at work, and it

seems relevant here to quote Kopytoff – “partly this is a matter of noticing the

exotic and taking the familiar for granted” (1986: 77) – not as to the archaeology,

but the attitudes of the archaeologists themselves. In the 1970s, Bellis had already

made this argument (1972 [1978]: 5-12), accusing archaeologists in West Africa of

succumbing to “the lure of [the] magnificence of grandeur” and following their own

particular interests and agendas rather than producing systematic and balanced

archaeological syntheses (Bellis 1972 [1978]: 10).

Some detailed examples illustrate this point. Research on figurines and potsherd-

pavements from Ile-Ife and related Middle Iron Age sites in southwestern Nigeria

began after the first excavations there in 1912 uncovered fired-clay figurines

(Garlake 1977: 57), and, later, potsherd-pavements (1974: 57). Yet, it took until the

1974 edition of The West African Journal of Archaeology for discussion of the

copious pottery assemblage to materialise (Eyo 1974; Garlake 1974: 57), although

this was only brief, and accompanied by the addendum that:

The attention of this report has perhaps focused too greatly on the more

alluring material recovered. This is no new occurrence: indeed, no studies of

the ordinary ceramics of ‘Classical’ Ife period have ever been published [sic]

(Garlake 1974: 148).

The early focus on figurines, and pot-sherd pavements, overlooked the simple fact

that the sherds, vessels, pavements, and figurines were made of the same material.

Currently, an excavation summary, including details of its pottery analysis, has been

published for excavations at Ile-Ife undertaken in 2010 (Babalola 2010: 36-42).

Research into Central Nigeria’s well-known Nok Culture, spanning at least 200 BC to

AD 500, can be similarly criticised (Rupp 2010: 67). Historical oversight of the

pottery vessels, in favour of human and anthropomorphic figurines, has meant that

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only in the last decade have archaeologists begun to conduct pottery-related

research on a complex the West African archaeological community has been aware

of for almost a century (Rupp 2010: 67). Recent thin-section analysis of pottery

sherds excavated from the same contexts as figurines revealed the two have a

“slightly different” material composition (Rupp 2010: 72), demonstrating the

importance of prompt, comprehensive studies on ceramics, and the valuable place

of archaeometric investigations in these.

The lack of pottery studies has also made it difficult for researchers to identify new

Nok sites (Rupp et al. 2005: 284). Currently, it is only possible to confirm a site is

part of the Nok Culture-complex if it contains the distinctive, easily identifiable

figurines; sites containing only pottery (and/or other types of non-figurine

material), are potentially being missed (Rupp et al. 2005: 284) because this material

has never been thoroughly characterised. There are clear repercussions to ignoring

parts of an assemblage.

Whilst a Koma Land site (YK10 settlement Mound D) without figurines has

successfully been identified (Asamoah-Mensah 2013: 126), it was discovered in very

close proximity to – and probable association with – other figurine-producing sites

excavated during the YK10 field season (Insoll et al. 2010). As the archaeological

Koma Land region encompasses an area of approximately 150km2, a full

understanding of the pottery is necessary to prevent the same issue with the Nok

Culture repeating itself. Certainly, awareness of some Koma sites has been the

product of local inhabitants bringing figurines to the attention of archaeologists in

the region, and their excavation prompted by the same (e.g. Anquandah and Van

Ham 1985). As such, it is possible that other non-figurine sites have remained

unnoticed. A detailed pottery catalogue is an essential tool in these circumstances.

In other examples, the space Shaw devoted to describing various pot-types from

Igbo Ukwu in Nigeria fluctuated noticeably depending on how interesting he

perceived them to be (1970: 207-224). The anthropomorphic pottery, for example,

received detailed study, and the categories of plain sherds only one or two

sentences, resulting in an inconsistent analysis. Darling (1988a, 1988b), described

only the decorated sherds collected from the Kano State area of Nigeria. There was

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no mention of the plain sherds, (such as quantity, or fabric description), except for

the admission that some had been uncovered. When discussing anthropomorphic

pottery vessels from Obalara’s Land, also in Nigeria, Garlake placed them in the

same category as the figurines, and treated them distinctly from the remainder of

the pottery assemblage (1977); something that Anquandah, Cocle, and Scheutz et

al. have also done with Koma Land’s (dubious) examples of human and

anthropomorphic ‘vessel-figurines’ (Anquandah 1998: 182; Cocle 1991: 17-182;

Scheutz et al. 2016: 188-190; see Chapter 6.6).

As such, the research-culture pervading the early literature could fairly be

characterised as ad hoc. Firstly, many site reports were not officially published, but

were instead circulated in private work notes (Flight 1978a, 1978b, 1979) or in

closed-circle, subscription-only newsletters. For the best part of a decade, the

majority of West African site summaries, updates, and methodological and

theoretical discussions were circulated in brief articles in The West African

Archaeological Newsletter (1964-1969), which embargoed outside discussion or

publication of the contents to enable the contributors to develop their ideas, and to

publish (Shaw 1964: 2, 19, 1967: 1; this newsletter was the direct forerunner of the

West African Journal of Archaeology). Unfortunately, some never did, leaving brief

reports and summaries as successive researchers’ only sources. In other instances,

entire publications in prep never materialised, for example, Willett’s analysis of

Nigerian Ife pottery, as mentioned in Garlake (1977: 73). Non-publication has been

an issue of some duration; of 94 excavations conducted between 1933 to 1969,

Calvocoressi and York observed that whilst 50 had been published as “brief notes”,

at the time of writing, a further 36 were entirely unpublished (1971: 90-93).

Secondly, site explorations were not necessarily comprehensive or systematic. This

was a consequence not only of the medium of publication, but of individual

approaches, which included, but were not limited to, figurine-predilection. One of

the only recorded archaeological surveys in Liberia, for instance, was reported in a

four-page summary and had taken place in the archaeologist’s spare time (Atherton

1969). Neumann’s assessment of the forms, functions, and decorations of sherds

collected from across Sierra Leone concluded that the entire country contained only

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two or three pottery traditions (1966: 22); an assessment also restricted to four

pages, and without a published methodology. These are not atypical examples

(Anquandah 1987b; Anquandah and Van Ham 1985; Breternitz, 1968, 1975; Darling

1988a, 1988b; Eyo 1970, 1974; Garlake 1974, 1977; Momin 1989; Shaw 1970).

Of course, not all pottery analyses from this era can be so criticised. Crossland’s

comprehensive analysis of pottery from 15th century AD Begho-B2 in Ghana, for

example, was exemplary (1989), as was York’s examination of New Buipe and

surrounding sites in Ghana’s Gonja region (1973); an analysis so detailed that at the

time, York felt the need to justify his “somewhat detailed account of the pottery”

(1973: 1; emphasis added). Similarly, McIntosh’s and McIntosh’s wide-ranging

methodology and detailed analysis of pottery from medieval Jenné-Jeno,

Hambarketolo, and Kaniana, all in Mali (McIntosh and McIntosh 1980; McIntosh

1995), set something of a precedent for cataloguing ceramics (e.g. Insoll 1996,

Insoll, MacLean et al. 2013).

Nevertheless, the implications of this ad hoc approach still resonate, and the most

pivotal issue is that of standardisation, or, rather, the lack of it. Standardisation – of

methods, and of terminology – “is a sine qua non for any meaningful inter-regional

comparisons between ceramic assemblages” (Haour et al. 2010: 3), which

“increases the likelihood of correct attribution [of pottery types] by others” (Barclay

2001: 2). Historically, archaeologists in West Africa have been concerned with the

consistency of their terms and methods (Myers 1965; Willett 1967; York 1967), with

comprehensive and systematic practice (Aleru 1993; York 1967), and with the

suitability and reproducibility of their recording methods (Hewes 1969; Myers

1965).

Conversely, this contrasts with the practices evident in numerous historical and

contemporary Iron Age West African pottery analyses, which use a variety of terms,

without always defining them. For example, Petit identified the presence of “rocker

stamping” in north western Benin (2005: 54), Park recorded “rocker-combed”

decoration in Timbuktu (2010: 8), and in Ghana, York noted the presence of

“dogtooth” patterned pottery (1973). In each instance, the reader was left to

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determine the term’s meaning without the benefit of illustrations, photographs, or

definitions.

At the most basic level, the failure to define terminology creates a situation in

which (a) the same type of decoration could exist under several different names; (b)

variations in a decorative technique might go unnoticed because it has not been

thoroughly documented; (c) the reader’s interpretation may differ considerably

from the writer’s intended meaning; and (d), the lack of standardisation means

there is no framework in place to orientate and contextualise new pottery research,

hindering the ability of researchers to contribute information on the ceramics they

have analysed to the collective understanding of Iron Age West Africa. Historically,

these points have plagued understanding of roulette decorated sherds in West

African (and wider) contexts (Haour et al. 2010: 182; see also Hurley 1979 and

Soper 1985); an issue which has been discussed in Chapter 4.7.1; see also Appendix

14.

It is beyond the scope of this thesis to address all of these issues, and it is also

acknowledged that the desire for methodological standardisation is often

juxtaposed by the realities of working in the field. Here, the successful resolution of

methodological issues and obstacles may require a non-standard response, and,

indeed, an ad hoc approach. Nevertheless, this thesis has endeavoured to remain

understandable and transparent. To this end, Chapter 1 has offered a candid

discussion of the challenges that arose during fieldwork, and the modifications that

these issues led to. Further, Chapter 3 presents a detailed examination of the

methods used in this thesis, and the rationale behind them. Finally, throughout this

thesis, definitions of nomenclature, and illustrations, have been included.

2.5 Summary and conclusions: understanding past and present approaches to

Koma archaeology

The value of early archaeological research into Iron Age Koma Land was obscured

by the problematic theoretical approaches used to interpret it. These comprised

tenets of art and culture history that privileged the visual, the interesting, and

which wholly-defined entire cultures on the basis of particular artefact-categories.

Historically, the draw of figurines was undeniable; not just in Koma Land, but

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throughout West Africa. The implications of this practice still resonate, with studies

of pottery and figurines from the same sites disproportionate to one another, as

case studies above (Babalola 2010; Garlake 1974; Rupp 2005) have demonstrated.

This thesis’ purpose is to contribute to redressing this balance, via the analysis of

the YK10/11 pottery assemblage. Further, its purpose is to put the point already

repeatedly made in this thesis – that all types of ceramic artefact should be

analysed concurrently – into practice. Thus, the analysis of the YK10/11 pottery

assemblage (Chapter 4), and its uses, artefact-relationships, and deposition

contexts (Chapter 5), is reintegrated with the figurines in Chapter 6.

The figurines’ forms and functions are not privileged in Chapter 6, however, but are

comparatively analysed with the pottery in terms of their fabric, manufacturing

techniques, and depositional contexts. To further contextualise the YK10/11

assemblage, it is then critically compared in Chapter 7 to all of the known Koma

Land pottery assemblages (Asamoah-Mensah 2013; Nkumbaan 2016); with the

endeavour of both producing a wider characterisation of the pottery, and

determining whether the pottery from shrine and settlement contexts, their uses,

and treatments, can be differentiated.

Introducing or justifying archaeological research in West Africa with the observation

that no other work of its type has ever been conducted is a familiar refrain of

publications (Connah 1981: xv, 77; Davies 1967: 277; De Barros 1985: 20, 22; De

Corse 2012: 278; Dueppen 2012b: 115; Effah-Gyamfi 1985: 6; Insoll, MacLean et al.

2013: 13; MacEachern 2005: 459; McIntosh 1995: 130; Petit 2005: 1-2; Posnansky

1994: 373; Stahl 2001: 13). Nevertheless, it remains a fact that the comprehensive

analyses in this thesis – of the YK10/11 shrine mound pottery, of the pottery and

figurines, and of pottery from known shrine and settlement contexts – are the first

to be conducted for the Koma Land region.

Despite previous criticisms of the lack of pottery syntheses in West African

archaeology, it is apparent from the availability of current publications that this is

being rectified. In response to McIntosh and McIntosh, who in 1980 made the

complaint that “in many areas of West Africa, almost nothing is known of in

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developments of material culture, economy and technology during the two

millennia from c. 1000 BC to AD 1000” (McIntosh and McIntosh 1980: 16), over a

hundred publications relating to West African archaeological sites excavated in the

last three decades have been encountered during research for this thesis, the

majority of which contained ceramics analyses. An encouraging start; and one this

thesis has been able to contribute to.

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Chapter 3: Methodology

3.1 Introduction: research objectives and rationale

To recapitulate: the central research question was ‘what conclusions can we draw

about the motivations and identities of the Koma Land pottery and figurine

makers?’ and to complete this objective the following secondary questions were

devised:

1) What types of pottery vessels were being produced, in what quantities, and

what techniques were used to create them?

2) Does the choice of material and temper remain consistent across the

pottery assemblage?

3) Are the same sources/ types of clay chosen for both the pottery and the

figurines?

4) Was the same level of sophistication, and were the same stylistic choices

granted to both the pottery and the figurines?

The primary research question was deliberately open-ended because it was initially

unclear what could be expected from the YK10/11 pottery assemblage. As the first

analysis of its type, there were few other published Koma pottery sources that

could be referred to. Thus, the thesis’ aims could not be too specific. Open-ended

objectives, if used correctly, create a scenario in which the data directs the research

direction and design, because the project’s framework is shaped by the data rather

than the data being structured to fit the research objectives.

Granted, this approach was not entirely organic because there were questions in

mind from the outset, but the benefit of being open-ended here was that (a) these

objectives could be expanded and adapted, as occurred with the title of this thesis;

(b) it was easier to adapt the methodology in the field as the pottery assemblage,

its characteristics, and its limitations became known entities (and as was necessary;

see Chapter 1); and (c) it encouraged expansive data collection, which, whilst time

consuming, meant that analysis was not hindered or confined by the absence of

whole data categories that might later be found relevant, but which had not been

collected.

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Point (c) took inspiration from Crossland (1989), and McIntosh and McIntosh

(1980). The former kept every sherd excavated from Begho-B2 in Ghana, foresight

that later enabled him to rectify inaccuracies caused by students who had

incorrectly identified certain decoration techniques (Crossland 1989: xiii). The latter

regretted not identifying the locations of decoration on sherds and vessels from

Jenné-Jeno, as any patterns or significance with this could not later be commented

upon (McIntosh and McIntosh 1980: 115).

Elsewhere, Dueppen, who conducted the first detailed ceramics analysis of pottery

from Iron Age Kirikongo in Burkina Faso, deliberately documented every possible

facet of every sherd, using the logic that he did not know what data would be

relevant until he began analysis once he had left the field (Dueppen 2012b: 116). As

the data collection scenario for the YK10/11 assemblage was very similar to

Dueppen’s, the same rationale was applied. Whilst it was not possible to retain the

assemblage, as Crossland had (1989: xiii), the lesson to be thorough was

appreciated.

The secondary research questions focused on the pottery’s materiality, the

processes through which they were created, and the potential material

relationships they shared with the Koma figurines, their contextual and

chronological contemporaries. The purpose of questions one and two was to gain a

thorough understanding of the pottery assemblage and its composition, providing

the foundation for further analysis. Producing a catalogue meant developing an

understanding of the types of vessels in the assemblage, from which possible

functions were identified. The techniques used to produce the pottery, and the

consistency of the clay and temper across the assemblage were established through

macro-analysis, but also with the assistance of exploratory X-ray fluorescence (XRF),

p-XRF, and scanning electron microscopy (SEM) techniques (see Section 3.2.2.2).

For comparative purposes, clay and rock samples were also assessed using these

methods.

The third and fourth questions were designed to satisfy the point that analysis of

different types of ceramic should be integrated. Understanding whether the pottery

and figurines were produced using the same materials, similar techniques, and

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whether they were finished to a comparable level of quality offered valuable insight

into the potential uses and meanings of both types of artefacts, as well as the

relationships between them and their makers. Further, it gave insight into the

makers’ understandings of, and interactions with, clay as a medium for expressing

social and religious values. Although found together in shrine mounds, this type of

combined analysis has never been attempted. Until now, the relationships between

the pottery and figurines have only briefly been explored (e.g. Kankpeyeng et al.

2013: 482).

As with any methodology, the purpose of this chapter was to critically explain and

justify the methods used to fulfil the objectives of this research. The following

structure was thus adopted. A detailed review of the data sampling and collection

strategies (including alterations) employed in the field has been provided. This

includes the strategies employed for the YK10/11 pottery assemblage, the exported

YK10/11 pottery sherds and rock samples, and the exported YK16 clay samples. The

archaeometric techniques are then examined and justified.

3.2 Methods

3.2.1 Sampling

Prior to fieldwork, the plan was to employ McIntosh’s and McIntosh’s “mix-and-

divide sampling method”, whereby the sherds are piled onto a flat surface, and

after being thoroughly mixed by hand, are divided “approximately into halves with

a wooden board” (McIntosh and McIntosh 1980: 113-114). This is then repeated,

and “two of the resulting four piles were re-bagged and kept for recording”, with

the aim of achieving as close to a 50% random sample as possible (McIntosh and

McIntosh 1980: 113-114). Developed by McIntosh and McIntosh during their

excavations at the Iron Age site of Jenné-Jeno in Mali (1995: 133), this site, as with

Koma Land, had had no previous comprehensive ceramic analysis conducted at it

(McIntosh and McIntosh 1995: 130). The mix-and-divide method is designed to

make large pottery assemblages more manageable in cases where because of

constraints with funding, time, and transportation, the pottery must be analysed in

the field (McIntosh and McIntosh 1980: 113). Whilst the YK10/11 sherds had

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already been excavated and were in storage awaiting analysis, these issues were

still relevant. Time, transportation, and funding, was limited.

Thus, the mix-and-divide method was chosen as the most efficient way of

producing a random sample that was statistically useful, but spatially and

temporally manageable. Firstly, the YK10/11 assemblage was split between two

storage sites, which were at the opposite ends of the country; after excavation, a

small portion of the YK10/11 pottery was sampled and transported from the field –

the village of Yikpabongo in Northern Region – to the archives at the DAHS at the

University of Ghana in Legon to await analysis. The remainder stayed in on-site

storage in Yikpabongo.

Secondly, the duration of fieldwork in Yikpabongo was limited. Every January,

University of Ghana’s archaeology students and staff travel to Yikpabongo for a

two-week field school and research excavation. My fieldwork season was designed

to coincide with the field school, to safely and conveniently travel to site. In

consequence, time was limited. Travel by road from Legon to Yikpabongo took 48

hours each way, leaving a ten-day period to analyse the excavated YK10/11

ceramics stored there. Travel by road in the harmattan season with challenging

road-quality and conditions, combined with the pottery’s weight, meant there

were, by necessity, severe restrictions as to the amount of pottery I could transport

back to the University for more leisurely examination.

Thirdly, original estimates had placed the pottery assemblage in the region of

55,000 sherds (pers comm. B. Kankpeyeng, May 2015). Cataloguing 55,000 sherds in

eight weeks was not deemed feasible; consequently, a robust, but efficient and

resource-minimal sampling strategy was required. In reality, the combined total of

YK10/11 pottery at both storage facilities was 9692 sherds (see Chapter 4.1). The

reason for the overestimation was not explained. It was typical practice in the DAHS

to discard undecorated body sherds, but it is unlikely that this accounted for all

45,000 absentee sherds. Further, both portions of the assemblage did contain

significant numbers of undecorated body sherds.

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The assemblage at both sites was stored in context-labelled finds bags. The quantity

of pottery from each year of excavation (2010 and 2011) varied at the two sites; on-

campus there were fewer than 300 YK10 sherds, as the remainder were in

Yikpabongo. Overall, one-third of the whole assemblage had been stored on-

campus.

Thus, the entire on-campus YK10 assemblage was assessed, because it was

miniscule, and only the YK11 portion of the on-campus assemblage was sampled

using the 50% mix-and-divide method originally planned. In Yikpabongo, it proved

impossible to carry out the mix-and-divide method because of challenging

environmental conditions and inadequate space to accurately sample the pottery in

this manner.

Instead, the pottery was organised and separated first by context number, and then

by sherd type, with separate piles for rims, decorated body sherds, undecorated

body sherds, perforated sherds, bases, handles, lugs, and other. YK10 and YK11

were catalogued individually (because they were bagged individually). All non-

sherds that had inadvertently been stored with the sherds were placed in the

‘other’ category. This included one eroded but otherwise-complete figurine, eight

figurine fragments, one piece of glass, 22 querns, 25 pieces of quartz, and nine local

rock pieces. All artefacts in this category were re-bagged, labelled, and given to

Head of the DAHS for appropriate storage. The decorated body sherds were further

separated into the following categories: grooved/ stamped/ incised decorated

sherds (some displayed all three), roulette decorated sherds, and a third category

for sherds displaying both roulette and grooved/stamped/incised decoration.

The purpose of sorting the sherds in this manner was to prioritise in the face of a

significant time constraint. Rims, bases, handles, lugs, perforated sherds, decorated

body sherds, and undecorated body sherds were the order of priority, with this final

category only considered when all of the categories ahead of it had been exhausted

for both YK10 and YK11. This simple, improvised method proved effective, and

allowed all of the Yikpabongo YK10 and YK11 rims, bases, handles, lugs, perforated

sherds, and decorated body sherds to be completely catalogued.

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Conversely, it did mean that a significant portion of the undecorated body sherds

were not fully recorded. In total, 4.49% (n=245) of the undecorated body sherds for

YK10 and YK11 combined were fully recorded using the criteria set out in Table 4.

This amount was not deliberately selected, but simply represents the quantity of

undecorated body sherds that were able to be fully catalogued in the time

available. The remainder were counted, and were examined on their edges for

evidence of surface treatment, which if present, was recorded. This surface

treatment primarily took the form of slipping, the colours of which were again

identified using a Munsell soil chart.

3.2.2 Data collection

3.2.2.1 The YK10/11 assemblage

As Chapter 3.1 outlined, data collection was deliberately comprehensive. Data was

collected for all sherd types: rims/ necks, decorated and undecorated body sherds,

perforated sheds, bases, lugs, and handles, in up to 19 categories, and was collated

in a database. The 19 categories have been illustrated in Table 4. For relevant

categories, the descriptions and criteria set out by the Prehistoric Ceramics

Research Group (PCRG 2010) were utilised. For a description of each data category,

see Appendix 1.

Diagnostic Sherd

Type

Rim/ neck Decorated

Body

Undecorated

Body

Base Lug Handle

Information

Illustration

Number? X X X X X X

Sherd ID

X X X X X X

Context

X X X X X X

Description (sherd

type/ shape/

function)

X X X X X X

Diameter (cm)

X X

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Average rim

Thickness (cm) X

Average Sherd

Thickness (cm) X X X X X X

Condition of Sherd

X X X X X X

Firing Condition of

Sherd X X X X X X

Clay Hardness

X X X X X X

Clay Colours(s)

X X X X X X

Fabric Type

X X X X X X

Inclusion Frequency

(%) X X X X X X

Description of

Inclusions X X X X X X

Inclusions Well

Sorted? X X X X X X

Decoration(s)?

(If so, type) X X X X X

Location of

Decoration(s) X X X X X

Surface

Treatment(s)? (If

so, type)

X X X X X X

Location of Surface

Treatment(s) X X X X X X

Table 4: The information captured for each diagnostic sherd type.

3.2.2.2 Archaeometric samples

Thirty-three samples were collected and exported from Ghana to the UK in January

2016 with the kind permission of the Ghanaian Museum and Monuments Board.

The sample size was fairly small because of funding and export constraints. It

consisted of:

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a) Three clay samples collected during the field school in Yikpabongo in

January 2016 (and thus designated YK16).

b) Three YK10/11 rock samples (two sandstones and one quartzite).

c) A piece of daub from the YK10/11 assemblage.

d) Twenty-five YK10/11 pot sherds.

e) A piece of tile from the YK10/11 assemblage misidentified in the field as a

pot sherd (unanalysed).

The samples were exported with the explicit understanding that they would be

subject to scanning electron microscopy, and X-ray fluorescence, that analysis may

be destructive, and that none were required to be returned to Ghana at a future

date. Respecting the wishes of the Head of the Department of Archaeology and

Heritage Studies, who kindly wrote a letter of support for the export permit, only

undecorated body sherds, or body sherds with very eroded decoration, were

selected as samples. No other sherd-types were selected.

3.2.2.2.1 Clay

The three clay samples (CS1, CS2, and CS3) were designated YK16 because they

were sampled during the January 2016 field school in Yikpabongo following the

directions of local informants as to the area’s clay sources, and with verbal

permission to collect samples. Each of the three clays was sampled from a different

source. The clay beds were approximately 28m from the periphery of the village

and were all within 30m of one another. Around 2kg of each clay type was sampled,

and to reduce contamination by litter, surface soil and organic debris, each was

excavated from a depth of 30cm, measured precisely with a ruler, and using a

cleaned mattock, before being labelled and stored in three layers of aluminium foil

protected in a heavy-duty finds bag.

CS1: The colour of this clay sample was 7.5YR 5/3 in the Munsell system and the

fabric contained granules: white, brown, black, and some semi-transparent

inclusions measuring 0.25cm and less. The inclusions made up less than 15% of the

sample and were angular to sub-rounded.

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CS2: The colours were a mix of 2.5YR 5/4 and N3 and the fabric contained coarse

sand to very coarse sand sized inclusions (0.5cm-1cm) in red-brown, white, and

black. Very rarely, mica was present. The inclusions were sub-angular in shape and

made up approximately 20% of the sample.

CS3: The colour was 7.5YR 4/2. The fabric contained angular inclusions in red-

orange (0.15cm and less), red-brown (0.1cm and less), and white (0.5cmand less).

These constituted less than 15% of the sample.

All three clay samples contained roots and plant debris. Sample 3 also contained a

few small pieces (approximately 0.2cm) of snail shell.

Local informants explained that Yikpabongo had not had its own potter for some

years and that the nearest was in Fumbisi, around 40km away. I was advised that

the clay sources I had sampled were now only used by the village’s older

generations, who collected clay and used it in cooking for (unspecified) medicinal

purposes; selecting a lump (of unspecified size) and adding it to the food being

cooked.

3.2.2.2.2 Rock

Three representative samples were selected from the rock pieces in the YK10/11

assemblage. Unworked pieces were found within the shrine mound during

excavations, (Insoll et al. 2010; Insoll et al. 2012: 36) so it was evident these were

not likely to have been accidentally introduced to the finds bags. These samples

were analysed using XRF to explore whether it was possible to determine whether

they were used as temper. The samples (Figure 4) were as follows (pers comm. D.

Gelsthorpe, Manchester Museum, April 2016):

Sample R4: iron rich sandstone;

Sample R8: quartzite (medium grained sandstone);

Sample R21: weathered sandstone.

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Figure 4: Sample R4, R8, and R21.

3.2.2.2.3 Pottery

The 26 pottery sherds were sampled with slightly greater difficulty because of the

split-site storage issue (see Section 3.4). Samples were chosen in Yikpabongo by

spreading out the YK10 and YK11 sherds randomly, without reference to their year

of excavation or context. A variety of sherds were chosen by touch and by visual

inspection of clay colours, hardness, and inclusions. These samples were labelled

and bagged and were returned to campus. Here, they were compared with the

selection of YK10 and YK11 pottery stored in the Department, and additional,

unrepresented sherds were added to those already selected. As mentioned in

Section 3.2.2.1, only eroded/ undecorated body sherds were chosen.

3.3 Archaeometric techniques

Scanning electron microscopy and X-ray fluorescence were conducted for the

purpose of gaining compositional data about the YK10/11 assemblage’s fabric and

slip. P-XRF was conducted at a later date to create a larger sample of compositional

data. All of these methods were ‘non-destructive’; even when a sherd was

destroyed (or partially destroyed) to create a sample, the sample itself remained

intact, and can be stored and reused in future analyses. Similarly, these methods do

not affect or change the samples’ chemical composition.

In total:

a) Seventeen YK10/11 pot sherd samples, a piece of daub, and the three YK16

clay samples were analysed using SEM. This was undertaken in the

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Department of Earth, Atmospheric, and Environmental Sciences at the

University of Manchester with guidance from Dr. Bagshaw.

b) Four YK10/11 pot sherd samples, the three YK16 clay samples, one

sandstone sample, one iron rich sandstone sample, and one quartzite

sample, were analysed using XRF conducted remotely at the University of

Exeter.

c) Nineteen pot sherd samples and the three clay samples, were analysed

using p-XRF in the Department of Archaeology at the University of

Manchester.

3.3.1 Scanning electron microscopy (SEM)

Scanning electron microscopy functions by a focusing a “high beam of

light…through a series of magnetic lenses” onto a tiny area on the surface of the

pottery sample (Barclay 2001: 25). The “patterns of electrons which bounce off the

specimen” are captured as an image (Barclay 2001: 25). The light beam can be

manipulated to move across the sherd and analyse different sections of it, and is

very precise; particular areas of interest to the researcher can be chosen, and

examined. The area can be magnified up to 100,000+ to focus on minute details

such as single inclusions (Barclay 2001: 25).

The value of SEM is its ability to provide compositional data about the surface of a

sherd, as well as to produce microscopic high-resolution images of that surface,

which can also be used to examine clay particle size, inclusions, details of slips,

paints, and glazes (Barclay 2001: 26; Frahm 2014: 6487; Orton and Hughes 2013:

182). The limitations of this technique are its inability to detect some trace

elements, (Orton and Hughes 2013: 182) and the fact that it is labour intensive and

time consuming (Orton and Hughes 2013: 182).

The SEM facility available for use for this research did not require the use of thin-

sections, as is typical of many SEM analyses (Orton and Hughes 2013: 182), but

used whole sherds. Beyond ensuring the sherd was small enough to be set into the

vacuum-sealed holding chamber, (which was achieved by breaking a 2cm to 3cm

piece from large sherds, with a hammer), and securely attaching the sherd to the

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chamber’s base plate with a single-use adhesive pad, no other sample preparation

was required.

As with the p-XRF analysis, below, the most significant variable was the need for a

flat, even surface on which to concentrate the light beam. This issue was offset, as

far as possible, by selecting the most even side of the sherd, and by securing and

stabilising it within the instrument’s holding chamber with clamps designed for that

purpose. The nature of this technique – examination of the sherd’s surface – also

meant that the presence of surface treatments, such as slip, would inform the

results. The results and discussion of the SEM data has been presented in Chapter

4.4.1.

3.3.2 X-ray fluorescence (XRF)

XRF irradiates a sample with X-rays, which:

Displace electrons from the inner orbits of the constituent atoms, which are

then filled by electrons from the outer levels. The energy released in this

process is emitted as secondary or fluorescent X-rays, the wavelengths of

which are unique to each element and form the basis for the identifications

(Bozzola and Russell 1999: 373).

The value of lab-based XRF is its accuracy and its ability to detect a variety of

elements (Rice 2015: 302); however, it is often time consuming and expensive.

Indeed, the expense of XRF meant that only ten samples were analysed using this

method. This was kindly funded by Professor Insoll.

The XRF samples were prepared and analysed at the University of Exeter in a

Bruker-AXS S4 Pioneer X-ray fluorescence spectrometer (WDS XRF), with the use of

the semi-quantitative analysis programme provided by the manufacturer (Anon

2017: 2). Five grams of each sample was used in a pressed-powder pellet (Anon

2017: 2). This method used WDS XRF, or “wavelength dispersive” XRF, which

accurately measures “+15 elements (including major, minor, and trace elements)

per sample” (Barclay 2001: 20). It is more accurate than energy dispersive XRF (ED

XRF), which is also commonly used by archaeologists (Barclay 2001: 20), and

indeed, was the p-XRF method in this thesis. Loss on ignition – which is performed

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by heating the sample to allow volatile compounds (e.g. organic material) to be

extracted – was undertaken for all samples, and the loss measured (Anon 2017: 2).

Currently, the only other known application of XRF to Koma Land material is

Asamoah-Mensah’s (2013) X-ray fluorescence spectrometry study of clay samples

from Fumbisi (a village near Yikpabongo where there is still a potting tradition), and

soil and pottery samples from the YK10 settlement mound (Mound D; Chapter 7.3).

The clay and soil were tested whole, whilst the sherds were made into pellets

(Asamoah-Mensah 2013: 66). In total, five soil samples and ten pottery sherds were

assessed (Asamoah-Mensah 2013: 66). The number of clay samples was

unspecified. The results were normalised and analysed using Pearson’s correlation

coefficient. From this analysis, Asamoah-Mensah concluded that the fabric of the

settlement mound’s pottery was homogenous, and that the strength of the positive

correlation (0.62 correlation coefficient) between the Fumbisi-clay samples and the

Koma pottery “indicate that the vessels were imported or produced at Fumbisi”

(2013: 117).

Features shared by Asamoah-Mensah’s XRF analysis and those in this thesis are the

small sample sizes, and the use of different sample-types. Critically, however,

Asamoah-Mensah does not acknowledge these variables, or their influence on her

conclusions. As such, the interpretations above should be treated circumspectly. It

is stressed here that the YK10/11 analysis is exploratory and would benefit from the

support of further XRF analyses and larger samples.

3.3.3 Portable X-ray fluorescence (p-XRF)

P-XRF was used on the basis of availability, time, cost, and the need for a larger

sample size to strengthen the insight provided by the exploratory XRF analysis. P-

XRF was available at no cost to this project and minimal cost to the Archaeology

Department at the University of Manchester. Twenty-two samples were prepared:

19 sherds, and three clay samples. The repetition of the XRF analysis of the clays

using p-XRF was deliberate, to allow a modicum of comparison between the two.

The results of the p-XRF are presented in Chapter 4.4.2.

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Energy-dispersing X-ray fluorescence was undertaken using a Thermo Scientific

Niton XL3t 980 GOLDD+ portable XRF instrument in the Archaeology Department

(Campbell 2017: 2). Samples were prepared for p-XRF in two different ways,

dependent on their form. Already-powdered samples were measured into plastic

XRF cups to a depth of approximately 1cm, and sealed with a cellophane membrane

to prevent contamination and leakage. With p-XRF, “critical penetration depths are

in the 1-10mm range” (Potts 2008: 5), necessitating a sample-thickness of at least

0.7cm (Campbell 2017: 2). The whole sherds were simply measured on their

exterior surface with no further preparation. All were clean.

The variables in this procedure were:

(a) The two sample types (powdered and whole), which had different

thicknesses and densities;

(b) The presence of slip on some of the sherds;

(c) The curvature or uneven-surface of some sherds.

Fifty-six percent (n=13) of the samples were pressed-powder, and the remainder,

whole sherds. Comparing the results of pressed-powder and sherds are typically

within acceptable error margins, “but not for some heavy elements”, such as iron

and titanium (Liritzis and Zacharias 2011: 136). The analysis in Chapter 4 has

considered this.

Seven of the whole sherds were slipped (see Appendix 7). A thick coating, e.g. of

slip, glaze, or paint, will produce readings for that coating and not the sherd’s

matrix (Holmqvist 2017: 363). For whole sherds, the flattest surface and – if

possible – the surface without slip were selected. A flat, smooth surface provides a

more accurate reading than a curved one because there is no air-gap between the

sample and X-rays (Holmqvist 2017: 364; Liritzis and Zacharias 2011: 133). Each

sample was measured twice, for 80 seconds each time, and the mean of each

sample provided the final dataset (Campbell 2017: 2).

The p-XRF results were expressed as elements in parts per million (ppm).

Comparatively, the XRF results had been recorded as oxides and trace elements and

were expressed as percentages (%). To facilitate readability of the two datasets, the

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oxides were converted to elements, and all were converted to ppm. The oxides

were converted using the following standard formula:

𝑎 (𝑝𝑝𝑚) =𝑏

𝑐𝑓× 10000

Where a is the element expressed in ppm, b is the oxide (%), and cf is the

conversion factor. The XRF trace elements were simply expressed in ppm using the

following standard formula, in which a is the element expressed in ppm and b is the

element expressed as a percentage:

𝑎 (𝑝𝑝𝑚) = 𝑏 × 10000

To account for the high variation within the XRF and p-XRF datasets – which was

simply caused by some elements being present in large quantities, and others only

traces – both were normalised. When a dataset contains different units of

measurement that create issues with scale, normalisation removes the unit of

measurement by transforming the data to a scale on which it is comparable. This

was achieved using Microsoft Excel’s standardisation function, which calculates

normalised values using the mean average and standard deviation for each

element’s dataset. To prevent the data being skewed by uncalibrated, trace, or

unstable elements (such as calcium), the sherds were assessed on the basis of their

copper (Cu), lead (Pb), iron (Fe), manganese (Mn), nickel (Ni), rubidium (Rb),

strontium (Sr), zinc (Zn), and zirconium (Zr) content.

Each normalised dataset – for XRF and p-XRF – was then assessed using principal

components analysis (PCA). PCA is a descriptive form of statistics that analyses and

aids the visualisation of variation in a dataset by combining correlated data into

values – or factors, or, components – which can then be plotted. The first two

factors were calculated for each dataset using SPSS software and then visualised

using scatter graphs (Chapter 4.4.2).

The advantages of p-XRF are: it is cost- and time-efficient, as sample-preparation

procedures are minimal, and the data-processing is rapid, and it can be entirely

non-destructive. All of these factors were taken advantage in this thesis. Despite

legitimate criticisms of the inability to compare p-XRF data obtained from different

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makes and models of instrument (and for the same reason, with data obtained

from XRF instruments), because of different calibration systems (Killick 2015: 244),

data from different makes and models of XRF equipment are subject to the same

issue (pers comm. S. Campbell, September 2017). In this study, the p-XRF data was

calibrated using known international rock and soil standards, and only elements

that were over the limit of detection were calibrated (Campbell 2017: 2).

3.4 Summary and conclusions

The research methodology was designed to be as comprehensive as possible. It was

known from the outset that, archaeometric samples aside, the majority of the

YK10/11 assemblage would remain in Ghana. Nine weeks of fieldwork – with eight

weeks of data collection time – was inadequate to complete data collection and

start analysis. The pottery itself was an unknown entity. Whilst it had been

mentioned in a few publications (Insoll et al. 2012; Kankpeyeng et al. 2011, 2013), it

was not described anywhere in detail. Insoll’s notes (Insoll et al. 2010) were

valuable, but only described a small portion of the 2010 excavation and

assemblage. The only other excavation of Koma Land, in 1985 (Anquandah 1998;

Anquandah and Van Ham 1985), had an unclear pottery methodology, and a

pottery analysis that was incomplete and contained errors (see Chapter 2.2.1).

For these reasons, and accepting the lessons learnt from the experiences of other

archaeologists studying pottery in West Africa (Crossland 1989; Dueppen 2012a,

2012b; McIntosh and McIntosh 1980), the decision was made to be as

comprehensive with data collection as time, and the pottery itself, would allow. The

fieldwork was not without challenges that affected the data and methodology (see

Chapter 1.2.5), but as Section 3.2 makes evident, every effort was made to ensure

the data collected was comprehensive and consistent. The pottery analysis, which is

the focus of Chapter 4, used every data category (see Section 3.2.2.1) to produce as

detailed an account of the YK10/11 assemblage as possible.

The decision to use archaeometric techniques was made to enhance the

conclusions that could be drawn from the fabric analysis. SEM and XRF were

selected as compatible, complementary techniques that had a long ‘tried-and-

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tested’ record within archaeological science (Malainey 2011: 488; Orton and

Hughes 2013: 169). Often, “social” archaeologists (i.e. those without a science

background) are discouraged by scientific techniques (Joyce 2011: 193). Following

arguments by Joyce (2011) and others (Jones 2002), a deliberate attempt to

integrate archaeometric techniques was made in this thesis in order to create a

stronger dataset and build more convincing interpretations.

Macro-analysis of the fabric was not neglected, however. Whilst time consuming, it

is inexpensive and easily provides an overview of the fabric of an entire

assemblage. It is also accessible; archaeometric techniques may change, develop, or

become obsolete, and are not accessible to all researchers. Further, the data quality

is not affected by any other variable than that of the consistency and quality of the

data collection. As such, both micro- and macro-analysis are used in Chapter 4.

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Chapter 4: The YK10/11 pottery catalogue

4.1 Introduction to the YK10/11 pottery assemblage

Having introduced the theoretical (Chapter 2) and methodological (Chapter 3)

background of the YK10/11 pottery assemblage, Chapter 4 catalogues it on the

basis of forms and forming techniques, macro- and micro-analysis of fabric,

decorations and surface treatments, firing techniques and conditions, use wear,

functions, and raw materials analysis of six locally-sourced clay and rock samples.

Chapter 4’s structure follows the chaîne opératoire. Fabric analysis included macro-

analysis of the pottery based on visual examination, and micro-analysis in the form

of scanning electron microscopy, and both portable and laboratory-based X-ray

fluorescence. The decision to include both macro- and micro-fabric analysis was

made to enable the identification and characterisation of future Iron Age Koma

Land pottery assemblages, regardless of the resources available.

The assemblage consisted of 9692 sherds from both excavation years. The YK11

assemblage in the DAHS’s archives was 50% sampled (see Chapter 3.2.1). This left

7452 sherds for analysis. All sherds under 2cm were discarded as inadequate

providers of useful diagnostic data. For rim sherds, at least 2cm of the rim had to be

present and reasonably uneroded for useful data about diameter and form to be

retrieved. Sherds smaller than 2cm could not accurately be measured using a rim

diameter chart. The bases, lugs, and handles were all 2.5cm, or greater, so it was

unnecessary to specify any further diagnostic criteria for these. Two thousand and

four sherds were discarded during this process. Five thousand, four hundred, and

forty-eight sherds remained; the analysis of which is presented here.

Sherd type Number Percentage total (%)

Undecorated rim/neck sherds 685 12.57

Decorated rim sherds 265 4.86

Undecorated body sherds 2,191 40.21

Decorated body sherds 2,267 41.61

Bases 35 0.46

Handles 3 0.05

Lugs 2 0.03

Table 5: A summary of the sherd types in the YK10/11 assemblage.

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As outlined in Chapter 3, some portions of the assemblage were affected by time

constraints. Consequently, roulette decorated sherds with decoration too eroded

for the specific roulette motif to be identified were afforded lower priority. These

were only counted and catalogued, by context number, as “eroded roulette”, and

their fabric was not examined. This affected 20.01% (n=454) of the decorated

sherds. A further five eroded roulette sherds were also samples selected for micro-

fabric analysis; their fabric was examined (see Appendix 7 for a full list of sherds

selected for micro-analysis). For the same reason, a sample of 245 (4.49%)

undecorated sherds were selected randomly from those available. These were fully

analysed, to determine fabric, whilst the remainder were counted and catalogued

by context number and presence of surface treatment, only. The 245 sherds include

the 20 undecorated body sherds that were selected for micro-analysis.

Sherd type Fully analysed Partially analysed

Decorated rim sherds 265 0

Undecorated rim sherds

685 0

Decorated body sherds 1,813 454

Undecorated body sherds

245 1,946

Bases 35 0

Handles 3 0

Lugs 2 0

Totals 3,048 2,400

Table 6: A summary of fully- and partially-analysed sherds.

As mentioned in the previous chapter, 13.87% (n=756) of the assessed assemblage

was in poor condition, and a further 26.89% (n=2004) sherds had already been

discarded as undiagnostic. Many more sherds were only just of diagnostic size. As

such, no attempt was made to estimate vessel numbers. The sample was not

weighed. Table 6 is a full breakdown of the number analysed. All rim sherds, bases,

handles, and lugs were fully assessed.

Within the undecorated rim, decorated body, and undecorated body sherd

categories, there were also 47 perforated sherds. Unlike in Asamoah-Mensah’s

(2013) and Nkumbaan’s (2016) Koma Land pottery methodologies (see Chapter

7.3.2), in this analysis perforations were treated purely as a functional, not a

decorative, element. They were subsumed into the appropriate sherd category and

only counted as decorated if one was present. Perforated sherds are discussed in

Section 4.2.4.

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4.2 Typology

4.2.1 Rims

Nine hundred and fifty rims were analysed. The rim diameters ranged from 6cm to

61cm, but 78.73% (n=748) clustered between 15cm to 34cm, as Figure 5

demonstrates.

Figure 5: A graph showing the size-distribution of YK10/11 rim diameters

See Appendix 2 for the full rim diameter data table, and Appendix 4 for data on

vessel circumference. The circumference of the smallest vessel was 18.85cm, and

the largest 191.64cm. The circumference of each rim sherd, and its frequency in the

YK10/11 assemblage, has been calculated and is presented in Figure 6, below. The

average sherd thickness of the rims ranged between 0.4cm and 2.8cm (see

Appendix 5). The mean rim sherd thickness was 1.14cm.

0 20 40 60 80 100 120 140 160 180 200 220 240 260

Indeterminate

0cm-4cm

5cm-9cm

10cm-14cm

15cm-19cm

20cm-24cm

25cm-29cm

30cm-34cm

35cm-39cm

40cm-44cm

45cm-49cm

50cm-54cm

55cm-59cm

60cm-64cm

No. of rims

Dia

met

er (

cm)

Frequency of YK10/11 rim diameters (cm)

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Figure 6: A visualisation of the frequency of the rims in the YK10/11 assemblage by circumference.

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The rims were characterised by everted, inverted, and straight types, which

produced closed vessels with everted rims, closed vessels with inverted rims, and

open vessels with straight rim profiles. Everted rim types were most frequent, at

78.42% (n=745), followed by inverted rim types, at 14.63% (n=139), and finally,

straight rim types; 6.84% (n=65). There was also one neck (0.1%) in the assemblage.

The rim types have been organised by vessel form – closed, open or straight – and

variations in rim shape were identified for each using sub-categories, which have

been illustrated and described below.

4.2.1.1 Closed vessels

Figure 7: Rim profiles in the YK10/11 assemblage.

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Closed Lipped (CL1-CL17): an everted rim shape with a pronounced lip and

outwardly-sloping walls, producing a closed vessel form. There were 17

subcategories.

Closed Flat Lipped (FL1-FL3): an everted rim style with a flat-lipped profile and

outwardly-sloping walls, producing a closed vessel form. There were three

subcategories.

Closed Squared Lipped (SL1-SL2): an everted rim style with a squared lip profile,

and outwardly-sloping walls, producing a closed vessel form. There were two

subcategories.


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Closed Squared (CS1-CS2): an inverted rim shape with a squared profile and

outwardly-angled walls, producing a closed vessel type. There were two

subcategories.

Closed Flat (CF1-CF2): an inverted rim shape with a flat rim profile and outwardly-

angled body walls, producing a closed vessel form. There were two subcategories.

Closed Rounded (CR1-CR12): an inverted rim shape with a rounded profile and

outwardly-angled walls, creating a closed vessel form. There were 12 subcategories.

4.2.1.2 Open vessels


Open rounded (OR1-3): An open vessel form with a rounded rim and inwardly-

sloping walls. There were three subcategories.

Open flat (OF1-3): An open vessel form with a flat, tapered rim and walls inwardly-

sloping walls. There were three subcategories.

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4.2.1.3 Straight vessels


Straight Rounded (SR1-SR3): a straight rim shape with a rounded edge, and straight

walls, producing an open vessel form. There were three subcategories.

Straight Angled (SA1-SA3): a straight rim with an angled/ tapered profile, and

straight-sided walls, producing an open vessel form. There were three

subcategories.

Straight Flat (SF1): a straight rim with a flattened profile, and straight-sided walls,

producing an open vessel form. There was only one category.

4.2.2 Bases and legs

Bases formed only 0.6% (n=35) of the YK10/11 assemblage. Five base types were

identified:

Type B1a: Deep concave pedestal base. This made up 2.9% (n=1) of the base

sherds.

Type B1b: Concave pedestal base. This formed 8.6% (n=3) of the base sherds.

Type B1c: Flat pedestal base. This constituted 42.8% (n=15) of the bases.

Type B2: Flat bases formed 37.1% (n=13) of the bases in this assemblage.

Type B3: Pot-stand legs made up 8.6% (n=3) of the base types.

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The base sherds’ fabric was analogous; medium-fine micaceous fabric, with

predominantly white, some black, and, generally, well sorted, inclusions. Base B1a

was the exception. Its fabric was fine, and it contained very well sorted white, black,

micaceous, and occasional pink-coloured inclusions. Its sherd thickness was very

even and consistent and it was in very good condition; indicating that it was made

more recently. One other base also contained occasional white quartz pieces of

0.3cm and smaller. Whilst some of the bases had been slipped, none had been

decorated.

The bases’ diameters ranged between 4cm to 15cm, although the majority

clustered between 6cm to 10cm. Two bases were too eroded for their diameter to

be accurately measured. The pedestal bases typically had larger diameters (7cm to

15cm) that the non-pedestal types (4cm to 9cm). The average sherd thickness of

the bases ranged between 0.7cm to 2.7cm; the mean average thickness was

1.56cm. Three examples of Bc1 had complete profiles; as such, these were

confirmed as shallow bowls/ plates.

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Figure 11: Clockwise from top left: a flat base (11a), a pot-stand leg showing the curvature similar in

design to the figurines’ ‘ball-and-socket joint’ (11b), a flat base (11c), a flat pedestal base (11d), a lug

(11e), and a concave pedestal base (11f).

11e

11a

11b

11c

11d

11f

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Pot-stands were not found in the YK10/11 assemblage, but the presence of pot-

stand legs confirms their existence. The legs were hand-formed and had been

affixed using a technique that Insoll et al. had observed in the figurines and

described as reminiscent of a “ball and socket” joint (Insoll et al. 2013: 14; see

Figure 11b for an example). The technique was used for figurines to affix their

limbs, particularly arms, to the body (Insoll et al. 2013: 14). This technique and its

implications have been discussed in Chapter 6.3.1.

4.2.3 Handles and lugs

Handles and lugs formed a miniscule proportion (0.08% combined) of the YK10/11

assemblage. Potentially, this reflects aesthetic choices, vessel function(s), and/ or

deposition practices.

The three handles measured between 2.5cm to 3.5cm in thickness. All were of the

same fabric, shape, and style. None had any fragments of body sherd still attached.

Their size and thickness suggest they were made for large vessels. The surviving

edge of one of the three handles was scored with a deep incision down its length,

at the point the handle would attach to the vessel body. This appears to be

evidence of the forming technique, in which the clay was rolled into a cylinder,

which was flattened and then folded in half down its width to create a thick, sturdy

handle.

All handles exhibited use-wear on their exterior surface; most exposed to use and

touch, the slip here had eroded away, and the surface was coarse and pitted. Only

one was decorated, with irregularly applied medium braided strip roulette. From a

functional perspective, this could have been to assist with grip.

There were two lugs. Both were raised areas that had been smoothed and flattened

out at the top (see Figure 11d). One lug was approximately 5cm in diameter and

had been left deliberately undecorated on a pot sherd whose exterior was

otherwise covered with strip roulette. The second lug was of the same type, but

slightly smaller at 4cm in diameter, and undecorated.

All of the handles and lugs exhibited traces of red slip (see Section 4.6).

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4.2.4 Perforated sherds

Perforated sherds formed 0.8% (n=47) of the assemblage. Perforated sherds have

circular holes pierced through the sherd’s body, usually multiple times (see Figures

12 and 13). The perforations were 1cm or smaller, usually averaging 0.5cm. The

mean average sherd thickness of the perforated sherds was 1.21cm, but this varied

between 0.6cm and 2cm. With the exception of one undecorated rim sherd, all of

the perforated sherds were decorated (59.57%) or undecorated (38.29%) body

sherds.

Sherd type Perforated (n=) Decorated perforated (=n)

Rim 1 0

Body 18 28

Base 0 0

Table 7: A breakdown of the perforated sherds, by sherd type.

Of the 28 decorated examples: four could only be identified as eroded roulette, one

sherd had incised line decoration, two exhibited braided strip rouletting, and the

remaining 21 sherds exhibited thin cord roulette.

There were distinctive blackened areas on 38.3% (n=18) of their interior or exterior

walls, possibly indicating use over a fire. In a further 23.4% (n=11) of sherds, this

discolouration extended to the sherds’ matrix; a consequence of firing. Only ten

perforated sherds were slipped.

The perforated sherds’ fabric was homogenous. Their fabric almost exclusively

contained white, grey, and micaceous inclusions. The homogeneity suggests their

production from the same source, if not batch, of clay. The variety of sherd

thicknesses, and the variety exhibited in the thickness and neatness of the roulette

applications made clear that none of the sherds were from the same vessel. None

could be refitted.

One of the perforated sherds had four pieces of 0.4cm-sized pink quartz

intentionally inserted into its circular perforations (Figure 12). This appeared to

have been achieved post-firing. It was the only example of this practice in the

YK10/11 assemblage.

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Figure 12: A perforated sherd with deliberately inserted quartz pieces (scale in cm).

Figure 13: Examples of perforated sherds. Possibly, the shape of the right-most sherd has been

modified, post-breakage.

In West Africa, archaeologists have often termed perforated sherds ‘colanders’

because of their similarity to this utensil. Ogundiran, for instance, recorded 97

colander sherds from his Iron Age Ílàrè District excavation in Yorubaland, Nigeria

(2002b: 97). “Colanders, sometimes with cob impressions” were recorded at Gonja

in northern Ghana in the early first millennium BC by Davies (1980: 223). Other

West African archaeological and ethnographical evidence records their use in food

preparation, either as strainers, steamers, or food-smokers (Crossland 1989: 14;

Kelly et al. 1992: 2; Insoll et al. 2010: 29; MacLean 2000: 73).

Perforated vessels excavated from Iron Age Gao in Mali were termed couscousiéres

in reflection of the cuisine they were used to prepare (MacLean 2000: 73). In some

areas of modern Ghana, similar vessels are used for smoking meat to preserve it

(pers comm. C. Diku, 10/01/16). The historic practice of this in northern Ghana has

also been recorded from local oral histories (Insoll et al. 2010: 29). In contrast,

perforated vessels from the 17th and 18th century AD Huedan area of Savi in

northern Benin, initially interpreted as strainers, were late reinterpreted as

yaoitcha pots, or vessels containing hot coals used in “divination rites and

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ceremonies that test the resolve of practitioners”, based on local ethnography and

oral histories (Kelly 1999: 4). Further discussion of the Koma Land perforated

sherds, their potential uses, and meanings, can be found in Chapter 5.

4.2.5 Identification and discussion of YK10/11 vessel forms

Despite Anquandah’s (1998) Koma Land pottery analysis, the forms here have been

produced solely from interpretation of the YK10/11 rim profiles. Anquandah’s

pottery forms were identified from vessel shapes and styles used by the modern

Bulsa (1998: 110-113), a practice problematised in Chapter 2, and as such, his

analysis is not used comparatively here. Together, examination of the rim and base

types in the YK10/11 assemblage has led to the identification of closed and open

vessel forms. Analysis of the diameter and circumference of each rim sherd, as well

as the rim profiles produced above, makes it evident that closed vessels were the

most frequent type of vessel form in the assemblage, and that everted rim shapes

were the most frequent stylistic choice. Specifically, the vessels identified from the

rims in this assemblage took the form of jars, bowls, and plates.

Figure 14: A representative illustration of rim types in the YK10/11 assemblage.

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More specifically, the following pot forms were realised.

Restricted mouth vessels, of which the following to sub-categories were identified:

Collared/ everted neck jar (C): Typically, a steep-shouldered vessel, possibly

carinated (but this could only be confirmed for one or two examples because the

majority of the rim sherds lacked shoulders) and with a rounded body. This vessel

form has a restricted neck and a flared, everted rim.

Greater restricted mouth vessel (GR): Typically, a steeply curving inverted rim,

creating a restricted vessel mouth. Rounded or spherical body, and non-carinated.

This can be described as a jar.

Lesser restricted mouth vessel (LR): This form is the same as the greater restricted

mouth vessel, described above, with the difference that the vessel neck and

shoulder is less steeply angled, causing the mouth to be less restricted. This can be

described as a jar.

Open/ wide mouth vessels, of which the following were identified:

Wide mouth vessel (WM): This form is an open vessel type and is characterised by

a rounded shape and a wide, unrestricted mouth and is likely to be a bowl.

Deep wide mouth vessel (DWM): As the above wide mouth vessel description, but

evidently deeper.

Wide shallow bowl/ plate (WB): Three examples of this form have been identified

from well preserved fragments that retained sections of both their rim and base.

Unidentifiable: 4% (n=38) of the rim sherds could not be assigned a vessel form

because the amount of neck/shoulder they had retained was too inadequate to

infer it.

Of each vessel form, 63.4% (n=603) were identified as collared/ everted neck jars;

16.7% were restricted mouth vessels, of which 2.21% (n=21) were specifically

identified as lesser restricted mouth vessels, and 0.94% (n=9) as greater restricted

mouth vessels. There were 15.47% (n=148) rims identified as belonging to wide

mouth vessels, of which 1.78% (n=17) were specifically identified as belonging to

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deep wide mouth vessels; both of which are bowl-types. A further three examples,

which were categorised as bases, were examples of wide shallow bowls/ plates

(0.314% of rims; n=3; see Section 4.2.2).

Figure 15: A bar chart showing the distribution of rim diameters by vessel form.

4.3 Fabric macro-analysis

This section presents the findings of the macro-analysis of the YK10/11 fabric

collected by visual examination of the sherds in the field. Fabric was visually

examined and assigned to one of three categories – fine, medium, or coarse –

following the guidelines and definitions set out by the Prehistoric Ceramic Research

Group (2010: 21, 46-48). Of the assemblage, 98.2% was categorised as fine, and

1.3% of the assemblage was categorised as medium. Less than 0.5% of the

assemblage was coarse. The variety of fabric colours, which were examined on the

sherd’s edge and were recorded using the Munsell colour system, was extensive.

For this reason, fabric colours have been classified into fabric groups (Figure 16).

The 7.5YR group incorporates 57.1% of the sherd fabric colours, 5YR contains

21.4%, 2.5YR holds 11.4%, 10YR has 7.4%, and 0.37% of sherds fall into the N colour

grouping. On rare occasions (2.38%), sherds showed two different colours.

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Figure 16: YK10/11 fabric colours, expressed as percentages in a pie chart.

Except for N, these fabric groups were all ‘yellow-red’. Rice observes that red-

coloured pottery is a consequence of the presence of “3% or more” of iron oxide in

the fabric; “1.5-3% will cause light brown or orange”; and “amounts of 1% [of iron

oxide] will contribute a yellowish tone to the fired clay” (2015: 281). The result of

the SEM analysis of the 17 YK10/11 sherds corresponds with these observations, all

17 of which contained iron (Fe), and oxygen (O). Similarly, both elements were also

present in the YK16 clay samples.

Inclusions in 92.7% of the YK10/11 sherds were regular and well sorted. The

remainder – the ones that were not well sorted – were not limited to any one sherd

type, nor were there any other differences to their paste and features observable

by eye. In the assemblage, 98.51% of the sherds were classified as hard and the

remainder medium. Apart from some quartz fragments (see below), the inclusions

were 0.2cm in size or less on average and were rounded. The sherds were

characterised by the presence of white, brown, black, and micaceous inclusions;

88% of all sherds were micaceous. Occasionally, red, orange, beige-brown, and red-

brown inclusions were also present. 0.58% of the assemblage contained sand-like

inclusions, and 5.3% of the assemblage contained voids – the consequence of

inclusions burnt out during the firing process – ranging from 0.1cm to 0.5cm in size.

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Figure 17: A sherd decorated with irregularly-shaped triangles and a piece of quartz.

Visual inspection of the YK10/11 pottery also revealed that significant mineral

inclusions (over 0.2cm) – mostly quartz, in white, and shades of pink, purples, and

red – were also added to just over 9.55% of the assemblage (both rim and body

sherds). The largest quartz inclusions were 0.6cm. More commonly, however, the

inclusions ranged from 0.2cm to 0.5cm. In one instance, a 0.2cm piece of white

quartz had been incorporated into the stamped decoration on a body sherd (see

Figure 17). It is unclear whether this was a spontaneous use of an inclusion

protruding from the external surface of the sherd, or a deliberate insertion into the

design. If the latter, it is possible that the remainder of the sherd’s stamped

decoration also contained quartz pieces. This was the only example of this practice

in the assemblage. Small pieces of quartz up to 0.4cm in size were also deliberately

inserted into the holes of one perforated sherd (see 4.2.4).

These findings contradict the prediction made by Insoll et al. (2015: 50) that large

temper inclusions would be absent from the Iron Age pottery found with the

figurines, although admittedly this pottery temper-type forms only a small

proportion of the overall assemblage. Quartz is an extremely common mineral in

the Koma Land area, as highlighted by Section 4.4. Anecdotally, in the modern

village of Yikpabongo it is used crushed-up as gravel, and for querns, which are

discarded when worn or broken. In the area surrounding the village quartz outcrops

can reach over 2m in height. Surface finds of quartz were recorded during the 2010

and 2011 excavations (Insoll et al. 2010: 2). Quartz pieces – unworked, and worked

as querns, and in a variety of colours including white and shades of pink and purple

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– were found mixed in with the YK10/11 ceramic assemblage when cataloguing and

analysis began in 2015. They have also been recorded in situ in the shrine mound

itself (Insoll et al. 2012: 36). In light of the finding that significantly-sized quartz

pieces were used in some of the pottery and returning to the argument discussed

near the beginning of this section that quartz inclusions in figurines may be

“referencing potent places” (Insoll 2015: 50), quartz provenance studies would be a

useful future undertaking for the Koma Land material and region. The relationships

between the figurines and YK10/11 ceramics are the focus of Chapter 6, and the

quartz is considered in greater detail in Chapter 5.

4.4 Fabric micro-analysis

Section 4.4 contains the results of the SEM (scanning electron microscopy) and (p-

)XRF analyses ([portable] X-ray fluorescence). The details of each sample are in

Appendix 7; but to summarise, they consisted of:

(1) YK16 clay samples x 3

(2) YK10/11 Rock samples x 3

(3) YK10/11 Daub x 1

(4) YK10/11 pottery sherds x 24

Ten samples underwent XRF analysis, 22 samples underwent p-XRF, and 21

samples, SEM. Some samples underwent more than one type of analysis.

Conversely, not every sample was analysed using all the above methods because of

factors including, cost, labour intensity, and the pottery samples themselves; some

selected sherds were too small for XRF, which required 12 to 15g of powdered

sample, whilst others were not large enough to provide enough material for both

types of analysis (see Chapter 3 for methodological details).

Macro-analysis in the field had indicated that the YK10/11 pottery fabric was, for

the most part, homogenous (4.3). Thus, micro-analysis was attempted to

investigate whether the samples’ chemical composition supported these macro-

observations. The greater the assemblage’s homogeneity, the greater the possibility

it was made in the same locale by the same potters; an argument already well-

evidenced by the analysis of the assemblage’s forms (4.2) and decorations (4.7).

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Comparative analysis of the clay samples with the YK10/11 pottery was intended to

explore the possibility that the assemblage was made using resources local to

Yikpabongo. Finally, the decision to analyse rock samples from the shrine was based

on exploring the possibility they were temper. This was based on observations

made during the pottery and minerals’ macro-analysis. Eighty-eight percent of the

assemblage was micaceous, often strikingly so, and this did not appear to be a

natural phenomenon. The sandstone pieces in the shrine were visibly micaceous,

and, particularly with weathered examples, were friable. Handling these samples

left a fine, gritty, residue on the hands. This residue was often very micaceous,

leading to the theory that this property was exploited for the purpose of adding

mica as temper to the paste.

4.4.1 Scanning electron microscopy analysis

Twenty-one samples were examined using SEM: the three clay samples, a rock

sample, and 17 sherd samples. Examination of the surface structure of the 17

YK10/11 sherd samples using scanning electron microscopy with a polarising light

microscope between magnifications of x4000 to not less than x1600 at scales of 5,

10, and 20μm revealed non-clay particle grains of up to 0.2cm in size (following Rice

(2015: 42), clay particles are defined here as those less than 0.02μm in size). The

size of these particles was not matched by those found naturally occurring within

any of the YK16 clay samples. The largest particle size observed in the clay samples

measured 20μm This suggests the larger grains – large enough to be categorised as

sand and gravel (after Rice 2015: 42) – were added as temper. Appendix 11

contains all of the SEM images captured during analysis.

Rodrigues et al. (2016) have recently hypothesised that the presence of

phosphorous in pottery fabric is a consequence of function, namely cooking.

Phosphorous has traditionally been understood by ceramic specialists as present in

archaeological ceramic material because of “its adsorption from the soil in which

the sherds were discarded” (Rodrigues et al. 2016: 224). Experimental archaeology

and subsequent XRD and SEM/ SED analysis of clay samples and the pots formed

from this clay, however, indicates that phosphorous is deposited as a consequence

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of cooking, with the internal pot bottoms of the tested ceramics registering

particularly high levels of the element (Rodrigues et al. 2016: 229).

Significantly, six of the 17 YK10/11 samples contained phosphorous. Conversely,

these elements were not present in any of the three clay samples. This adds weight

to the interpretation that the YK10/11 assemblage is composed of repurposed

cooking and serving vessels. Rodrigues et al. observed that the phosphorous was

identifiable and had not decayed because it was “fixed” by the naturally occurring

aluminium in the fabric paste (2016: 231). As a characteristic element of clay,

aluminium was present within every YK10/11 sherd and was one of the most

abundant elements in the paste of each (see Appendix 7-9).

Evidence of smoothing was present at the microscopic level; smoothed sherds were

characterised by an even, whole, compacted surface in which larger inclusions were

well seated and microscopic fractures in the fabric were minimal (e.g. see Samples

9, 11, and 23, in Appendix 10). As the SEM conducted in this thesis was surface

analysis, it was inevitable that slip would be included in it. Ten of the sherds were

slipped. In instances where only one surface of the sherd was slipped, the non-

slipped surface was analysed. Seven sherds were slipped on both their external and

internal surfaces, and the slip is visible in the microscopic images as distinctively

bright areas on the surface. In scanning electron microscopy with backscattered

electrons – the type used in this thesis – elements with higher atomic numbers

appear brighter because these “have a greater yield of secondary and

backscattered electrons than do elements with lower atomic numbers” (Bozzola

and Russell 1999: 220).

The three representative SEM graphs below demonstrate that the clays’

composition was homogenous; but their proximity to one another means this is not

surprising. Typically, clays are silica (Si), aluminium (Al) and oxygen (O) rich, and

these samples were no exception. There were some minor variations in the

composition of each sample, with Samples 1 and 3 containing calcium (Ca), and

Sample 3 also containing small amounts of barium (Ba).

118

Figures 18, 19, 20: Graphs demonstrating the typical chemical composition of clay samples 1, 2, and

3.

119

As Van Dongen et al. (2011: 285) discovered when analysing medicine clays used in

shrines in the Tong Hills, the chemical compositional analysis did not reveal

anything distinctive or unusual in the clays’ composition that would explain the

selection and use of that specific clay over others in the area. Instead, what

appeared to be significant was the clay’s location and its association with a shrine

(Van Dongen et al. 2011: 299). Conversely, a recent publication by Tiburu et al.

(2017) analysing the chemical composition of clay samples associated with Iron Age

Koma Land remains in Yikpabongo, including with XRF, argued that their high

content of elements, including iron, suggested their medicinal efficacy (Tiburu

2017; Tiburu et al. 2017).

However, clays with quantities of elements essential to the maintenance of healthy

human bodily functions were not necessarily medically efficacious – as an attendee

reasonably pointed out in a recent workshop exploring Tiburu et al.’s findings at the

15th West African Archaeological Colloquium, held at the University of Ghana (July

2017) – because such elements have to be present in a form where their

consumption enables successful uptake and use.

Therefore, such an argument is not made of the clay samples analysed here. Whilst

it may be possible that the clay had medicinal or spiritual efficacy (which

contributed to the decision to use it) and certainly, low-fired clay and daub pieces

were present in the YK10/11 shrine, there is currently insufficient evidence to make

such a claim. These are potentially interesting areas of discovery that require

further investigation.

4.4.2 X-ray and portable X-ray fluorescence

Four sherds, three clay samples, and three mineral samples were analysed using

XRF. Nineteen sherds, and the same three clay samples, were analysed using p-XRF

(see Appendices 7-11). The XRF’s analyses aim was comparative. As such, all

samples are discussed here together. As outlined in Chapter 3.3, the datasets were

normalised and assessed using principal components analysis (PCA).

The p-XRF PCA indicates these pottery samples are fairly homogenous, with most of

the samples clustered between correlation -1 and 0.6 on the x axis, and correlation

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-1.5 and 0.5 on the y axis. There are two distinct sample clusters. This can be seen

in Figures 21 and 23 but is clearest in Figures 22 and 24 with the removal of the

outlying sherds that do not fit this pattern. These two clusters directly correlate

with the sample-type: the sherds clustering at 0.5 on the y axis are the powdered

samples. This is a direct reflection of the sample-preparation procedures. The non-

powdered sherds were more susceptible to surface contamination, such as the

presence of slip. Whilst the clusters may mask other trends, their overall grouping

suggests it is unlikely that more than one fabric was present in this sample.

Figure 21: The variation exhibited in the 19 p-XRF analysed sherds.

Figure 22: The variation exhibited in 16 p-XRF analysed sherds, without the three outliers.

-2.5

-1.5

-0.5

0.5

1.5

2.5

3.5

-2 -1 0 1 2 3 4

Fact

or

2

Factor 1

PCA of 19 PXRF sherds

-2.5

-1.5

-0.5

0.5

1.5

2.5

3.5

-2 -1 0 1 2 3 4

Fact

or

2

Factor 1

PCA of 16 p-XRF sherds, without outliers

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Figure 23: The variation exhibited in 19 sherds (blue) and the YK16 clay samples (orange).

Figure 24: The variation exhibited in 16 sherds (blue), outliers removed, and the YK16 clay samples

(orange).

Figure 25: The variation exhibited in the ten XRF analysed samples. Key: sherds (blue), clay (orange),

and minerals (red).

-2.5

-1.5

-0.5

0.5

1.5

2.5

3.5

-2 -1 0 1 2 3 4

Fact

or

2

Factor 1

PCA of 19 p-XRF sherds and three YK16 clay samples

-2.5

-1.5

-0.5

0.5

1.5

2.5

3.5

-2 -1 0 1 2 3 4

Fact

or

2

Factor 1

PCA of 16 p-XRF sherds and three YK16 clay samples, without outliers

-1.5

-1

-0.5

0

0.5

1

1.5

-3 -2 -1 0 1 2

Fact

or

2

Factor 1

PCA of three YK16 clay samples, three YK10/11 mineral samples, and four YK10/11 sherds

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The three outliers visible in Figure 21, and 23, are pot-sherd samples three, 11, and

30. None of these were powdered. Further, in-depth examination of Sample 3

suggested it might be more recent than the remainder of the YK10/11 assemblage.

Samples 11 and 30 were both slipped and had a “good slightly convex surface”

(Campbell 2017: 2). At this stage, why these samples exhibited greater variation,

comparatively, to the others is uncertain. It may be a consequence of slip, or shape,

although other samples with the same traits did not appear as outliers. It is possible

they were made using different clay or had different temper. Alternatively, it could

be a consequence of another element of the chaîne opératoire; e.g. firing or the

addition of a particular temper.

Figures 23 and 24 both distinctly show that the clay samples cluster together. This

supports the SEM analysis, which also demonstrated the clay was homogenous.

Comparative analysis of the clay and sherds clearly indicates their composition does

not correlate. It is not possible, however, to firmly discount the hypothesis that the

sherds were made from local clays on the basis of this evidence alone. Other

variables, such as the small sample sizes, and the fact that the results may differ

because of changes to chemical composition during firing, come into play. Further

analyses with larger samples could resolve this.

Figure 25 also adds support, if it were needed, to the existing evidence for the

homogeneity of the clay samples. It also makes evident that three of the four

pottery samples could be described as homogenous. The fourth, Sample 17 (see

Appendix 7), was markedly different, and the recorded data for the sherd does not

illuminate why. All XRF samples were powdered. Sample R21 – weathered

sandstone – shares the highest correlation with the pottery sherds, whilst Sample

R4, the iron rich sandstone, is the outlier. Unsurprisingly, R4 had a higher content of

iron oxide (Fe2O3) than the other samples. It is still possible that iron oxide,

otherwise known as haematite, may have been used to give the slip used in the

YK10/11 assemblage its distinctive reddish-brown colour (see Section 4.6). Thus,

further analysis is needed; the hypothesis that the YK10/11 sandstone and quartzite

pieces functioned as temper cannot be confirmed or refuted by current evidence.

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The sensitivity of the XRF analysis enabled it to detect the presence of phosphorous

in the measured sherds. This confirms that its detection by SEM was not an

anomaly. Subsequently, this adds weight to the possibility that the presence of

phosphorous in the pottery samples was a consequence of their belonging to

cooking vessels.

The exploratory fabric analysis presented here encourages further micro-analysis of

Koma pottery, mineral, and clay samples. At present, it is not possible to directly

associate the clay and pottery with one another, but additional analyses may add

more insight. It is possible, on the basis of the p-XRF and XRF analyses to tentatively

argue that, overall, the evidence suggests the YK10/11 pottery fabric was fairly

homogenous. This conclusion is also supported by the fabric macro-analysis, and by

the analysis of forms and decorations, which revealed significant stylistic similarities

across the assemblage. Whilst it cannot be confirmed that the pottery was locally

made, homogeneity suggests that the group of potters and/ or production locale

are likely to be one and the same; and of course, future analyses with larger sample

sizes will support or refute this.

4.5 Forming techniques

There was some evidence for the presence of three different vessel-forming

techniques. Firstly, 0.3% of the rim sherds had marks on their internal surface from

coiling (see Gosselain 1992b: 567-569; Orton and Hughes 2013: 126; and Rice 2015:

135-136 for descriptions of coiling). The eroded nature of the assemblage, including

the large number of small sherds, however, meant that it was not possible to

identify the presence of coiling in the assemblage at large. Examination of YK10

sherds by Insoll during the excavation period, to determine forming technique, led

him to make the same observation (Insoll et al. 2010: 24). The second technique

was hand-forming by drawing. The quality and variable thickness of a few potsherds

indicated their creation by drawing (see Rice 2015: 138-139), but these sherds were

the exception rather than the rule.

Finally, the third vessel manufacturing technique took the form of impressed lines

encircling the external underside of 26.73% (n=254) of the everted rims, particularly

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the large everted collared rims. This line was not decorative, but instead appeared

to be a consequence of the potter applying the vessel’s neck and rim to the body of

the vessel, and shaping and defining it. Two further sherds exhibited non-

decorative finger-and/or-thumbprints (see Figure 28).

Figure 26: An example of accidental, slip-created fingerprints.

4.6 Surface treatments

The surface treatment identified in the YK10/11 assemblage was limited to slip. The

eroded nature of many of the sherds, as previously discussed (see Sections 3.3 and

4.1), precluded the identification of burnishing and polishing, for example, because

the surface of many of the sherds was too eroded. In sherds of good condition,

neither burnishing nor polishing was evident.

4.6.1 Slip

Slip is defined here as a deliberate “fluid suspension of clay and water, used to coat

a [vessel] body before firing” (Rice 2015: 162). Numerous archaeological ceramic

specialists have noted that vessels may be slipped to aid vessel impermeability

(Crossland and Posnansky 1978: 88; Orton and Hughes 2013: 251; Rice 2015: 162),

as an aesthetic, or to hide the original and undesired colour(s) of a vessel (Orton

and Hughes 2013: 88). The Koma potters deliberately used slip to produce

distinctive colour-coated pottery, most frequently in shades of reddish-, pinkish-,

and orangeish-brown (see Figure 27 for visualisation). These slips were different

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from the underlying fabric colours but were typically from the same categories in

the Munsell colour spectrum. All colours, and shades thereof, were recorded using

the Munsell colour system.

Sherd type Slipped sherds (=n) Percentage of that

sherd type (%)

Percentage of YK10/11

assemblage (%)

Decorated rim 204 76.69 3.74

Undecorated rim 542 79.23 9.94

Bases 20 57.14 0.36

Decorated body 1807 79.07 33.16

Undecorated body 1415 64.46 25.97

Other 2 40 0.03

Totals 3990 73.2

Table 8: The frequency of slipped sherds in the YK10/11 assemblage, by sherd type.

Sherd type Single slipped

sherds (=n)

Percentage of

slipped sherds (%)

Multiple slipped

sherds (n=)

Percentage of

slipped sherds (%)

Decorated rim 197 4.93 7 0.17

Undecorated rim 521 13.05 21 0.52

Bases 20 0.5 0 0

Decorated body 1671 41.87 136 3.4

Undecorated body 1395 34.96 20 0.5

Other 2 0.05 0 0

Totals 3806 95.36 184 4.59

Table 9: Comparison of the frequencies of single and multiple slipped sherds, by sherd type.

In the YK10/11 assemblage 73.2% of the all sherds were slipped. Of these, 95.36%

were slipped with one colour only. The remaining 4.59% were slipped with two or

more slip colours (multiple slipped sherds). The majority of these were sherds that

had been slipped a different colour on their external and internal surfaces.

Decorated body sherds were most likely to exhibit multiple-slip. The bases, handles,

and lugs did not exhibit multiple-slipping. The poor condition of some sherds had

caused significant erosion to some slips, causing it to fade to a characteristic yellow-

orange in various places. This was considered during analysis, to ensure this issue

did not affect the identification of multiple-slipped sherds.

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Sherd type Internal surface

only (n=)

External surface

only (n=)

Both surfaces (=n)

Decorated rim 33 9 162

Undecorated rim 90 29 423

Decorated body 840 152 639

Undecorated body 428 154 813

Base 4 6 10

Other 0 0 2

Table 10: Comparison of the frequencies of sherds with single/ multiple slipped surfaces.

Figure 27: A pie chart illustrating the top ten slip colours using the Munsell colour system. Each

Munsell colour has been accurately represented using an RGB conversion programme (Geng 2011).

Munsell colour 2.5YR

6/6 2.5YR

7/6 2.5YR

5/6 5YR 6/6

10YR 6/8

2.5YR 7/8

7.5YR 7/4

2.5YR 6/8

5YR 6/8

7.5YR 6/4

Frequency (=n) 1179 816 720 148 116 109 105 72 59 40

Table 11: The top ten most frequent slip colours.

With the exception of a few sherds that exhibited surface-clay additions because of

careless handling (see Figure 28a) of vessels in the leather-hard stage, all slipping

was deliberate. Visual examination of the decorated slipped sherds revealed that, in

many cases, the slip had been applied after the decoration, regardless of decoration

type. This was evident from the fact that decoration types with surface impressions

(e.g. stamped, impressed designs, and roulettes) contained slip within the

127

depressions (Figure 28c-28d). The practice of post-decorative slipped meant that

the decoration on some sherds has been partially obscured by the addition of slip.

On other sherds, decorated areas were deliberately left unslipped, and only the

undecorated section was slipped (Figure 28b).

Figure 28: Clockwise from top left: an example of a sherd accidentally slipped through careless

handling (28a); an example of slip deliberately applied to only undecorated areas of the sherd (28b);

slip applied in thick layers post-decoration, thus obscuring the decoration (28c-28d).

4.7 Decoration

Decoration is defined here as an addition(s) or modifications(s) to the surface of a

vessel to produce a pattern or design that may wholly, or partially, cover the

external and/ or internal surface.

There were 2,535 decorated YK10/11 sherds in total, which consisted of:

- 265 rim sherds

- 2,267 body sherds

- 1 handle

- 1 lug

28a

28b

28d 28c

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Table 12: A breakdown of the decorated assemblage, by sherd type.

The list above shows there were comparatively few decorated rim sherds. Only

27.89% (n=265) rim sherds were decorated, in comparison to 50.89% (n=2267)

body sherds (Table 13). Only one handle and lug were decorated. No bases were

decorated. Analysis of vessel sizes (using rim diameter and circumference) revealed

no statistically-significant relationship between the two. There was also no

correlation between the type of sherd and the type of decoration it had. The

remainder of this section will discuss each decoration type in turn.

Decoration type Frequency, of all decorated sherd

types (=n)

Percentage frequency, of all decorated

sherds (%)

Incised lines only 416 16.41

Grooves only 316 12.46

Roulette only 1517 59.84

Mat impressions only 9 0.35

Stamping only 17 0.74

Rectangular banding only 130 5.12

Multiple types 123 4.81

Embossed only 3 0.11

Table 13: A summary of the decorated sherds in the YK10/11 assemblage, by decoration type and

frequency.

4.7.1 Roulettes

Roulette-only decorated sherds accounted for 59.84% (n=1517) of all decorated

sherds in the YK10/11 assemblage. Including roulette sherds with other decoration

types, this frequency increases to 63.23% (n=1603) of the decorated assemblage. Of

the latter, 4.17% (n=67) are rim sherds, 95.69% (n=1534) are body sherds, and

0.12% (n=2) are ‘others’; one handle and one lug. The different types of YK10/11

roulette have been described below and were identified with the aid of Haour et

al.’s handbook African Pottery Roulettes Past and Present (2010). See Figure 29 for

examples.

Sherd type Percentage frequency decorated, of that sherd type (%)

Rim/ neck 27.89

Body 50.89

Base 0

Handle 33.3

Lug 50.0

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Of the sherds with roulette, 38.15% (n=615) were too eroded for the specific

roulette motif to be identified. This included the 454 eroded roulette sherds

partially analysed during the Yikpabongo field school. For a further 2.91% (n=47)

sherds, identification of the overall roulette category was possible – for instance, a

strip roulette, a cord roulette, and so on – but pinpointing the specific type of

roulette – braided, twisted, etc. – was not. The roulette type of 0.85% of sherds

with roulette (n=13) was not recorded. These had only been described as

“roulette”.

Of the identifiable roulette motifs, 0.64% were clogged. Clogging occurs when the

tool used to create the roulette gets particles of clay lodged in it (Soper 1985: 31).

Typically, this is most likely to happen if the roulette tool is applied before the

unfired pot has sufficiently hardened (Rye 1981: 92). As this clogged tool continues

to be applied across the vessel’s surface, the particles of stuck clay obscure the

tool’s structure, so the resulting pattern is less regular and well-defined (Livingstone

Smith 2010: 122; Soper 1985: 31). Small pieces of clay from the clogged tool may

also be deposited on the vessel’s surface as it is applied, further blurring the design

(Soper 1985: 33).

Roulette type Frequency of roulette types (=n) Percentage frequency (%) of roulette

type

Strip 448 29.53

Cord 456 30.05

Carved wooden 23 1.51

Unidentified/ eroded 590 38.89

Table 14: The frequency of the roulette types in the YK10/11 assemblage.

All roulette decorated rim sherds were examined to try and understand the

application process and whether there was any preference as to the direction the

roulette was orientated on the vessel. Roulette decorated rim sherds were only a

small portion of the decorated rim sherds, which was not a large category (see

Section 4.7). Nevertheless, of the 67 roulette decorated rim sherds, the roulette ran

perpendicular in 46 instances (68.65%) and ran obliquely for the remainder

(31.34%). From the rim edge, the obliquely-angled roulettes ran left to right in 75%

of cases, and right to left in 25%, regardless of the type of roulette. In comparison,

no preference for direction was observed on rims with other decoration types.

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Figure 29: YK10/11 roulette (and multiple) decorated sherds. Clockwise from top left: knotted strip

roulette (29a); thin braided strip roulette and very thin twisted cord roulette, with multiple incised

lines (29b); simple twisted cord-wrapped stick roulette (29c); roll cord-wrapped roulette with incised

lines and grooves (29d); medium braided strop roulette (29e); carved roulettes (29f-29g); and twisted

cord roulette with impressed thumbprints and a groove (29h).

29a

29b

29e

29d

29c

29f 29g

29h

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4.7.1.1 Strip

Braided strip roulette (BSR) dominated the strip roulettes in this assemblage. It

accounted for 96.87% (n=434) of the strip roulettes. The remainder consisted of

five examples of strip roulette that were too eroded for the specific strip motif to

be identified (1.11%), four examples of knotted strip roulette (pers comm. A. Haour

July 2016; 0.89%; KSR); and one example of folded strip roulette (0.22%; FSR).

Variation in the BSR category was observed: 0.74% were thick BSR (each strip above

1cm in width), 33.33% were medium (1cm or less), 56.79% were thin (0.5cm or

less), and 9.13% were very thin (0.3cm or less).

Braided strip is at present not widely recognised in West Africa; but this is because

it is “poorly documented”, and because it has historically been described by an

excessive variety of different names, rather than because it is rare (Haour et al.

2010: 182). Indeed, braided strip roulette is particularly distinctive; and whilst (as

with any roulette) there are numerous variations, it typically takes the form of

“sawtooth”-like, “concave impressions” – also described as like the steps in a set of

stairs – which occur in parallel rows (Mayor 2010a: 181). Excavations from the past

decade or so at sites in Burkina Faso, Cameroon, Ghana, Mali, and Nigeria dating

between 2000 BP and the 18th century AD, have successfully identified the presence

of braided strip (2010: 182-183). Appendix 14 provides photographs of the braided

strip roulette found in this assemblage to aid future research and identification.

4.7.1.2 Cord

Six types of cord roulette were identified: single twisted cord roulette (STCR),

double twisted cord roulette (DTCR), three variants of cord wrapped stick (CWS) –

untwisted (UCWS), twisted cord wrapped stick (TCWS), and simple twisted cord

wrapped stick (STCW) – and roll cord-wrapped roulette (RCW). STCR and DTCR are

examples of cord roulette created using simple tools; that is, the impressions from a

length of twisted cord, only (MacDonald and Manning 2010: 145). The remaining

four variants are examples of composite tools, involving a twisted cord wrapped

round a core (MacDonald and Manning 2010: 145).

132

As with braided strip roulette, any instances of very thin/ thin/ medium/ and thick

twisted cord roulette were noted. Of the twisted cord roulette, 8.59% were very

thin, 62.44% were thin, 25.56% were medium, and 4.07% were thick. 7.89% of the

cord roulettes were too eroded for the specific cord motif to be identified.

Type Frequency (=n) Percentage Frequency (%)

STCR 217 47.67

DTCR 6 1.33

TCWS 52 11.52

UCWS 9 1.99

STCW 55 12.19

RCW 81 17.73

Table 15: The YK10/11 cord roulettes.

4.7.1.3 Carved wooden

As above, 1.61% (n=26) of the roulette sherds were carved wooden roulette types.

Carved wooden roulettes are typically created by cylinders with designs carved into

them, and a pattern is produced by rolling the cylinder over the pot’s leather-hard

surface (Livingstone Smith et al. 2010: 78). The carved wooden roulette motifs in

the YK10/11 assemblage have been categorised and named by their appearance

rather than by reference to any pre-existing catalogue of carved roulette patterns.

Seven different carved motif types were evident: checked, circles, diamonds, ‘rice

grains’, irregular hexagons, zigzags, and dots (see Figure 29 for examples). Similar

checked carved roulettes have been identified and discussed by Soper, in one of the

first works to categorise and analyse roulettes in Sub-Saharan Africa (1985: 34).

Table 16 offers a breakdown of the carved roulette frequencies by type.

Carved roulette motif Frequency in roulette assemblage

(=n)

Percentage frequency in roulette

assemblage (%)

Checked 13 0.8

Circles 1 0.06

Diamonds 1 0.06

Dots 1 0.06

Irregular hexagons 1 0.06

Rice grains 3 0.18

Zigzag 6 0.37

Table 16: The YK10/11 carved wooden roulettes.

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4.7.2 Mat impressions

Mat impressions, created from imprinting a mat onto the surface of a leather-hard

vessel (Rice 2015: 155) were identified in 0.58% (n=9) of the decorated assemblage,

based on the uniformity and regularity of the designs (pers comm. A. Haour July

2016). 0.33% of mat impressed sherds were clogged. Mat impressions are

commonly associated with pounding in a concave mould, a pottery forming

technique in which a clay pounder is used to produce a vessel shaped over a

concave mould, such as a mat (Haour 2013: 137; Huysecom 1992: 86). The act of

pounding the clay over the mould leaves impressions of the mat on its exterior

surface (Haour 2013: 137; Huysecom 1992: 86).

4.7.3 Incised lines and grooves

Incised lines and grooves were distinguished by shape and size: lines are flat,

incised depressions less than 0.2cm thick, typically created with a very thin, pointed

tool, whilst grooves are curved depressions 0.2cm in width, or wider. In total, 28.87

% of the YK10/11 decorated sherds exhibited incised or grooved decoration.

Incised line/ groove variety Frequency (=n) Percentage frequency of decorated

assemblage (%)

Incised line only 416 16.41

Grooved only 316 12.46

Incised line and grooved 5 0.19

Incised line/ grooved with other

decoration types

105 4.14

Table 17: The YK10/11 grooved and incised decoration categories.

Figure 30 gives some idea of the variety of patterns created using incised line

decoration. Visual examination revealed the lines were drawn freehand. Lines

veered into one another, the sizes of the spaces between each incised line could be

irregular, and the lines themselves were not always straight. On some sherds lines

were abandoned and restarted, or their angle was corrected part way through the

application process, so they fitted in more neatly to the overall pattern. The most

frequently occurring design-types were multiple incised lines forming horizontal,

vertical or diagonal bands across a sherd; horizontal, vertical, and diagonal bands

that intersected to create geometric patterns, most commonly isosceles triangles;

134

crosshatching; and horizontal, vertical and diagonal lines of different lengths that

formed non-regular latticework designs. The chaîne opératoire step of applying slip

after the decoration meant the lines were at times very faint.

Figure 30: Representative examples of external incised-line decorated YK10/11 body sherds.

Clockwise from top: 30a exhibits a typical series of triangles bordered by long horizontal lines, which

ends with a series of short vertical lines; whilst 30b and 30c are typical examples of the use of long

intersecting lines to create triangles.

4.7.4 Stamped

Seventeen sherds had stamped decoration only (0.74%), and 52 (2.05%) had

stamping and one or more other decoration types. The following motifs were

present:

Dots – 0.3cm or less in width, always found in regular patterns.

30a

30c

30b

135

Irregular impressions – These were repeated impressions forming linear patterns,

but where the impressions themselves did not conform to one shape or size. This

may be a result of the use of different tools or the same tool applied to the sherd

with different amounts of pressure.

Ovals/ circles (entire)/ circles (outline) – 0.4cm-0.5cm circles or ovals stamped into

the sherd at intervals. In one instance, the stamped impression was the outline of a

circle only, indicating it was created using a hollow tube.

Rectangles –0.2cm rectangles regularly stamped across the sherd in a diagonal

pattern, with a thin, sharp tool.

“Teardrops” – 0.3cm-0.5cm in width, these were stamped across the sherd at

regular intervals. This appeared only once.

Thumbprints – 0.9cm-1cm wide impressions linked together in a linear, sometimes

overlapping pattern. This motif appears to be the result of a thumb pressed into the

leather-hard clay before firing and appears only once.

Triangles – 0.2cm or less in width, except for one instance where the impression

measured 0.6cm across. Found in regular patterns, this impression was the one

most commonly combined with other types of decoration, usually incised lines. A

line of triangles may stand alone on a sherd or may be “connected” by their

arrangement along an incised line.

Stamped Frequency (=n) Frequency (%)

Dots 21 40.38

Triangles 19 36.53

Circles (entire)/ Circles (outline) 3/1 6.12/1.92

Irregular Impressions 2 3.84

Ovals 2 3.84

Rectangles 2 3.84

“Teardrops” 1 1.92

Thumbprints 1 1.92

Table 18: The frequency of the stamped decoration types.

Most of the stamped impressions were geometric motifs organised in linear

(horizontal, vertical and diagonal) designs. These stylistic-traits were also visible in

the incised and grooved decoration categories; decorators exhibited a preference

136

for the use of multiple horizontal, vertical and diagonal lines to create larger scale

geometric patterns (see Section 5.3).

All sherds decorated with stamped designs exhibited only one type of stamping per

sherd (triangles, or dots, or ovals etc.). Another characteristic of the YK10/11

stamped shreds was the designs regularity. They had almost standardised forms

across all the sherds. What was variable, however, was the frequency of the

impressions. In some cases, the sherd was stamped only once or twice and in

others it was repeated over thirty times. As noted in Section 4.2.4, one sherd with

irregular stamped decoration also contained a piece of white quartz 0.3cm in size.

This was incorporated into the decoration and appears to be a deliberate addition

to the external surface.

4.7.5 Appliqué

Appliqué – the application of material to the surface of a vessel to create

decoration that stands out in relief – was rare in this assemblage. Three instances of

appliqué, taking the form of ovular and circular embossed-shapes varying between

2cm-3cm in thickness and 1-2cm in width, were recorded. Lugs have not been

included in this category.

4.7.6 Banding

Of the rim sherds, 5.12% (n=130) exhibited rectangular banding. Including sherds

with rectangular banding and other decoration types, this increased to 5.68%

(n=144; see Table 19, below). Rectangular banding is a horizontal rectangular band

measuring up to 3cm in width extending around the edge of the rim’s inner surface.

For some larger rims, the banding was very pronounced and sharply angled,

creating a very distinctive profile (see examples CL13, CL7, CL6, CFL2, CSL2, and,

CSL1 in Section 4.2).

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Figure 31: Various representative externally-decorated rim and body sherds from the YK10/11

assemblage. No sherds contained internal decoration. Clockwise from top-left: incised line and

grooved decoration (31a), irregular stamped and incised line decoration (31b), stamped triangles

with incised line ‘guides” (31c), incised lines with stamped circles in outline (31d), deep stamped

triangles with incised lines above (31e), cross-hatched incised line decoration (31f), and irregular

stamped shapes (31g).

31a

31b

31c

31d

31e

31f

31g

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4.7.7 Multiple decorations

The definition of a multiple-decorated sherd is one that featured two or more types

of decoration. This included sherds that had two varieties of the same decoration

type; and in the YK10/11 assemblage, this was only relevant to the roulette

decorated sherds.

Overall, there were 123 instances of YK10/11 sherds with multiple decoration,

4.81% of the decorated assemblage. Of these, there were 20 rim sherds with two

decoration types, and two rim sherds with three; whilst 95 body sherds exhibited

two types of decoration, and four body sherds, three types (see Table 19).

Decoration combination Frequency (=n) Percentage frequency (%)

Carved wooden roulette and incised line 1 0.81

Groove and roulette 10 8.13

Groove, roulette, and carved wooden roulette 1 0.81

Groove and stamp 9 7.37

Incised line and carved wooden roulette 2 1.6

Incised line and groove 5 4.09

Incised line, groove, and carved wooden roulette 1 0.81

Incised line, groove, and rectangular banding 1 0.81

Incised line and rectangular banding 1 0.81

Incised line and roulette 51 41.46

Incised line, roulette, and carved wooden roulette 1 0.81

Incised line, roulette, and groove 1 0.81

Incised line, roulette, and roulette 1 0.81

Incised line and stamp 25 20.49

Incised line, stamp, and roulette 1 0.81

Roulette and rectangular banding 12 9.83

Table 19: A comprehensive summary of the multiple-decorated YK10/11 sherds.

There were no instances in which appliqué was used with another decoration type.

Carved wooden roulette was differentiated from the other types of YK10/11

roulette in this table, to reflect the fact that the Koma Land pottery makers

themselves appeared to have done so. With only a few exceptions, if two types of

roulette were present on a sherd, one of those types was almost always a variety of

carved wooden roulette. There was no preference as to the variety of carved

wooden roulette used, however, nor to the other roulette type; braided strip

roulette, twisted cord roulette, and twisted cord wrapped stick were all used on

sherds with multiple decoration.

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As Table 19 shows, the most common combination of multiple decorations was

incised lines with roulettes, followed by incised lines and stamp decoration. When

incised lines and roulette were used together, the former always overcut the latter.

Practically, the incised lines would be erased if this process was reversed. As it was,

the roulette created a textured background, which contrasted the geometric

patterns created using incised lines (as above, Section 4.7.2). A slight exception to

this rule was the carved wooden roulettes, as in two instances a single impressed

line of this roulette type was used to create a border delineating and/ or

highlighting other areas of decoration. Grooves were similarly used to border other

types of decoration, or to overcut roulette decoration as the incised lines did.

The use of incised lines and stamped decoration together was often characterised

by the use of the lines as a ‘guide’ or marker along which the stamped decoration

would be impressed. This was particularly the case with stamped triangles (e.g. see

Figure 31c and 31e). Rectangular banding appeared most frequently with roulette,

whilst interestingly, there were no examples of carved wooden roulette and

stamping on the same sherd.

4.8 Firing

Firing condition was determined via visual, macro-analysis of each sherd in the

field. Table 20 shows that 86.85% of sherds were fired in an oxidised atmosphere.

The data obtained from the scanning electron microscopy of 17 sherds supports

these observations (see Section 4.4.1); all were oxidised. The fabric colours of the

majority of the assemblage (see Section 4.3) were also those that tend to be the

product of an oxidising environment.

Firing condition

(After PCRG 2010: 34)

Percentage frequency of each sherd type (%) Percentage

total (%) Body Rim Base

Oxidised 59.9 (n=1779) 26.17 (n=777) 0.74 (n=22) 86.85

Unoxidised 1.85 (n=55) 0.1 (n=3) 0.03 (n=1) 1.98

Oxidised exterior, unoxidised core, oxidised interior 0.53 (n=16) 0.7 (n=21) 0 1.24

Irregularly fired (patchy core and surface margins) 5.99 (n=178) 3.5 (n=104) 0.06 (n=2) 9.56

Undesignated/ unrecorded 0.03 (n=1) 0.03 (n=1) 0.3 (n=9) 0.03

Table 20: The YK10/11 firing condition types.

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To date, there is no archaeological evidence that Iron Age Koma Land pottery

makers fired their pottery in kilns. Identifying pottery firing structures and remains

in the archaeological record, however, is recognised across the field of ceramic

studies as a challenging endeavour; firing structures may be mistaken for other

features such as hearths (Orton and Hughes 2013: 136), or the process may be

archaeologically invisible, “thus, lack of evidence is one of the main problems

researchers have to face when studying the structure and fuels used in prehistoric

pottery firing” (Santacreu 2013: 101).

Koma Land is an area of tree savannah grassland, so wood and other plant matter

would have been accessible resources with which to fire pottery. In many grassland

areas in northern Ghana, modern inhabitants deliberately set fires in the bush

annually to clear ground for farming and building, and to produce charcoal for

personal and commercial use (personal observation).

The data in Table 20 implies the YK10/11 assemblage was fired in an open-air

environment, meaning “the pots and fuel are in immediate contact and are

arranged in a stack on the ground or in a shallow depression” (Orton and Hughes

2013: 134), a practice that often creates irregular firing conditions and

temperatures throughout the ‘structure’ and during the firing time (Santacreu

2013: 103). Oxidisation was reached by the largest proportion of the YK10/11

vessels – those vessels likely to have been stacked in the middle of the open-firing

structure – whilst the lower number of partially oxidised, reduced, and irregularly

fired sherds in this assemblage probably belonged to vessels around the edges of

the structure that came into direct contact with the fuel.

Orton and Hughes noted that the requisite chemical changes in clay to harden it to

pottery begin from 550 to 600 degrees Celsius, and that pottery below this level will

disintegrate in water shortly after firing (2013: 134-135). In the field, the YK10/11

pottery were immersed in cool water and washed to remove mud and detritus and

remained intact. As such, the average firing temperature of the ceramics is likely to

be above this figure.

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Kankpeyeng et al. (2013: 492) observed during the YK10 field season that “all

ceramics, including the figurines, are low-fired”. A “possible libation structure”

made of daub was also low-fired (Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 36). Some of the

figurines exhibited evidence of exposure to fuel during firing, a circumstance that

suggests the pottery and figurines may have been fired together, or, at least using

the same method. Chapter 6 returns to this idea.

4.9 Use-wear

Nine sherds exhibited internal-surface use-wear. Five were body sherds, four

decorated and one undecorated, and the remainder were rims. One of the three

decorated sherds was perforated. None of the sherds were from the same vessel.

The use-wear took the form of scratched or gouged vertical lines, as though

repeatedly scraped with a sharp, thin tool. Where slip was present, these repeated

actions had eroded it. See Section 4.2.4 for a discussion of the use-wear evidence

for perforated vessel sherds.

The minute number of sherds that showed use-wear means it is not possible to

generalise about use-wear in the assemblage at large. It does, however, show that

at least some of the deposited vessels were not made for that sole purpose, but

had a prior use-life. It is unclear whether the use-wear was a product of shrine-

related activities, or domestic or other activities. There is precedence for the reuse

of pot sherds at this site; a few hundred vessel fragments reshaped into discs have

so far been excavated from the mounds (Insoll et al. 2013: 17). The discs’ purpose is

not completely certain. The excavators have suggested they were bottle-stoppers

akin to those used to seal horn medicine containers (Insoll et al. 2012: 26). Further

investigations of more ceramics from Iron Age Yikpabongo contexts would assist

use-wear interpretations, as would visual and archaeometric analysis of the pottery

discs.

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4.10 Discussion: manufacture, function, and use

To summarise the catalogue: the YK10/11 assemblage was characterised by a

majority of closed rim types and restricted mouth vessels/jars. The rim diameters

ranged from 6cm to 61cm, but the majority fell between 15cm to 34cm. The bases

were comparatively few, but most were of a similar design; pedestal style bases

dominated. The pot-stand legs had technical similarities with the Koma Land fired-

clay figurines, a point Chapter 5 returns to. The quantity of handles and lugs in this

assemblage was miniscule, but the former appeared to have been made for large

vessels.

Perforated vessel fragments, exhibiting signs of use, were also present.

Archaeological and ethnoarchaeological evidence had made clear that typically,

perforated vessels in West Africa have culinary-related functions as means of

smoking, steaming, or straining food (see Section 4.2.4). Interestingly, one

perforated sherd had been deliberately modified by wedging 0.4cm-sized quartz

fragments into the perforations.

Quartz fragments of a similar size were added as temper to just over 9% of the

YK10/11 assemblage. Similar temper was used in the figurines (Insoll et al. 2015: 50;

see Chapter 5 for discussion). The fabric was otherwise homogenous. Overall, the

fabric was classified as fine and the mostly rounded inclusions (white, black, brown,

and red-brown, and usually smaller than 0.2cm) were well sorted, which suggests

the clay fabric was comprehensively processed before use. 88% of the sherds were

micaceous; visually, this was clear. The presence of phosphorous in 35.3% of the

pottery samples analysed using scanning electron microscopy indicated their

potential use as cooking vessels (following Rodrigues et al. 2016: 229).

Slips were a deliberate addition to 73.2% of the sherds in the YK10/11 assemblage

and sherds were most frequently slipped on their internal surface. Just over 50% of

the slipped sherds exhibited the same slip colour on both their internal and external

surfaces and the remainder exhibited either slip on one surface, or multiple slips.

Even accounting for erosion, numerous slip colours had been used, although the

most frequent (see Figure 27) were of similar shades, all in the Munsell ‘yellow-red’

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spectrum. Interestingly, on some sherds it was clear that the slip was a deliberate

coating applied over the top of the decoration.

Roulette was the most frequent decoration type (60.19% of decorated sherds

exhibited roulette) and strip, cord, mat, twisted, and carved wooden roulettes were

present. In the assemblage 28.87% of the decorated sherds were decorated with

singe/ multiple lines and grooves, 5.12% with banding, 0.74% with stamping, and

0.11% with appliqué, and finally 4.81% displayed at least two, and up to three,

types of decoration.

Analysis of potential firing techniques and conditions has led to the conclusion that

the Iron Age vessels were fired in an open-air environment using local organic

resources. This would account for the oxidised nature of most the sherds and the

irregular firing of the minority. It is theorised that the figurines and vessels were

fired in the same conditions, an idea Chapter 6 returns to. Conversely, the small

number of sherds exhibiting signs of use-wear meant it was not possible to theorise

about the assemblage at large from these results. Similarly, forming techniques

have been little commented upon because evidence of these was sparse.

The chaîne opératoire process discussed here indicates that the pottery assemblage

was made using a fairly standardised set of practices that were known and could be

repeated to create vessels whose fabric, forms, decorations, and surface treatment

was comparable and indeed, fairly homogenous. It suggests the pottery was local

and made by the same set of individuals, although whether these individuals could

be grouped by household, or by their status as potters, or in some other way, is

unclear. It has not yet been determined whether pottery production was by

household or by a specialist group, but the overall homogeneity of the pottery in

any case suggests a shared set of learnt practices. This is also supported by the

similarity of Koma Land pottery across the region (see Chapter 7.3). As such, it

would appear the pottery was made locally, using local clay and firing resources.

The evidence of forms and functions indicates the pottery was produced for

domestic purposes. The diameters of the rim sherds, of the bases, and the forms

drawn out from the analysis of the rim profiles indicate the shrine assemblage was

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mainly composed of large, round bodied vessels most appropriate for cooking and

food/ drink storage. Smaller vessels may have been used to serve and consume

food. This interpretation is supported by (a) the presence of perforated ‘colander’

sherds; (b) the (albeit somewhat circumstantial) fact that there were few bases

present, suggesting that rounded bases (undiscernible from body sherds when

fragmented) suited for placing in a fire were favoured; (c) the clear evidence that

some sherds were subject to prolonged contact with fire; (d) the presence of

phosphorous in one third of the pottery samples; and (e) the possibility that slip

was employed to aid vessel impermeability. The authors of the other analyses of

Koma Land pottery assemblages both independently reached similar conclusions

(Asamoah-Mensah: 2013; Nkumbaan 2016). Indeed, as argued at the beginning of

Chapter 2, Anquandah’s interpretation of the Koma Land pottery he unearthed, as

domestic, is not disputed (1987: 174); what was disputed was what ‘domestic’ had

been perceived to mean and represent, and how, as a label, it and other

problematic practices (see Chapters 2.2. and 2.3) inappropriately directed

interpretation and understandings of the Koma pottery.

The presence of domestic material in a shrine mound indicates that the Iron Age

Koma Land community, or individual(s) within that community, recontextualised

‘working’ vessels by incorporating them into the shrine. Going forward, these points

provide a basis for examining the reuse and recontextualisation of domestic

ceramic material in ritual contexts in Iron Age Koma Land, an idea originally

suggested in Kankpeyeng et al. (2013: 484) that can be explored in greater detail in

light of this pottery analysis. At the same time, it is important to be mindful of the

obvious but oft forgotten archaeological fallacy of imposing modern attitudes and

arbitrarily separating ritual from domestic in historic, proto-historic, and prehistoric

contexts. Chapter 5 provides in-depth discussion of the analysis presented in this

chapter and examines the reuse and recontextualisation of the assemblage as

preliminarily outlined here. Secondly, in it the relationships between these themes

and the assemblage’s deposition practices and contexts are considered.

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Chapter 5: Discussion and contextualisation

5.1 Introduction

Anquandah and Van Ham were the first to interpret the pottery excavated from

Koma Land as domestic, after the partial examination of 52,547 sherds excavated

from three mounds (Anquandah 1987b: 187; Anquandah and Van Ham 1985; see

Chapter 2.2). Chapter 4’s analysis, and the discussion in Chapter 5, substantiate that

interpretation. Without going as far as to label the assemblage “kitchen

equipment” (Anquandah 1998: 179), and recalling that the “stone circle mounds”

(Anquandah 1998: 111) have been convincingly reinterpreted as shrines (Chapter

1.2.3; Insoll et al. 2012, 2013, 2015; Kankpeyeng et al. 2008, 2011, 2013), the

essence of their interpretation – that the Iron Age Koma Land population deposited

domestic vessels into non-domestic contexts – appears valid.

Chapter 5’s first objective is to discuss this, using Chapter 4’s analysis. The second is

to go beyond Anquandah and Van Ham’s interpretations to explore the contexts in

which the pottery was repurposed and deposited, and its associations with the

other types of material in the shrine mound. As such, Chapter 5 examines the

possible identities of the Koma Land pottery makers and explores the role(s) and

meanings of the sherds throughout their biographies; as fragments of vessels, as

fragments, and as shrine-constituents. The sherds’ materiality, and their

incorporation of, and interactions with, other materials and substances, is

significant here.

As a reminder, the YK10/11 shrine material included pottery sherds, low-fired clay

structures, pottery discs, figurines, iron objects, querns and grinding stones, animal

remains, fragmented human remains, two small, complete vessels, Cypraea

moneta, the occasional glass bead, and pieces of unworked rock, including quartz.

Both the ceramic and non-ceramic artefacts will be discussed; but the complexity of

the relationships between the pottery and figurines has afforded them their own

chapter, Chapter 6.

The discussion and interpretations in Chapter 5 have been restricted to the data

provided from the YK10/11 assemblage itself, the context information recorded on

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the YK10/11 finds bags, two brief summaries of the YK10 and YK11 excavations

(Insoll et al. 2012; Kankpeyeng et al. 2013), and an article on tomographic scanned

figurine samples (Insoll et al. 2016). Further, a guidebook for a temporary exhibition

of Koma Land material held in Manchester Museum between October 2013 to May

2014 (Insoll et al. 2013) – the exhibit is now housed in the DAHS’s teaching museum

on-campus at the University of Ghana – and a 2010 excavation notebook compiled

by Insoll with plans and finds information for a specific section of the YK10

excavation (Insoll et al. 2010). In Chapter 2.1, this data-scenario was described as a

‘breadcrumb’ trail. It was necessary to follow this trail because the contextual data

needed to fully analyse and interpret the assemblage’s structure, contexts, and

material relationships was not forthcoming from the project’s director (as explained

in Chapter 1.2.5). Thus, full contextual data is available for only 3.7% of the YK10/11

sherds analysed in this thesis. This has hindered some elements of the analysis.

Nevertheless, useful observations have still been made.

5.2 Pre-fragmentation: understanding the YK10/11 assemblage’s origins

Chapter 4 concluded that the YK10/11 assemblage was originally domestic; that is,

characterised by a majority of medium to large, probably rounded vessel forms,

used for the preparation, storage, and serving of consumables. This preparation

included fire-based methods, and cooking techniques (possibly straining, steaming,

smoking, or a mixture) involving the use of perforated sherds, which formed 0.8%

(n=47) of the entire pottery assemblage. It was unclear from the evidence available

whether this was a wet or dry cooking technique (after MacLean and Insoll. 1999).

The condition of the assemblage meant that residue analysis was unlikely to be

successful. Evidence of prolonged use was evident for 38.3% of the perforated

sherds, so they were clearly not made for shrine deposition. The limited use wear

evidence for the non-perforated assemblage demonstrated that some pots were

being used, probably for food processing and/ or cooking. Evidence suggestive of

pottery use for culinary activities from macro- and micro-fabric analysis was

presented, including the presence of phosphorous in 35.3% of the sherd samples’

fabric (Chapter 4.3; Rodrigues et al. 2016: 229).

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The rim types’ stylistic variety was belied by the small number of vessel forms they

produced. In Chapter 4, 80.1% (n=761) of the rim types were shown to belong to

closed vessel forms. The majority of these closed vessel types produced very similar

vessel profiles; a flared, everted lip with a restricted neck, and externally-angled

walls (some sharply angled), creating a rounded or carinated shoulder and body.

The lack of shoulder on the majority of the rim sherds prohibited confirmation of

the comparative frequencies of carinated and rounded vessel bodies.

The remainder of the closed rim types that did not produce this vessel profile were

inverted rim types with squared, flat, or rounded profiles. Examination of the

profile and diameters for these rim categories indicated they were medium to large

jars. Similar styles from 15th to 17th century AD Savi in Benin were interpreted –

based on this form – as suitable for the storage and transport of grain and water

(Davies 2016: 88). In the YK10/11 assemblage 15.47% (n=148) of the rim types

belonged to open vessels, with rim profiles indicating they belonged to bowls and

deep bowls with straight walls and rim types that were rounded, flat, or angled.

Three plates, or very, wide shallow bowls, were also present in the assemblage.

These were characterised by an everted rim type and internally angled, walls gently

sloping to a flat pedestal base.

The majority of YK10/11 bases were pedestal-types. Typically, these were even and

well balanced when placed upon a flat surface. The curvature of the pedestal bases’

foot ring was typically shallow, making it likely they belonged to storage vessels,

due to the impracticality of stabilising them over a fire. Unless, of course, pots

stands were used in support. Those bases with a portion of vessel body still

attached all exhibited round bodies. Other base types belonged to flat – or slightly

rounded – bottomed vessels whose stability was questionable. Finally, pot-stand

legs constituted 8.6% (n=3) of the assemblage’s bases. Although no actual pot-

stands were found, the presence of legs supports their existence, and their form

supports the interpretation that domestic activity was taking place using these

vessels. Here, specifically, fire-based cooking.

The average thickness of the Koma Land pots (between 0.9cm to 1.3cm) suggests

they were robust and could be transported if necessary. The overall scarcity of

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bases suggests that most were rounded, as would suit those placed within a hearth.

Excavated settlement mounds have revealed hearths, layers of burning, and a

dearth of bases, leading the researchers at those sites to also conclude rounded

bases dominated (Asamoah-Mensah 2013: 103; Nkumbaan 2016: 124). A full

comparative analysis of the YK10/11 pottery with the pottery excavated from

settlement and shrine mounds in Yikpabongo and Tando Fagusa (Asamoah-Mensah

2013; Nkumbaan 2016) is presented in Chapter 7.3.1.

Whilst made for domestic purposes, the available contextual information

demonstrates that the YK10/11 assemblage did not remain within this sphere. The

deposition of sherds from vessels made for domestic purposes within the shrine

demonstrates this. Further evidence is the deliberate modification of domestic-

made sherds for shrine-related activities. Reports by Kankpeyeng and Insoll on the

2010-2011 excavation noted the presence of a large vessel within the shrine

mound, modified by a deliberate hole in its base and as such interpreted as an

earth-libation feature (Insoll et al. 2012: 36). Kankpeyeng et al. also reported “small

ceramic gourd objects” (2013: 482), an intriguing example of skeuomorphism, and

the meaning(s) of which are not currently known. Pottery discs, created from pot

sherds by the deliberate rounding and smoothing of their edges, were deposited

within the shrine (Insoll et al. 2012: 36, 41; Insoll et al. 2013: 17). The 1985

excavation by Anquandah and Van Ham also reported modified pottery discs (1985:

110).

Only one example of a possibly purposefully produced non-domestic vessel was

discovered in the YK10/11 mound; a small, “flat bottomed pot incised with lines

and dots forming chevron patterns” which was “too small” to have had a domestic

function (Insoll et al. 2013: 21). This pot was not part of the assemblage studied

here because it is housed in the National Museum of Ghana in Accra, which was

closed for the duration of my research in Ghana because of flood damage to the

building.

After discussing the stylistic variation present in the YK10/11 decoration (see

Chapter 1.3.3 for theoretical discussion), Sections 5.4 and 5.5 examine the domestic

sherds’ fragmentation- and post-fragmentation biographies to explore the

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processes by which they were incorporated into the shrine and potential reasons

why. From the beginning of this thesis, the need to integrate understanding of the

pottery and figurines has been emphasised. Whilst Chapter 6 focuses specifically on

the relationships between these artefacts, Chapter 5 sets out a framework of ideas

that Chapter 6 develops. One of the arguments underpinning this thesis is that the

figurines and pottery have been studied disproportionately, to the detriment of the

latter, and to the detriment of their makers. In all likelihood, the pottery and

figurine makers were the same. As well as seeking to understand the relationship

between the ceramics and the shrine from which they were excavated, analysis of

the YK10/11 pottery is used to put forth this argument here.

5.3 Pre-fragmentation: decoration styles

The decorated YK10/11 sherds were characterised by a small set of core design

principles or rubrics. Characteristics shared by the different decoration categories

were (a) repetition; (b) the use of geometric designs (lines, triangles, rectangles);

and (c) the used of incised decoration – both lines, and grooves – to emphasise,

reference, or highlight other selective decoration types. This was most frequently

roulette.

The use of repetitive design elements was most visible in the incised line, groove,

braided strip, and stamped decoration categories. The preference for a limited

repository of reused techniques did not mean the designs themselves were

repetitive, however. The design variety was immense. Roulette tools of different

tightness, length, thickness, and weave produced diverse patterns even within the

same roulette type. The repetition of lines, grooves, and stamps as either single or

multiple decoration categories created multiple configurations. Complex patterns

were constructed on sherds using only one or two types of shapes, such as straight

lines, that were repeated to build up the design. See, for example, Figures 30 and

31.

The majority of the incised and stamped decorations were geometric. Isosceles

triangles were a repeated theme. They were present as a type of stamped

decoration and were also created by the deliberate structuring and intersection of

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multiple incised lines. Individuality was evident in the variety of patterns, and in the

fact that some lines were aborted at their mid-way point and then restarted from

the same place, but at a different angle (Figure 30) as though the maker had been

dissatisfied. Rectangular banding, a stylistic variation that occurred on 5.12% of

YK10/11 rim sherds (Chapter 4.7.5), and which varied in width between 1.2cm to

3cm, could also be classified as geometric, because it created a distinctive, angular

profile.

Having a small repository of pottery-decoration techniques from which seemingly

endless variations are created is not an uncommon concept in Sub-Saharan

ethnography or archaeology (Gosselain 2000: 195, 209, 2014: 467; Haour 2013:

116). The use of a few techniques from which numerous, apparently individualised,

patterns were produced may suggest that pottery-making in Iron Age Koma Land

was a shared, social learning process, in which potters learnt core techniques that

they adapted to suit their own preferences.

The ‘small repository of techniques’ identified in the decoration practices of the

Koma pottery makers should not be compared to, or mistaken for a variant of,

McIntosh’s “symbolic reservoir” theory. The theory posits that societies have a

central collection of ideas and symbols they access when producing and interacting

with artefacts, in order to underscore and highlight their specific communal identity

(McIntosh 1988 [1998]: 16). Haour (2013b: 115), and MacEachern (1994) have also

criticised this concept. Whilst the term itself may be useful to discuss collective,

repeated ceramic styles and practices (Haour 2013: 116), the issue with McIntosh’s

application of it to the archaeological record is that it infers that the community in

question had a solid, unified cultural awareness and identity, when this may not

have been the case. The archaeological remains of the community that produced

the material found in Koma Land extends over an area whose size is as yet

unconfirmed by survey, and who may have had multiple communities, whose

shared practiced resulted from social interactions and spatial-nearness rather than

a single explicitly shared identity.

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5.4 Fragmentation: sherd reuse, discard, and deposition

To understand the processes and actions that informed and influenced the reuse,

discard, and deposition practices of the YK10/11 pottery assemblage it is first

necessary to understand its distribution within the shrine mound. This endeavour

has been hindered by lack of access to the relevant contextual information (as

outlined in Chapter 1.2.4). Nevertheless, useful evidence is available. This includes

the context numbers for the YK10/11 pottery sherds, which for the most part

included the trench square (e.g. P12) and level (depth; e.g. L3) the sherds were

excavated from (as demonstrated in Chapter 1.2.4), one illustration, and written

descriptions of the YK10/11 mound that have already been published (Kankpeyeng

et al. 2013). Each level represented a depth of 10cm, and the surface level was L0.

Using this combination of data, Figure 32 was created. All squares outlined in red

represent the units excavated in 2010 and 2011, as reported in the published

descriptions of the context records (Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 481). These were

sourced from Figure 2 in Chapter 1.2.4 (after Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 481). They

demonstrate the selection of 100cm X 100cm units for excavation in both field

seasons using a random sampling technique (Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 481).

All of the shaded blue squares in Figure 32 are those that YK10/11 pottery was

retrieved from during 2010 or 2011. The finds’ bags the YK10/11 assemblage were

stored in were each labelled with a context number. This context number was

recorded in a database as each bag was catalogued for this thesis. It is these finds

bags’ labels that have been used to produce this figure. As the key demonstrates,

the depth of shading indicates the number of sherds present in that square.

The shaded blue squares without red outlines in Figure 32 represent trench squares

with valid, identifiable context numbers in the YK10/11 assemblage database that

were not recorded as being excavated according to the original excavation plan (for

which see Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 481, reproduced in Chapter 1.2.4). Conversely,

the red-outlined squares that have remained grey represent trench squares

recorded as excavated in the trench plan, but which did not match any context

numbers recorded for the YK10/11 pottery assemblage.

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It is unclear from known records whether (a) no pottery sherds were recovered

from these squares; (b) whether any sherds from them were simply discarded/

were not recorded; (c), whether they had been recorded, but were lost, (d) whether

they may be represented by unclear/ incomplete context numbers, or (e) whether

they had been recorded, but were missed during retrieval of the assemblage from

the Department’s on-campus storage facility. The latter seems unlikely; with the

assistance of three colleagues, a whole afternoon was dedicated to locating and

retrieving the YK10/11 pottery assemblage from the archives.

Figure 32: A trench plan of the YK10/11 excavation, comparing pottery concentrations with the

recorded excavated squares. As with Figure 2, each square is 100cm X 100cm.

Figure 32 reveals a concentration of sherds on the mound’s southeast side, as

represented by clusters in trench squares Q10 and Q11, and N10, N11, and M10.

This concentration of sherds was almost certainly associated with the “possible

libation structure”, identified at “a depth of c. 15-18cm from the surface” in square

YK11 O12 (Insoll et al. 2012: 36).

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The libation structure was made of daub and was “arranged in a circular pattern

interwoven with potsherds” (Insoll et al. 2012: 36). Above this feature, a quern and

four figurines were uncovered (Insoll et al. 2012: 36). The pot sherds excavated

from YK10/YK11 O12, from between Levels 1-4, consisted of 33 decorated body

sherds, 11 rim sherds (two of which were also decorated), eight undecorated body

sherds, and one perforated sherd; 53 in total. There were no bases.

The decorated sherds were a mixture of cord and strip roulette, and one instance

each of carved roulette, incised lines, and grooved decoration. Their condition

ranged from fair to eroded (see Chapter 3.2.2.1 for a full description), and their

fabric also showed some variation in terms of colour, firing condition, and inclusion

frequency, as did the slip. Seven sherds were blackened from use. All of the finds

information discussed in this section has been summarised in Table 21.

Square Pottery

sherds

Figurines Querns Quartz Pottery discs Skeuomorph

YK10/11 I13 150 27 Number

unspecified

Number

unspecified

5

YK11 I14

YK11 H13

YK10/11 H14

YK10/11 O12 53 4 1

YK10 3 L13 16 (not

including

small pouring

vessel)

YK10 3 N11 90 1

Table 21: A summary of the YK10/11 artefact types by trench square using all available published

data. A greyed-out box indicates no data was available.

From the adjacent squares YK11 I13, I14, H13, and H14, a concentrated mass of

artefacts was excavated in an area measuring approximately 1.2m by 0.8m (Insoll et

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al. 2012: 36). This consisted of two complete figurines, “15 identifiable figurine

fragments, 12 unidentifiable figurine fragments, spherical stone querns, fragments

of quartz, numerous pot sherds, and five pottery discs” (Insoll et al. 2012: 36). In

total, the “numerous pot sherds” numbered 150, and they were excavated up to a

depth of 60cm. They consisted of: 96 decorated body sherds, 37 rim sherds (six

decorated), ten undecorated body sherds, five perforated sherds, and two bases.

Analysis revealed no correlation between the type of sherd excavated, the depth at

which it was excavated, or the types of sherds associated with one another. As with

square YK11 O12, the sherds exhibited variations in their fabric, decoration, and

slip. Seven sherds exhibited burnt areas consistent with fire-related use. Again,

these sherds were in a mixed condition, ranging from ‘eroded’ to ‘excellent’.

Finally, the excavation summary for YK10/11 reports that,

From the context YK10-3-L13 the rim of a small clay pouring vessel with a

pronounced lip was recovered, and in YK10-3-N11 half a ceramic gourd or

seed was found. The latter was drawn from a single lump of clay (Insoll et al.

2012: 39).

Beginning with the former square, 16 (nine decorated body sherds, five

undecorated rim sherds, and two undecorated body) sherds were excavated from a

depth of 0cm to 20cm. Again, these sherds exhibited variety in terms of their type,

form, fabric, decoration, and slip. The skeuomorphic ceramic artefact uncovered

from YK10-3-N11 was accompanied by 90 sherds, (65 decorated body sherds, 21

undecorated rims, three perforated sherds, and one base) most of which were

again excavated from the shallow depth of 0cm to 20cm. Only five sherds were

excavated below this, from depths between 30cm to 50cm. Of these five sherds,

three were rim sherds and two were decorated body sherds. The condition of the

sherds ranged from ‘good’ to ‘very eroded’. The same sherd variety that had been

previously described was again observed, except for sherd type; in this instance

72.2% were decorated body sherds. The decorated sherds exhibited multiple and

single grooves, single and multiple incised lines, stamped decoration, stamped

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decoration combined with incised lines, and braided, roll cord wrapped, twisted

cord, and eroded, otherwise unidentifiable roulettes.

Layers of potsherds were alternated with layers of figurines to the extent that

archaeologists began to accurately predict the occurrence of one if they found a

layer of the other (Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 482). The build-up of layers of ceramic

and other materials suggests that the curators of the shrine intended the structure

to have a degree of permanency, as access to the lower layers of material would

have been almost impossible without disturbing and partially destroying the

succeeding accumulations. Within this build-up of material, however, the presence

of the circular, clay-walled libation structure and the pot-in-place modified through

a hole in its base peps indicated a need to remain connected to the earth (Insoll et

al. 2012: 36).

Although not representative of the entire shrine mound, the picture emerging here

demonstrates, firstly, that the users of the YK10/11 material were depositing

pottery sherds with biographies that commenced long before their ritual

recontextualisation in the shrine. The modification of sherds into pot discs, and

other shapes, which were then re-used, possibly as horn and gourd bottle-stoppers

(Insoll et al. 2012: 36), also supports the idea that the sherds had a lengthy and

diverse biography even after fragmentation.

Secondly, the bulk of the material was deposited not far from the ground surface.

What this says about the assemblage and the shrine mound is not clear. The 2010

field notes observed that the mound’s top had been disturbed by recent activity,

possibly related to house-construction, farming activities, and a nearby

thoroughfare (Insoll et al. 2010: 5-6). The artefact scatters recorded between 0cm-

10cm may thus have been displaced and dispersed by digging (Insoll 2010 et al. 25-

26).

Thirdly, and finally, the sherds discussed here were excavated in a variety of

conditions that extended from being of a very poor, abraded quality to being in an

excellent condition with well-preserved decoration (see Chapter 4.7 for examples).

The sherds’ conditions and the depths at which they had been excavated showed

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no correlation. This final observation warrants a return to and expansion of the

ideas introduced at the end of the previous section. Concepts of fragmentation and

object discard will also be explored.

Any notion that the YK10/11 pottery was simply recontextualised from domestic to

ritual omits a large part of the sherds’ biographies; their fragmentation. As well as

the observation, above, that the excavated sherds were in a mixture of conditions,

in Chapter 4 it was noted that a considerable portion of the assemblage consisted

of very small sherds. Almost 1500 rim and body sherds under 2cm in size were

discarded before analysis began, as inadequate for data collection purposes (see

Chapter 4.1). Whilst the storage conditions of the ceramics may have had some

impact (see Chapter 3), the proportion of small sherds is statistically significant

enough for it to be likely they were deposited in this condition. Insoll made a similar

observation on abraded sherds in his field notes (Insoll et al. 2010: 27).

Furthermore, whilst the record demonstrates that some pots were broken in place,

analysis of the YK10/11 pottery assemblage has established that depositing entire

pots, either whole or fragmented, was not a frequent practice. Less than 1% of the

YK10/11 assemblage could be refitted, and no complete, or even near-complete,

pots were generated from this. Moreover, significant numbers of pot discs have

been recorded at Iron Age Koma Land sites (Beltrami 1992: 427; Insoll et al. 2012:

27, 36; Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 482), and more generally, the modification of

sherds into these rounded discs further diminishes the potential to refit. How the

non-shrine deposited sherds were treated is currently unknown. The ability to refit

was likely also affected by the split-site storage of the assemblage, and the logistical

impossibility (because of weight and space issues) of examining the whole

assemblage in the same location.

It is also feasible that refitting was impractical because many of the sherds were so

fragmented, an issue which may affect understanding of deposition activities in the

shrine. For this reason, detailed comparative analysis of the ceramics from an Iron

Age Koma Land house mound (such as Asamoah-Mensah: 2013 investigated) with

the YK10/11 shrine mound would be an extremely useful future undertaking, to

provide the basis for further comparisons, and to add to the corpus of Koma Land

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ceramic material and subsequent knowledge. Further, to examine the use-wear and

condition of non-shrine deposited ceramics in relation to shrine-deposited ones.

Returning to the question of the vessels’ biographies once fragmented, it is

suggested that the abraded condition of many of the YK10/11 sherds, and their

small size, is a consequence of their reuse for other activities post-breakage but

pre-deposition; causing them to erode and fragment further. In this way, the

formulaic domestic-ritual transition is contested. Following Deal and Hagstrum,

reuse is understood here as “the use of an object in a secondary context when it can

no longer serve its original function” (Deal et al. 1995: 111; emphasis original).

Mather’s ethnographic study of settlement compounds, associated shrines, and

artefact deposition among the Kusasi linguistic group in the Upper East Region of

Ghana has shown that broken pots are of value, with sherds used “as lids on other

vessels, to give water and food to animals, to support cooking pots, and to make

termite traps” (1999: 165). Sherds were used for these activities until too

fragmented to be of use, at which time they were removed to a “heap outside the

compound where daily trash walking, and trampling, break them down even

further. Ground surfaces are littered with tiny pieces of ceramic” (Mather 1999:

165). Assessing ideas of fragmentation and ceramic reuse more broadly, others

have similarly observed the use of sherds as tools, animal feeders, game pieces, pot

lids, loom weights, spindle whorls, finials, and roundels (Barley 1994: 24, 73;

Chapman et al. 2007: 81; Deal et al. 1995: 113-117; Insoll et al. 2013: 198, 199).

The uses pot sherds were put to in Iron Age Koma Land are at this stage conjecture,

but the fact that pottery sherds were reused, in any capacity, is supported by the

pottery discs, as previously mentioned (Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 482), and also by

the presence of other modified sherds (Insoll et al. 2010: 32). Without desiring to

make any link between the Iron Age Koma Land inhabitants and the modern Kusasi,

the post-vessel use-wear of the Koma Land sherds does support a biography

comparable to that observed by Mather in the Upper East Region (1999: 165).

Potentially, the sherds deposited in the YK10/11 shrine mound were obtained from

settlement mounds such as the one excavated by Asamoah-Mensah (2013). The

idea that ‘middens are rubbish’ has been contested as a misapplication of modern

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world views about materiality, particularly by archaeologists studying middens in

Neolithic Europe; instead of refuse piles, archaeologists have argued they can be

structured sites of curated, meaningful, and (dangerously) powerful material (c.f.

Chapman et al. 2006: 174; Deal et al. 1995: 112; Hill 1995; Thomas 2002: 63, 87,

205). Consideration of what archaeologists persist in thinking of as “ordinary

refuse” as more than relating to the mundane spheres of life has also been called

for in West Africa (Stahl 2008: 160). Although the Iron Age Koma Land evidence

does not point to such a belief – outside of the shrine, at least – it is still facetious

to presume that medieval worldviews about the use-life of artefacts accord with

modern ones.

5.5 Post-fragmentation: structure and concealment

Thus far, this chapter has argued that the sherds belonging to the YK10/11

assemblage were originally from domestic vessels used for the cooking, storage,

and processing of foodstuffs. Once fragmented, these sherds were reused in other

domestic capacities until too abraded to be of use in this sphere – extending the

biography of the sherd beyond that of the pot – after which time they were

discarded. The easily available discarded sherds were subsequently reused within

the shrine. The ‘structured’ nature of some of these pot sherd arrangements has

already been alluded to when analysing the sherds themselves, but what has not

been addressed are the specific ways in which these sherds were structured in

place, and their specific relationships with the other material deposited.

For most of the YK10/11 ceramic assemblage, this is not something that can be

addressed, but the published reports (Insoll et al. 2012; Insoll et al. 2013;

Kankpeyeng et al. 2013) and the 2010 field notes (Insoll et al. 2010) provide some

insight. One repeated use of pot sherds within the shrine was to reference or

highlight another type of artefact (a practice which, interestingly, was also observed

with the incised decoration in relation to the roulette decoration (see Chapter

4.7.2)). For instance: in square YK11 O12, sherds were placed in a circular pattern

around the previously mentioned libation structure. In square YK10 I15, at a depth

of 30-40cm, a stone sphere rested on a “bed of sherds” (Insoll et al. 2010: 13; see

Figure 32), and similar features were also recorded in squares L13 and M13,

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although here, the pot sherds were “deliberately placed on edge to form a

surround” (Insoll et al. 2010: 17). No such associations are recorded from

Anquandah’s excavations, although the space afforded to pottery analysis in his

publications is minute (Anquandah 1987: 174; 1998; 109-111). He does, however,

observe the placement of human remains and pots in relation to one another,

stating that the former rested on the latter (Anquandah 1987: 174).

Human remains have been recovered from Iron Age Yikpabongo in the last decade.

A single human skull was excavated in the YK07/08 field season (Insoll et al. 2016:

27). Human remains were also recovered during YK10 and consisted of a

fragmented skull, long bones, a jaw bone, and 37 teeth (Insoll et al. 2016: 27).

These were all from the YK10/11 mound (Insoll et al. 2016: 27; Kankpeyeng et al.

2011: 210). The teeth belonged to two individuals, a young and a middle-aged

adult, and two teeth belonging to the former had been filed (Insoll et al. 2016: 27).

The skull had been placed into the shrine facedown, and the fragmented long

bones were positioned to the southwest and southeast of it (Insoll et al. 2016: 27).

The teeth had been placed to the east of the skull (Insoll et al. 2016: 27).

Significantly, the facedown placement of the skull mimics how two of the human

and bicone figurines excavated during YK10 were treated, as these were also placed

facing downwards (Insoll et al. 2010: 15). Conversely, other human figurines were

deliberately placed face up (Insoll et al. 2016: 12). No reference has so far been

made as to whether the human remains were associated with any other type of

material, including pottery (Insoll et al. 2016: 27). From these actions, however, it is

evident that facing specific directions could be significant, something that has

already been theorised in relation to the figurine-pots with multiple facing “Janus”

heads, such as Figure 38; with the idea of direction and of “looking”, possibly in to

the past and future, suggested (Insoll et al. 2013: 31). Placing the figurine/ skull

downwards could be an attempt to ‘blind’ the object, or conversely, to facilitate its

return to the earth, as the libation pot discussed in the paragraph below has been

interpreted as doing for liquid offerings through the presence of a hole in its base. If

placing the figurine face down was intended to symbolically blind it, it has the

potential to be associated with onchocerciasis, or, river blindness, which is

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represented by the bulging eyes on some figurines, and which has historically

plagued the Sisili-Kulpawn River Basin (see Chapter 7.4.4). Associations between

the significance of direction and the orientation of burials from Koma Land

settlement mounds have already been made by Nkumbaan (2016: 201); but

Chapter 7.3 has problematised the interpretive framework of these.

Other artefacts found in the shrine included iron points and rings (possibly part of a

harness), an iron razor, a blue glass bead, a quartz lip plug, querns, and grinding

stones (Insoll et al. 2010: 6, 8, 13; Insoll et al. 2013: 27, 33, 35). Anquandah also

recorded a significant number of iron objects, including jewellery and “metal

sculptures” (1998: 123) although no other reference to these is made in the

literature about Iron Age Koma Land, and no archaeological evidence of metal

figurines has as yet been uncovered.

Interestingly, Gosselain reported that Bafia women in Northern Cameroon

processed clay destined for pottery vessels using stone grinders “identical” to those

used to process grain (1992b: 566; Gosselain 2014: 467). Elsewhere, he observed

that many clay processing techniques, firing techniques, and tools are “borrowed

from cooking: grindstones, cooking wheels, mortars, pestles, baskets, industrially

manufactured sifters, winnowing baskets, gourds, etc.” (2010: 196, 203-204).

Similarly, Crossland and Posnansky have commented on the use of iron rings by

modern potters in Begho in Ghana, which are scraped around the inside of the pots

to help ensure the consistency of the fabric’s thickness (1978: 83). Frank (2007: 34)

has also described “a bracelet-like [metal] tool” used to scrape excess clay from

pots in among the Folona in Mali. These examples are useful for understanding

possible relationships between the ceramic and non-ceramic artefacts that made

up the shrine. It may be the case that tools were deposited to prevent their further

use, and it is almost certain that the deposited artefacts had multiple,

interchangeable, and co-existing uses and meanings. In the Tong Hills in

northeastern Ghana, for example, the modern and historic use of grinding stones

and pots interchangeably for both the preparation of food and medicine has been

recorded (Insoll et al. 2013: 201). As with the YK10/11 sherds, the querns, iron

rings, and other artefacts were objects with complex biographies and use-lives.

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Accumulated material at the Tongnaab Yaane shrine in the Tong Hills has been

crucial to the shrine’s performance and power and offers further perspective as to

how the YK10/11 mound might be understood. In the shrine, built into a natural

cleft high up in a rock face (Insoll et al. 2013: 62; Insoll 2015: 272), deposited

materials, “ritual paraphernalia” (Insoll et al. 2013: 64, Insoll 2015: 271) – including

cords, fabric, and leather bags, pottery and gourds, animal parts such as bones,

skins, teeth, and feathers, weaponry including sacrificial knives, iron objects, and

even shea butter, which is applied to/ stored on the natural rock wall the rest of the

material supported by – have accumulated as offerings from supplicants. Yet it is

misleading to talk separately of the shrine and the offerings within it, because these

accumulated artefacts are the shrine. Visitors face this collection when in the shrine

and address their questions and issues to it (personal observation). Remedies may

include elements from the shrine, such as herbal medicine containing shea butter.

These materials and substances, added to the shrine, transcend their initial role as

offerings and become enshrined themselves.

The YK10/11 mound could be analysed from a similar perspective. Its accumulated

deposits of pottery sherds and discs, figurines, iron objects, querns, human

remains, and so on may have transcended the role of a deposited offering and

become part of the shrine itself. That the shrine is mostly constructed of

accumulated layers of materials adds weight to this interpretation. Certainly, the

lower deposits were rendered, as structural elements, invisible to the human eye

by the accumulation of further layers of artefacts over the top. Figure 36, the

camel/horse rider figurine covered over by potsherds (Insoll et al. 2013: 10), is one

such example, and was revealed only through excavation. In British Bronze Age

burial contexts, Jones has examined the deliberate layering and concealment of

material and argued that both practices were essential to the formation of memory

through the act of doing them: “that which conceals also reveals” (2010: 116-117).

Potentially, the gradual layering of material over the libation structure may have

acted as a form of wrapping, which in itself, serves “to conceal and make secret, it

can provide protection, or it can unify an assemblage of disparate substances,

objects or contexts” (Insoll 2015: 103; Richards 2013). Similarly, the Koma Land

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material would have only been ‘accessible’ to those that knew of its deposition,

perhaps suggesting here a link with the shrine formed through the processes of

materiality and memory. These repeated accumulations also show intentionality

and continuity of practice (Joyce 2008a: 28), if not continuity of the meanings

behind this practice.

Of course, the interpretation suggested above for the pottery sherds is not relevant

for the entire assemblage, because the excavation report noted some pots broken

in place within the shrine (Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 480). Unfortunately, the ability

to comment on these is restricted because the available contextual information did

not specify which sherds made up these artefacts, and so these cannot be

specifically identified within the YK10/11 assemblage. The decision to deliberately

break pots in place may have been to release the contents of the pot into the shrine

in a safe way, with the pot acting to contain the material until it could be securely

deposited. Similarly, almost complete pots from the shrine site Nyoo in the Tong

Hills, northeastern Ghana, were theorised as symbolising containment, with specific

reference to the pots’ materiality as products of the earth (Insoll et al. 2013: 132).

Or, possibly, these pots in place contained libations that were transmitted to the

shrine by the action of breaking the pot. Potentially, the perception that objects

were ‘offered’ to the YK10/11 shrine is misleading. The relationship between the

shrine, the depositor(s), and the material they deposited is uncertain, and we

should consider the possibility that the deposited material was viewed as a

transaction, a periodic or event-specific necessity, or in some other way instead.

Chapter 1 made clear that the present inhabitants of Koma Land are in no way

connected with the creation of the Iron Age material remains discussed in this

thesis. Although significant relationships have since developed between the local

inhabitants and the prominent local archaeology (see Chapter 1.2.7), Yikpabongo,

meaning “ruins in the forest” (Kroger and Saibu: 2010: 74) was part of an area of

abandoned settlement when the forebears of the current inhabitants migrated into

the district. Further, the argument made both by Anquandah and Van Ham (1985:

11), and Kröger (1983), that the Iron Age Koma Land ceramics are the product of an

unchanging pottery tradition stemming from the Bulsa, a modern community that

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neighbours Koma Land and its Iron Age archaeological remains, has been

thoroughly rejected (see Chapter 2.2.3). What remains is the question of how and

for what reasons the Iron Age Koma Land inhabitants vacated the area. This is

pertinent to ask because the answer affects how the shrine material and context in

which this was deposited, including the ceramics, is understood. In Chapter 7.4.4,

the theme of the abandonment as it related to Koma Land has been set into its

wider West African contexts.

Previous research indicates that the cultural complex spanned a considerably larger

area than that of the modern village of Yikpabongo (Anquandah 1998: 1-3; Kröger

and Saibu 2010: 74), although how large cannot be said without undertaking a

survey. Potential reasons for the Iron Age inhabitants leaving the area, discussed in

greater depth Chapter 7.4.4, included disease and the danger of slave-raids.

Currently, it cannot be fully determined whether this movement was gradual or

abrupt, although the shrine’s material record and structure may offer some insight.

Between the oral histories of the current Yikpabongo population, which date their

foundation of the village to approximately 70-80 years ago, (Kröger and Saibu 2010:

77) and the 9th to 12th century AD radiocarbon dated YK10/11 shrine mound which

is the focus of this thesis, there is a significant time-period where what happened in

the occupation history of the area is unknown. How long the region was abandoned

before the current population reoccupied it – and whether there was occupation in

the interim – is unclear.

Mather has stressed that “abandonment conditions curate behaviour” (1999: 163).

Examining three contemporary abandoned compounds in the Upper East Region of

northern Ghana, Mather observed that whether a shrine was abandoned gradually

or abruptly, and whether the users planned to return, determined “the constitution

of de facto refuse at a site. De facto refuse consists of useable or repairable items of

material culture left behind when abandonment occurs” (1999: 163). Whilst Mather

notes that abandonment of a compound did not necessarily mean abandonment of

its shrine, which may be physically transported to a new compound (or conversely,

the shrine’s spirit consulted via divination and if content to do so, housed in the

new compound’s shrine) he concludes that “abandonment can lead to the discard

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of shrines if it also involves the demise of a residential group” (1999: 167). In these

cases, it is unlikely the shrine will survive de facto artefact curation, damage by

subsequent farming practices, and seasonal rains adequately enough to form part

of the archaeological record; “shrines discarded from systemic contexts are likely to

be destroyed” (Mather 1999: 181).

Using these observations to reflect upon the YK10/11 mound and pottery

assemblage, this may suggest that the mound was abandoned abruptly without its

users being able or willing to curate the shrine and the material it contained,

because the body of the shrine was intact. Another piece of evidence at play here is

the depth of the mound, which did not surpass 1.2m in depth anywhere; at the

same time, most of the pottery sherds were excavated from shallow deposits

(between 0cm-30cm) and the top of the libation structure recorded in the mound

was at a depth of 15cm to 18cm (Insoll et al. 2012: 36). This does not suggest a long

occupation period. Conversely, it has already been established that the mound was

disturbed by subsequent farming and building activities, which influenced the

dispersal of material at the site, and could have led to the removal of part of the

mound.

Furthermore, the shrine was not a static entity, meaning its material was likely to

have been curated, with artefacts removed and reorganised as well as added.

Ethnographic and archaeological observations of shrines in West Africa have

demonstrated that such practices can be a reality (Apoh and Gavua 2010: 224;

Mather 1999, 2009: 107). The fact that few complete vessels were found in the

YK10/11 mound may also be evidence of this practice. This does not in any way

refute the previous interpretation that sherds from domestic vessels reused in

other domestic capacities were then being incorporated in the shrine; to presume

that it does so demonstrates a lack of appreciation for the complexity of human-

material interactions. Further research is required to understand how the religious

features such as shrines fitted in with other types of space and architecture in Iron

Age Koma Land to obtain and understand information about occupation.

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5.6 Identity and gender: who were the Koma Land pottery makers?

The decision to use the term Koma Land to identify the YK10/11 pottery vessel

assemblage (and figurine) makers was a geographical one. The site of the YK10/11

assemblage was in Yikpabongo, a village in the Koma Land region, but similar finds

have been found beyond the village’s periphery (Anquandah 1998: 1-3). The exact

reach of this cultural complex is not yet evident. Anquandah put the reach as far as

encompassing northern Togo; based on comparisons with the pottery of a

neighbouring modern ethnic group, the Bulsa, to resolve the complication that the

current inhabitants of Koma Land have no historical link with their medieval

figuring-making predecessors. Other references go further afield. A publication by

Dagan (1989) discussed Anquandah’s and Van Ham’s 1985 excavation in Koma Land

(1989: 11) but based this solely on a collection from Togo. It is uncertain, however,

whether this was a collection discovered in Togo or simply located there (although

it is likely to be the latter), and the informants Dagan relied on for details about the

pieces in her publication were also not specified. As such, this source has not been

relied upon.

No attempt is made in this thesis to use the pottery as an ethnic-identity marker,

although this is something Anquandah explicitly did in his 1998 report on the Iron

Age Koma Land material, describing the ceramics as “the handiwork of a distinctive

ancient ethnic group” (1998: 101; see Chapter 2.2.3). Set against this practice is the

argument that such terms constrain rather than promote interpretation (Stahl

1991: 268), particularly pertinent here because the current geographical spread of

the cultural complex that is at present defined by the Koma Land figurines is

unknown. Refer to Chapter 2.2.3 for a detailed, critical analysis of ethnicity in Koma

Land.

As such, the term ‘cultural complex’ is used with the understanding that this refers

to an assemblage of contextually-related material whose ceramic components are

technically and stylistically comparable, rather than as the material culture of a

specific ethnicity. Similarly, identifying a Koma Land ‘community’ is not equated

with identifying an ethnic group, but is used here in the sense of a group of people

sharing tangible and intangible social, cultural, and religious behaviours, structures,

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and ideas across a geographical area. Whilst the region would benefit from

comprehensive surveys to clearly identify sites of archaeological interest, and

investigation of these to ascertain whether they could be part of the Iron Age Koma

Land ‘cultural complex’ discussed in this thesis, there is already sufficient evidence

to confidently state that the Koma Land community can be defined in this way (see

Chapter 2).

The presence of parts of a pottery assemblage in a setting that makes clear they

have been recontextualised is a significant reminder of the people behind the pots

and the complex actions and behaviours that led to those pots’ deposition. It is

tempting but also challenging to acknowledge the presence of individuals within

the material record, given its nature. It is also often problematic. Not only must

archaeologists be wary of ‘fixating’ on the ancient individual and individual identity,

a thoroughly modern concept and concern, but they must be wary of making

definitive conclusions about the individual at sites reliant solely on material culture.

This is not an argument against the considered examination of individual identity

nor the importance of individual agency in the archaeological record, but against

prioritising the individual at the expense of the community. In archaeology, it is

often more productive to understand the community first and then to examine the

members that create it, than vice versa, because at some sites, including Koma

Land, the material visibility of collective actions renders that of the individual

almost invisible.

The ability to ‘see’ the individual in the YK10/11 assemblage was limited to two

sherds displaying finger/ thumb print impressions. Both sets occurred because the

potter left distinctive orange-red impressions on the black sherds by picking up or

moving the pot whilst they had slip-covered fingers (see Figure 26). This suggests

either that slip was applied manually without the use of tools, or that hands were

used to smooth the pot, post-slipping. This latter practice was also reported by

Asamoah-Mensah in her investigation of an Iron Age Koma Land settlement mound

(2013: vii). De Rue has investigated the capabilities of pottery-captured finger and

thumb prints for determining details of pottery production (2016: 137), but the

small Koma Land sample size meant this was not attempted here. Individual action

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is apparent in some of the modifications made to the pottery once repurposed, but

this has been discussed in Section 5.4.

Overall, the fineness of the fabric, the well sorted inclusions, the average thinness

of the vessel walls (0.9-1.3cm), the ability to produce vessels of considerable size

(with rim diameters in this assemblage of up to 61cm; see also Asamoah-Mensah

2013: 101-103) and the presence of some complex and varied decorations using

multiple techniques indicates the YK10/11 pottery makers could boast a

sophisticated skill set.

So far, the Koma Land pottery makers have been referred to as just that – pottery

makers – without discussion, firstly, of sex and gender, and, secondly, of whether

the label ‘pottery makers’ should be conflated with, ‘the Koma Land figurine

makers’, as the title of this thesis has done so. Beyond this thesis, the current art

historical and archaeological focus on the figurines has inadvertently restricted the

population of Iron Age Koma Land to this one facet of identity.

As pointed out in Chapter 2.2.3, in contemporary West Africa (and Sub-Saharan

Africa more widely), potters are conventionally women. This statement is

supported by, and founded upon, ethnographic studies of potters in Sub-Saharan

regions and has general academic consensus (c.f. Arnold 1991: 32; Barley 1994: 61;

Casey 2010: 89; Crossland et al. 1978: 82; Gosselain 1992b: 561, 2010: 464). After

studying 900 ethnographic sources for pottery-making in Africa, Gosselain observed

that “at least four-fifths of African potters working today are women” (Gosselain

2014: 464). From a methodological and technical standpoint, however, there is no

logical reason men in contemporary Africa cannot be potters, and indeed Gosselain

also noted that in several areas in Africa, men processed clay and manufactured

pottery alongside women, or else exclusively practiced the craft (2014: 464).

Similarly, there is no logical reason ceramics excavated from pre-, proto-, and

historic sites could not have been made by men as well.

Paradoxically, this argument has (until recently) not been considered in reverse. An

influential article written in the 1990s by Berns argued against the dominating,

androcentric perception in archaeology that accepted men as the creators of

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figurines (specialist producer of sculpture/art; ritual sphere) and women as the

creators of household ceramics (craft specialist; domestic sphere) (Berns 1993:

131); a Western perspective that directly mirrors Durkheim’s absolute division

between the sacred and mundane (2008 [1915]). This androcentric stereotype is

not one the Koma Land pottery has been impervious to. A 1989 review of

Anquandah’s and Van Ham’s findings (1985) observed that the potters were likely

to be women (Dagan 1989: 24). This observation, however, did not extend to the

figurines.

Anquandah tentatively theorised that the Koma Land pottery makers were women

(1998: 103), although he also acknowledged the material assemblage could not

determine this. It is not clear whether he was also including the figurines in this

category. Berns’ has pointed out that where women were traditionally the potters,

they would already have had the pre-requisite skills to experiment with and

develop figurine making, and so were the most likely candidates (1993: 131, 133).

Unsurprisingly, the material record for Koma Land is silent on the matter, and there

are no relevant textual sources or oral histories that can be referred to. As such, no

interpretation on the sex and/or gender of the Koma Land pottery and figurine

makers is formed in this thesis.

What is put forward is the argument that the Iron Age pottery and figurine makers

were one and the same. This interpretation is loosely based on Berns’ argument –

pottery makers of any gender would logically have had the relevant skill set to turn

to non-vessel fired-clay objects – but more importantly, it is based on several

observations made about the YK10/11 assemblage during the analysis of the

previous chapter.

Firstly, the use of the same manufacturing technique for the pot-stand legs as for

the human/ anthropomorphic figurines’ limbs, described in Chapter 4 (Section

4.2.2) as akin to a ‘ball and socket’ joint. The rounded end of the figurine’s limb was

attached to the main body of the figurine, which had been sculpted separately

(Insoll et al. 2013: 13). Although no corresponding pot-stand was present in the

YK10/11 assemblage, the edge of the leg that would attach to the pot-stand was

distinctly similar to the design of the figurine limbs (see Figure 34). Secondly, the

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pottery and figurines shared decorative similarities. Specifically, the use of knotted

strip roulette to produce a checked pattern (Insoll et al. 2013: 3); incised lines, and

appliqué (see Chapter 6 and Table 23).

Thirdly, the pottery and figurines appear to be made of a similar fabric (see Chapter

6). Moreover, 9.55% of the pottery assemblage included quartz temper 0.2cm to

0.6cm in size, and comparably, quartz temper 0.3cm to 0.4cm in size was observed

in the figurines (Insoll 2015: 50). In addition, quartz was added to a further two

sherds. As Chapter 4 described, the decoration on one sherd had incorporated a

piece of quartz in the vessel fabric, which was likely to have been a deliberate

addition (see Section 4.7.3 and Figure 17). A second sherd, one of the perforated

pieces, had quartz of approximately 0.4cm in size deliberately wedged into most of

the perforations (see Section 4.2.4 and Figure 12). Fourthly, the pottery and

figurines were all low-fired (Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 492), suggesting that both

types of ceramic were subject to the same firing conditions, and were fired

together. Evidence of irregular firing on some of the pottery (dark, burnt patches)

was also present on some of the figurines (see Robinson et al. 2017).

Fifth and finally, some of the ceramic artefacts were pots and figurines (Insoll et al.

2013: 32), although these have not formed part of Chapter 4’s analysis, as none

were in the YK10/11 pottery vessel assemblage, and because they are usually

treated on par with figurines (e.g. see Insoll et al. 2013). The example from the

2010-2011 excavation took the form of a pottery vessel with a functioning lid in the

form of a stylised two-headed human figure with two distinctive sets of eyes and

open mouths, with each head facing in the opposite direction (Insoll et al. 2013: 32;

see Figure 38). This figure had ‘limbs’ that acted as handles, with the roundness of

the body of the lid representative of the torso, and navels were depicted for both

heads. This pottery vessel style is shared by a type of figurine dubbed “Janus-head”

figurines for their multiple, multi-direction orientated faces (Insoll et al. 2013: 12,

14). Collectively, these arguments provide convincing, if not irrefutable, evidence

that the makers of the Iron Age Koma Land figurines and pottery vessels were one

and the same.

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This chapter used a biographical approach to explore and understand the YK10/11

Iron Age Koma Land pottery sherds, following the chaîne opératoire, their use-life,

and their reuse-life. Beyond the sherds’ functionality, an attempt has been made to

understand how the sherds were “used to construct and maintain social identities”

(Jones 2002: 84), by analysing not only the vessels’ place within Iron Age Koma

Land, but the place of the fragments that they were made of. This is crucial at sites

like Yikpabongo where post-fragmentary modification of pottery sherds, and their

incorporation into different cultural, social, and religious spheres was evidently a

significant element of daily life.

Whilst ethnographic studies of habitus and ceramics in West Africa – including

several in Ghana (c.f. Crossland et al. 1979; Dores Cruz 2011; Gavua 2015; Insoll et

al. 2008, 2011; Mather 1999) as well as elsewhere (c.f. Frank 1994, 2007; Gosselain

1992a, 1992b, 2008, 2010, 2014; Haour: 2013b; Livingstone Smith 2001; Mayor

2010b) – have demonstrated the complex choices and interactions between pots

and people, and in some instances, have drawn attention to the need to study

fragmentation biographically (Gavua 2015; Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 492; Mather

1999), it is argued here that in general, this topic has been understudied by

archaeologists.

Consequently, although use-life and biography are perceived as distinct notions

that act within different conceptual frameworks by some academics (Gosden et al.

1999: 169; Jones 2002: 84), the two ideas have been used in conjunction and at

times interchangeably within this chapter. As Jones has argued for the greater

unification of archaeological theory and science (2002; see Chapter 2.3 and Chapter

7.4.4) in order to gain the greatest depth of understanding from the widest

parameters, the same case is made here for analysing pottery from both a use-life

and biographical perspective.

The analysis and interpretations made in this chapter were based on the

quantitative analysis in the previous chapter and on the available contextual

information, which took the form of two excavation summaries (Insoll et al. 2012;

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Kankpeyeng et al. 2013), field notes from the 2010 excavation season (Insoll et al.

2010), a museum exhibition programme (Insoll et al. 2013), and the observations of

the first excavators and researchers of Koma Land in the 1980s (Anquandah 1987,

1998; with Van Ham 1985).

In this chapter, it has been argued that the YK10/11 pottery assemblage, deposited

in a 9th to 12th century AD shrine mound, were vessels produced for domestic

(primarily culinary) purposes, including the storage, processing, cooking, and

serving of foodstuffs. Only a tiny portion of the pottery appear to have been made

specifically for deposition (Insoll et al. 2013: 21). In some cases, vessels were

repurposed as deposits in the shrine and broken in place (Kankpeyeng et al. 2013:

482). Theoretically, this could have been to release the contents of the vessel into

the shrine as a form of libation. Without further examination of pottery from Koma

Land, and without residue analysis (not attempted in this thesis because of the

condition of the sherds), however, this can only be conjecture.

Most of the assemblage could not be refitted – less than 1% – although it is

acknowledged the abraded condition of the sherds may have contributed to this

difficulty. Nevertheless, the majority of the sherds in the YK10/11 assemblage were

small fragments. It has been argued that the size of these fragments results from

their reuse in other domestic capacities, and that it is these activities which led to

their abrasion, discard, and consequent reuse in the shrine. Indeed, ethnographic

studies of contemporary pottery practices in Ghanaian communities, and further

afield, have demonstrated that broken pots were frequently reused as other

household implements, including pot lids, stands, animal feeders, and in shrine

contexts (see Section 5.3). Further, West African ethnographical studies have also

observed that ‘domestic’ material may be ritualised, depending on the context it

was placed in (Gavua 2015: 145-146; Insoll et al. 2013: 291; Sterner et al. 2009: 26,

36), creating an idea of ‘contextual agency’.

Recently, Stahl criticised the division between perceptions of “special depositional

contexts” such as shrines, and those that were apparently mundane, “ordinary

refuse” in studies of West African archaeology (2008: 160). Ethnography, Stahl

argued, has clearly demonstrated “the extent to which production is ritualised and

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belief systems materialised in metals, ceramics, and other media” (2008: 160). The

Koma Land material appears to be the perfect archaeological example of this

practice of materialising ritual using ‘everyday’ artefacts.

Historically, the ceramic material from Koma Land has been treated in the way Stahl

criticised, with the figurines described as artworks and sculptures made for ritual

purposes, and the pottery described merely as “kitchen equipment” (Anquandah

1987: 178). This division also separates, whether deliberately or not, the makers of

the two types of ceramic. In this chapter, form, fabric, and analysis of decorative

techniques and surface treatment have been used to argue that the ‘Koma Land

figurine makers’ should be expanded to the ‘Koma Land figurine and pottery

makers’. There is crossover in the techniques used in the production of both types

of ceramic material, the clay sources (and in some instances, the temper) appear to

be the same, and hybrid pot/figurines have been unearthed (Insoll et al. 2013: 12,

14). The relationships between the pottery and the figurines will be examined in

detail in the next chapter, Chapter 6. No attempt to identify the gender(s) of the

potters was made, because there was no way to accurately infer this from the

material record.

Analysis has revealed no specific deposition preferences in terms of fabric, slip

colour, or sherd type. There was, however, a distinct preference for decorated

sherds. No preference was observed for a specific decoration category. As incised

lines and grooves were used to highlight and reference different types of roulette,

so sherds were deposited in arrangements around libation structures and artefacts

or acted as “beds” to the latter (Insoll et al. 2010: 13). Sherds were also found in

alternate layers with figurines (Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 492). This build-up of

material indicates the shrine was intended to have a degree of permanency and

that its design was deliberate. Such a structured accumulation also suggests that

viewing the pottery (and other artefacts) as deposits within the shrine is inaccurate.

Instead they are interpreted as inseparable from the shrine; they are the shrine.

Once placed, the covering up of earlier deposits by the accumulation of later ones

may have been related to concepts of memory, forgetting, and concealment (after

Joyce 2008a: 33).

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Based on the prolific quantity of excavated material both in Koma Land in general

and this shrine specifically, and lacking evidence of curation, it is suggested that the

shrine was abruptly abandoned. This would accord with theories put forth by

Kankpeyeng (et al. 2012) and Insoll (et al. 2013) that the Iron Age inhabitants were

subject to disease, slave-raids, or vacated the area from the desire to move beyond

the reach of one or both of these issues. Chapter 7 explores this.

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Chapter 6: The pottery and figurines, a comparative analysis

6.1 Introduction

The title of this thesis is Re-piecing the fragments: insight into the motivations and

identities of the Koma Land pottery and figurine makers through ceramics analysis,

and the emphasis on the Iron Age inhabitants of Koma Land as “figurine makers” is

a deliberate commentary on what Bailey termed “figurine essentialism”, in which

figurines “just are important”; a mode of thinking that “has restricted the

intellectual breadth of research and conditioned many scholars to accept figurines

as an easy and simple category of material culture” (2005: 13, emphasis original;

see also Insoll et al. 2012: 42). With respect to the Koma Land material, this issue

has been acknowledged in the literature, with Insoll et al. arguing that studying the

figurines’ context is what “unlocks their meaning” (2012: 42).

Bailey wrote his critique to introduce a book analysing Neolithic Balkan figurines,

but his observation is universally relevant. In West Africa, and Africa in general, the

issue of “figurine essentialism” has at times been complicated by the deliberate

emphasis on proto-historic and historic figurines, at the expense of other types of

contemporary material culture, by art historians and archaeologists seeking to

displace inappropriate historic Western notions that questioned the validity and

value of West African art, culture, and history, or portrayed it as an exotic ‘other’

(Anquandah 2014: 204; Arnoldi 1999: 701; Casely-Hayford 2002: 116; Coombes

1994; Hall 2002: 449, 256; see Chapter 2.2.5). In his earlier works on Koma Land, for

example, Anquandah emphasised the aesthetic value of the figurines using Western

art-criteria, an approach similarly taken by others reporting on the figurines at the

time, and subsequently (Abasi 1991; Anquandah 1987a, 1987b, 1998, 2002, 2003,

2006, and with Van Ham 1985; Barich 1998; Beltrami 1992; Dagan 1989; Schaedler

1987). This is an approach that art historic catalogues of Koma Land figurines held

in private European collections have also actively pursued (Anquandah 2014: 204;

Cocle 1991; Dagan 1989; Scheutz et al. 2016).

Yet, more recently, Anquandah has critiqued the analysis of African material culture

using Western art criteria (2014: 207, 215). He has called for the development of

“ethnoaesthetic” studies in Sub-Saharan Africa, focusing on the investigation of

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material culture using available linguistic and historical evidence to produce

localised, contextually-relevant analyses that understand and document West

African aesthetic concepts (Anquandah 2014: 207, 215).

The proclivity towards “figurine essentialism” – unintentionally demonstrated in

many of the historic publications on the archaeology of Iron Age Koma Land – has

been countered here by the analysis of the YK10/11 shrine mound pottery vessel

assemblage. Indeed, one of the rationales underpinning this thesis was the need to

redress the imbalance created by historic focus on the figurines at the expense of

the remaining material culture, but particularly, the pottery (but see Asamoah-

Mensah 2013, and Nkumbaan 2016, for some analysis of ceramics from Koma Land

settlement and shrine mounds; and Insoll et al. 2010, although this is, as yet,

unpublished).

The imbalance has been both practical and theoretical. The dearth of pottery

studies (Anquandah 1998 [although this is not detailed]; Asamoah-Mensah 2013;

Insoll et al. 2010; Nkumbaan 2016) in comparison to the considerable number of

figurine-related publications (Abasi 1991; Anquandah 1987a, 1987b, 1998, 2002,

2003, 2006, with Van Ham 1985; Barich 1998; Beltrami 1992; Cocle 1991, Dagan

1989; Insoll et al. 2013, 2016; Kankpeyeng and Nkumbaan 2008, 2009; Kankpeyeng

et al. 2011; Kröger 1988; Robinson et al. 2017; Schaedler 1987; Scheutz et al. 2016)

has been historically matched by the simplistic, unconsciously expressed perception

that the figurines and the pottery fall on opposing sides of Durkheim’s sacred/

mundane divide (Anquandah 1987b, 2002, 2003; Beltrami 1992; Dagan 1989).

Designating certain types of material as ritual, symbolic, spiritual, sacred, and

illogical, and others as functional, mundane, domestic, and ordinary, on the basis of

form has been repeatedly problematised by archaeologists and ethnographers both

in Africa and further afield (Bahn 1989; Brück 1999; Evans-Pritchard 1937; Goody

1961, 1970; Insoll 2004; Stahl 2008; Tait 1961; Tilley 1999: 100; but see Chapter 2

for an in-depth discussion). With respect to West African ceramics, multiple

archaeological and ethnographic studies have made plain that the designation of

sacred or mundane – a Western construct – is often irrelevant to the reality (Barley

1994; Berns 1989, 1993; Davies 1967; Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 482; Slogar 2007;

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Stahl 2008; Wild 1935). Particularly, Stahl has pointed out that it is often not

possible to separate “religion and ritual from the domain of daily life”; thus,

theoretical attempts to divorce the two are misleading and arbitrary (Stahl 2008:

160). Brück has similarly challenged the view that ritual is anything in the material

record which appears “non-functional and irrational” (1999: 313). The overuse of

the term ritual, and its generic application to anything unusual or unfamiliar, also

risks making it meaningless (Insoll 2004: 3). Further, whilst critiquing the

essentialist, Western thinking that often pervades archaeological theory, Conneller

has highlighted the problematic habit of privileging “form over material” as

deterministic and inflexible (2013: 121), as introduced in previous chapters.

To summarise crucial arguments from Chapter 2, privileging form over material in

Sub-Saharan African contexts has often caused objects to become casualties of the

idea that they fall into a ‘higher’ or ‘lower’ form of art category. Specifically, high art

forms include painting, and sculpture – the production of figurines – and lower

forms include activities designated as craftwork, such as pottery-making and

smithing (Berns 1989; Ravenhill 1987). Berns has argued that these designations are

“arbitrary” and “can prevent, and have prevented, our full understanding of African

material culture” (1989: 34). Ravenhill (1987: 34) made a similar observation: focus

on art has led to the neglect of much else (for an example, see Casely-Hayford

2002).

Such a focus on art has likewise led to gender imbalance, as figurines (ritual,

artistic) are perceived as the male domain, and pottery (domestic, craftwork) are

perceived as the female (Berns 1989: 35; Berns 1993). Beyond this, Nanoglou has

argued that ‘figurines’ as a concept and as a descriptive term – even of those

representing human forms – should be discarded (2005: 146, 2015). Here, the term

is criticised as isolating, restricting the figurines to one facet of their materiality and

ignoring their ability to be performative and transformative objects with context-

dependent meanings and uses (Nanoglou 2005: 146; Nanoglou 2015).

Thus, what must be addressed (as Bailey observed; 2005: 13), is the

characterisation of figurines as a unique and distinct category of material culture. In

the context of this thesis, how figurines have been characterised is misleading. The

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YK10/11 pottery sherds, discs, and figurines are all ceramic artefacts that have in

common production materials, techniques, deposition contexts, and in all

likelihood, their makers. Yet, these factors and the relationships between them

have hardly been considered, and no studies providing an integrated, comparative

analysis of the different types of Koma Land ceramic artefacts have been produced.

Chapter 6 does so.

To this end, Table 22 below provides a brief, comparative summary of where and

how the chaîne opératoire for the Koma Land pottery sherds and figurines

intersect. This includes similarities with their fabric, temper, the techniques used to

form both types of ceramic, decorative techniques, firing conditions, and slip. The

comparative analysis of the pottery and figurines that was initiated in Chapter 5 is

expanded and developed here. Chapter 6 also seeks to contextualise the meanings

and roles of the different types of clay and ceramic material present in the YK10/11

shrine mound. It does this, firstly, by exploring, as far as possible, how the two

libation structures, the complete vessels, sherds, figurines, vessel-figurines, and

discs relate to one another, using fabric, form, and so on, as above. Secondly, by

analysing the relationships created through the ceramic materials’ treatment,

deposition, and distribution.

Some elements of the analysis and discussion sought here surpass the data

currently available. No compositional analysis of the libation structure, for example,

has so far been undertaken, nor is there a publication that comprehensively details

the pottery discs and other modified pottery sherds. Whilst respecting the scope of

this thesis, which first and foremost, is an analysis of the YK10/11 shrine mound

pottery assemblage, discussion of these other elements is included where relevant

to highlight possible artefact-relationships and to signpost future avenues for

research. Analysing these features would be an informative and productive

undertaking.

The pottery discussed here is primarily restricted to the YK10/11 assemblage,

because it is currently the only fully analysed assemblage from a shrine mound.

Asamoah-Mensah’s (2013) investigation of the ceramics and features of a Koma

Land YK10 settlement mound will be referred to for comparative analysis as

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appropriate, and an in-depth comparative analysis of all known Koma Land pottery

is provided in Chapter 7.3 (Asamoah-Mensah 2013; Nkumbaan 2016). The figurines

are taken from a wider range of sources than the YK10/11 material, as in the

literature, selected figurines from all years of excavation (YK07, YK08, YK10, YK11)

have been discussed interchangeably and collectively, and no publication that

catalogues all of the figurines excavated from each field season currently exists.

This action has also been taken because of the lack of detailed contextual

information for the YK10/11 mound. The contextual information used here is

derived from previous publications (Insoll et al. 2012, 2013; Kankpeyeng et al. 2011,

2013; Robinson et al. 2017) and Insoll et al’s. unpublished field notes (2010).

All material discussed here, as throughout this thesis, originates from

contextualised archaeological excavations (Anquandah 1998; Insoll et al. 2012,

Insoll et al. 2013; Kankpeyeng and Nkumbaan 2008, 2009; Kankpeyeng et al. 2013),

with the exception of the vessel-figurines. As elaborated below (Section 6.6), only

one vessel-figurine been legally, archaeologically excavated (Insoll et al. 2013: 32).

All remaining published examples belong to private collections (Cockle 1991;

Schaedler et al. 2016). Unfortunately, it appears likely that the five, non-

archaeological examples were imitations (pers comm. T. Insoll, June 2017).

Consequently, but with a caveat, these examples are included in discussion.

Chaîne opératoire

Stage of production Vessels Figurines

Fabric (6.2) Typically, characterised by fine fabric

that falls within the 2.5YR and 5YR

Munsell colour series (orange-red-

brown). 88% of the assemblage is

micaceous.

The fabric ranges from fine to coarse

(Insoll et al. 2012: 30; Insoll et al. 2013:

15) and is made of orange-red clay;

with one exception, which is instead

made of an unusual grey clay. Visually,

the figurines fall within the Munsell YR

series, but this has not been qualified

further because this observation has

been made using photographs (from

Insoll et al. 2013).

Temper (6.2) 9.55% of the assemblage contains

quartz temper between 0.2cm to 0.4cm

in size. Where present, this temper is

most frequently white. Other inclusions

(white, brown, black, red-brown), up to

approximately 0.4cm in size, are well

sorted. The majority of the sherds have

significant numbers of inclusions (20%

frequency or greater).

An unknown number of figurines

contain quartz temper, colours

unknown (Insoll et al. 2013: 13). Some

figurines are described as containing

gravel, or “gritty temper” (Insoll 2015:

50; Insoll et al. 2013: 16).

Shaping and forming (6.3.1) A small portion of the assemblage

shows evidence of coiling.

The majority of the figurines are made

in one piece, from a lump, but some

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Pot-stand legs are attached to pot-

stands using a ‘ball and socket joint’

technique.

have ‘limbs’ attached using a ‘ball and

socket joint’ technique (Insoll et al.

2012: 29; Insoll et al. 2013: 13).

Surface treatment (6.3.2) Two thirds of the YK10/11 assemblage

is slipped in red or red-orange slip

(2.5YR Munsell colour series). This slip

is generously applied in a layer thick

enough to obscure the decoration on

some sherds.

Some figurines are observed to exhibit

traces of pink-red slip (Insoll et al. 2013:

13).

Decoration (6.3.3) Decorated sherds made up 47.67% of

the analysed YK10/11 assemblage. The

following decoration types were

employed: four identifiable varieties of

roulette, incised lines and grooves,

stamping, rectangular banding (of rims)

and, appliqué. Roulette accounted for

60.18% of the decorated sherds, and

4.81% was made up of sherds with

multiple decoration types.

The figurines, using a sample of 48

figurines (consisting of figurines from

YK07, YK08, YK10, YK11, and one from

Tando Fagusa in 2007) exhibited:

appliqué, incised lines, stamping,

grooves, carved wooden roulette, and

pinching. Appliqué was the most

common technique.

Firing (6.4) Low-fired and is likely a product of an

open firing technique.

Some sherds have been blackened on

their surfaces from contact with fuel

during firing; 9.51% of the assemblage

was incompletely fired, with irregularly

placed burnt patches.

The figurines have been described as

“low-fired” and some exhibit traces of

black/ discolouration (Insoll et al. 2013:

29). Some of this discolouration,

however, may be a consequence of

later burning of the fired figurines in

situ, (rather than from firing) possibly

as a method of ritual deactivation

(Robinson et al. 2017: 17).

Table 22: A comparison of the Koma Land pottery and figurines chaîne opératoire.

6.2 Fabric

The conclusions reached in 6.2 rely on observations drawn, firstly, from visual

analysis of good quality, high resolution photographs of Koma Land figurines from

YK07, YK08, YK10, and YK11 that appear in the 2013 Manchester Museum

Fragmentary Ancestors exhibition guidebook (Insoll et al. 2013), and from other

publications as appropriate (Insoll et al. 2012; Kankpeyeng et al. 2013; Kankpeyeng

and Nkumbaan 2008, 2009). Secondly, from published descriptions of the figurines’

fabric (Insoll et al. 2012; Insoll et al. 2013, Insoll 2015). Thirdly, from first-hand

notes and personal observations of the above Manchester Museum exhibition, and

an exhibition in the Department of Archaeology and Heritage Studies’ teaching

museum on-campus at the University of Ghana. Chapter 4.3 has thoroughly

documented the fabric of the YK10/11 pottery assemblage, so those details will not

be repeated here except where doing so enhances or elucidates discussion.

Both ceramic types had a similar range of red-orange-brown fabric colours; 97.3%

of the YK10/11 sherds fell within the Munsell YR (yellow-red) series, with 57.1% in

the 7.5YR series alone (see Chapter 4.3). Inclusions were abundant (40%+), very

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common (30-39%), or common (20-29%) in 48.53% of the pottery assemblage. A

significant number of the published figurines (e.g. see Insoll et al. 2013) also

exhibited a high frequency of surface inclusions that would fit into one of these

three inclusion-frequency categories, and visually, the sizes, colours, and shapes of

the figurines’ and sherds’ inclusions were very similar.

The fabric of both appears to be typically characterised by the presence of sub-

angular, sub-rounded, and rounded white, black, and brown inclusions, occasional

red-brown inclusions, and mica, of approximately 0.3cm and below. Although, in

some examples the figurines’ inclusions are more angular than those found in the

pottery sherds. Mica was present in 88% of the YK10/11 assemblage, but it is, as

yet, unclear if this frequency is mirrored in the figurines. One example of an

anthropomorphic cone figurine, a common figurine type, was made from grey

coloured clay instead of the typical red-orange-brown clay, indicating either a

different clay source, or that it had been produced elsewhere and brought to the

shrine (Insoll et al. 2013: 16). None of the YK10/11 sherds were made of

comparable clay.

Published descriptions of the figurines’ fabric show it varied from fine (Insoll et al.

2012: 30) to coarse (Insoll et al. 2013: 15). The sherds’ fabric also ranged from fine

to coarse, but, at 98.0%, the former dominated. The sub-angular and sub-rounded

closed pores visible in the fabric of 5.6% of the YK10/11 pottery assemblage –

consistent with those found in low-fired pottery – were also visible in the images

produced from the computed tomography of a selection of figurines (Insoll et al.

2013: 13; Insoll et al. 2016). Reports on the figurines’ temper describe some as

including “laterite gravel” (Insoll 2015: 50, Insoll et al. 2013: 15), others as “gritty”,

(Insoll et al. 2013: 16), or conversely, having no visible temper at all (Insoll et al.

2013: 15). At this juncture, the exact number of figurines with temper – and what

type(s) of temper they contained – is unknown.

What is known is that quartz was used to temper both Koma Land pottery and

figurines. Initially, the excavators theorised that the large size of the quartz temper

in the figurines (0.2cm to 0.4cm) would be unsuitable for the vessels because of the

risk the pots would shatter whilst being fired (Insoll et al. 2013: 13; see Chapter

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4.3). Aside from one almost complete YK08 vessel, which contained quartz temper

of a smaller size than the figurines, and was interpreted as having a ritual function

because “based on modern parallels, it is too small to have functioned for

household cooking, serving, or storage” (Insoll et al. 2013: 23), the excavators were

not aware that any vessels with quartz temper existed (see Insoll 2015: 50). As

such, the interpretation that the quartz temper in the figurines was potentially a

process of “referencing potent places” (Insoll 2015: 50; see Chapter 4.3), did not

extend to the domestic assemblage.

Analysis of the YK10/11 pottery assemblage, however, has revealed not only that

9.55% of the assemblage contained quartz temper, but that it varied between

0.2cm to 0.6cm in size. Detailed study of the sherds (rim and body) with quartz

temper revealed no other factors that would distinguish them from their non-

quartz tempered counterparts. There was no evidence for even weak positive

correlation between quartz size/colour and rim diameter, nor between quartz

size/colour and sherd thickness, rim type, vessel form, fabric colour, decoration

type, presence or colour of slip, and so on. No base sherds, handles, or lugs

contained visible quartz temper, but as the number of these in the assemblage was

minute (40 in total), this is unlikely to be significant. Similarly, Asamoah-Mensah did

not note any distinguishing features in the quartz-tempered ceramics from her

Koma Land settlement mound, although she did only observe the presence of white

coloured quartz and interpreted the quartz (and also the mica) not as temper, but

as inclusions naturally occurring in the clay (2013: 103; see Chapter 4.3 for counter

argument). At Tando-Fagusa in Koma Land, Nkumbaan observed “quartz particles”

in the pottery sherds there but did not specify their size or the percentage of sherds

they appeared in (2016: 132). Apart from this reference, there is no mention of

quartz at Tando-Fagusa, so it is unclear whether any artefacts or unworked pieces

were recovered.

As documented in Chapter 4.3, analysis of the YK10/11 quartz-tempered sherds

revealed a preference for white quartz temper (89.3%), but also recorded pink

quartz (8.7%), pink-red (0.66%) and purple (0.33%). In a further three sherds did

two different colours of quartz – pink and white (1%) – occur together. At this

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stage, it is unclear whether these colour preferences are reflected in the quartz-

tempered figurines, but to find out would be very useful.

Repeatedly favouring a certain colour for a typically non-visible element of the

vessel fabric is intriguing, as is the selective use of quartz temper itself. Unlike some

artefacts in the shrine that were perhaps valued in part for their scarcity, such as

the Cypraea moneta, quartz was, geologically, an easily accessible material (see

Chapter 4.3), which makes the decision to be selective even more intriguing.

The use of quartz in both the pottery and the figurines controverts the excavators’

initial theory that it was present only in ceramic artefacts (the figurines and small

pot) made purposefully for ritual. It is possible that these pots were made for ritual

purpose, and that this quartz temper is what distinguished them; however, it has

already been made clear in this thesis that sherds from domestic pots were

commonly used for shrine activities, and that YK10/11 sherds with quartz temper

could not be distinguished in terms of design, treatment, or condition from those

without it. This limits the suggestion that they were used differently from non-

quartz tempered sherds. It would be extremely challenging for any individual but

the maker to identify a whole, undamaged quartz tempered pot from its non-quartz

fellows, and so, based on the current evidence, this idea is unconvincing.

What is useful at this stage is to examine the preference for white quartz in more

detail. Understanding past meanings of colour has often been viewed as an elusive

pastime in archaeology, particularly when the archaeologist is faced only with

material evidence, causing the topic to remain somewhat neglected (Gage 1999a:

110, 1992b; Jones and Bradley 1999: 112; Taçon 1999: 120). To date, the most

influential and controversial concept of colour in archaeology is Berlin’s and Kay’s

universal study of colour terms, which theorised that if a society’s language had a

few terms for colours, these terms would always be white, black, and red in the first

instance, and in the second instance, other colours would be verbally expressed

only as the language developed (Berlin and Kay 1969). Berlin and Kay have been

rightly criticised because they argued their theory was universally-applicable but

created and tested it using Eurocentric evidence (Chapman 2002: 47; Gage 1999a:

110; Saunders 1995). White, red, and black are well-known as a “quasi-universal”

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triad in Sub-Saharan Africa (Herbert 1984; 278; for examples and discussion see also

Berns 1988: 64; Insoll 2009: 291, Insoll et al. 2009: 48; Jacobson-Widding 1979;

Turner 1985), but the meanings behind their co-occurrence are variable and

context dependent; a nuance that Berlin and Kay did not explore.

They also received criticism for failing to consider aspects of colour beyond hue,

including shine and luminescence that other academics have subsequently shown

to be noteworthy (Chapman 2002; Taçon 1999: 120). See, for example, Saunders’

examination of differing Amerindian and Spanish attitudes towards gold, copper,

and pearls in the 15th and 16th century AD Americas, which allowed him to

demonstrate that the two societies functioned on the basis of different cosmologies

and value systems (1995, 1998, 1999, 2002), and to show how the Spanish

exploited this to construct a prejudiced political narrative about Amerindian

identity.

Saunder’s approach was context-specific and the same approach is advocated here.

To this end, the quartz temper should not be analysed in isolation, but with

reference to the other quartz material from the shrine. The YK10/11 quartz

assemblage consisted of: upper grinding stones, smoothed quartz pebbles possibly

used for fine grinding or burnishing ceramics and/or adobe walls (Insoll et al. 2013:

27), a single quartz lip/ ear plug (Insoll et al. 2013: 33; Insoll et al. 2012: 40), and

several thin, angular, oblong unworked pieces of quartz (personal observation).

Finally, in the YK10/11 pottery assemblage, one perforated sherd (of 47) had been

modified through the insertion of four pieces of purple-pink quartz into the

perforations (see Chapters 4.2.4, and 5.6), and another sherd had had a piece of

white quartz deliberately incorporated into the stamped decoration on its external

surface (again see Chapter 5.6).

Apart from the lip/ ear plug, the number of each artefact type has not yet been

published. The majority of the illustrated quartz artefacts are made from white

quartz (Insoll et al. 2013: 27), but it is unclear whether this is a representative

sample of the colours, or a consequence of the authors’ selection of publication

material. Asamoah-Mensah recorded a number of grinding stones/querns from her

Koma Land settlement mound excavation but did not describe what material(s)

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they were made from (2013: 63, 64, 119). Anquandah observed lower and upper

grinders respectively comprised of “rectangular granitic hollowed stone and

spheroid quartz balls” in his 1985 excavation of four mounds (1998: 93), to the

amount of 1,193 quartz balls, and 1,874 granitic querns (1998: 95). Unfortunately,

he did not specify the quartz’s colour(s).

The quartz grinders were almost certainly used in food preparation, or, perhaps

medicine (Insoll et al. 2013: 27). The presence of species of tree, of grasses/ cereals,

and of plantain/ banana in some of the figurines’ cavities (Robinson et al. 2017: 17)

supports the use of the grinders in food/ medicine processing (some ingredients

may have had roles in both). There is also a possibility that the quartz itself had a

medicinal role – in its capacity as a tool, or unworked – as has been reported

elsewhere in British Neolithic (Arthur and Murray 2014: 6), Irish and British Bronze

Age (Lebour 1914: 133), and Mayan (Conneller 2011: 80) contexts. Perforated

quartz pebbles in Togo and south-eastern Ghana – original purpose and age

unknown – were repurposed in the 20th century for medicinal use, submerged in

water that was drunk or bathed in (Insoll 2015: 194).

The appearance of quartz in Iron Age religious and spiritual contexts is not

restricted to Koma Land. In Ìloyì, a 13th to 16th century AD settlement site in

southwest Nigeria, for example, quartz pebbles, and pottery with “quartz grains

and mica” were excavated (Ogundiran 2002b: 33, 35), and quartz slabs were also

found associated with a human burial (Ogundiran 2002b: 47). In the Mandara

Mountains of north Cameroon and northeastern Chad, quartz pieces and pot

sherds were given as offerings to shrines (Sterner and David 2009: 6). “A mound of

white quartz flakes, demarcated by boulders” was deliberately deposited in the

historically-established but still-venerated Nyoo shrine in the Tong Hills in northern

Ghana (Insoll et al. 2011: 21). At Nyoo, some of the excavated ceramics were also

tempered with white and pink-white quartz pieces up to 0.2cm in size (Insoll et al.

2011: 33); here, the quartz was so poorly sorted it likely did not function as temper,

but was a natural addition (Insoll et al. 2011: 34).

The YK10/11 white quartz lip/ ear plug has been associated with individual ritual

activity, perhaps as a symbolic materialisation of the individual linking them with

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their ancestors (Insoll et al. 2012: 40). Potentially, it is purpose may also have been

for healing. Meanwhile, the purpose of the unworked quartz is unclear. The pieces’

shapes, sizes, and thinness made them unsuitable raw material for grinders

(personal observation). Interestingly, all were white. Fowler has pointed out that in

the British and Irish Neolithic, quartz was rarely used to make artefacts; “instead,

quartz was valued as a substance” and he theorises that white quartz may have

been symbolic of similarly coloured bodily fluids, such as bone, milk, and semen,

possibly used at significant places such as the seashore and mountains at particular

times of year (Fowler 2004: 116).

In archaeological theory, the qualities of luminescence and shininess have been

perceived as intrinsic to quartz’s value in past societies (Conneller 2011: 80; Darvill

2002; Nixon 2009; Taçon 1999: 120). The value of luminescence to the inhabitants

of Iron Age Koma Land is suggested not only by the seemingly prolific use of quartz,

but by the propensity for this quality to appear in other Koma Land contexts. For

example, the presence of Cypraea moneta in the shrine, which have long been

associated with water and valued for their eye-catching luminescence in multiple

historical contexts (Atkinson 2014; Ben-Amos 1973; Hiskett 1966: 340-341;

Hogendorn and Johnson 1986: 6; Renne 1994: 107; Van Beek 1988), and, perhaps

more solidly, the fact that 88% of the pottery sherds in the YK10/11 assemblage

were incredibly micaceous (see Chapter 4.3).

Quartz is also piezoelectric (Gilchrist 2008: 138). In essence, this means that rubbing

or striking two pieces against each other creates triboluminescence, “a faint glow”

(Gilchrist 2008: 138); a glow that Lebour reported to be “almost better” when

struck underwater (1914: 121). It is not clear whether the inhabitants of Iron Age

Koma Land were aware of quartz’s capability for triboluminescence, but given its

ubiquity throughout the region, it seems likely. What meaning they associated with

it, however, can only be guessed at. It is possible that quartz was linked with/

symbolic of water, a popular, well-evidenced association in numerous temporal and

spatial historic contexts, (Arthur and Murray 2014; Conneller 2011; Darvill 2002;

Gilchrist 2008; Lebour 1914) and potentially supported here by Koma Land’s

location in a river basin. Whether the cowrie shells and the quartz in the shrine had

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complementary purpose(s) or meaning(s) is an interesting question to ask, but one

it is unlikely can ever be substantiated.

The hardness of quartz is derived from its natural high silica content, putting it at

Hardness 7 on the Mohs Hardness Scale (Wicander and Monroe 2006: 68). For

comparison, diamond is Hardness 10, and a copper penny, Hardness 3 (Wicander

and Monroe 2006: 68). This hardness makes quartz a suitable material for grinders

(as above; granite is typically between 6 and 7 on the Mohs Scale (Richardson 2001:

9)), but also for fire lighting, if used with an iron object or piece of iron pyrite to

create sparks (Wicander and Monroe 2006: 69). Evidence for in situ scorching of

figurines in Koma Land shrine contexts (see Chapter 6.4; Robinson et al. 2017: 17)

suggests there would be a use for such artefacts in proximity to the shrine, offering

circumstantial evidence that the unworked quartz pieces were used thus. Iron,

softer than quartz on the Mohs Hardness Scale, would not necessarily leave use-

wear marks to indicate the quartz had been used this way. The quartz may then

also have been deposited, or conversely, kept specially within the shrine for such

instances.

Examining the entire quartz assemblage has revealed: (a) a continued (but not

exclusive) preference for white quartz, beyond temper; (b) that the use of quartz

was not restricted to one context or type of artefact; (c) value/ meaning was not

only attributed to worked quartz artefacts, but also the raw material; and (d) haptic

as well as visual experience may have been a significant element of its use and

meaning. This last point is especially relevant to the quartz tempered pottery and

figurines. The collection and processing of clay and the collection and processing of

minerals are not unrelated activities, and the two may have even been carried out

simultaneously. Invisible but not ineffective, the quartz may have been added in the

belief its hardness contributed to the quality or strength of the ceramic artefact.

Still unexplained is the preference for white quartz, even when not visible, and its

selective use in the pottery and figurines. The even more restricted use of pink/

purple quartz also remains unexplained here. At this stage, only inference is

possible, and Chapter 4’s call for quartz provenance studies in Koma Land is

emphasised and repeated. It is possible that the interpretation of using quartz

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temper to “reference potent places” (Insoll 2015: 50) is relevant to both the pottery

and the figurines. These places might include, or be characterised by, particular

quartz outcrops. Further, as Jones and Bradley have rightly pointed out in a

discussion of colour in European archaeology, and as shown above, colour and

other qualities such as texture, hardness, and luminescence, may collectively create

meaning (1999: 113).

Remembering Gosselain’s analyses of pottery-making and the technical and social

choices that produced them, a simple but potentially no less valid alternative

explanation is that the quartz tempered ceramics were the work of a single potter.

Gosselain’s ethnographic studies of pottery-making in West Africa have made

explicit that potters may make technical and stylistic decisions based entirely on

personal aesthetics, the resources to hand, tradition, fashion, or even for reasons

they cannot verbally quantify (Gosselain 1992b: 574; Gosselain 2010: 202;

Gosselain 2016: 60). In ethnographic contexts, such knowledge allows the individual

to be clearly identified from the material record. In archaeological contexts, such

knowledge is ephemeral. What this interpretation could suggest, if true, is that

these quartz-tempered figurines and pottery were the product of one particular

specialist who preferred quartz for aesthetic or symbolic reasons, or both.

The points discussed in this section have made clear the value of integrating the

analysis of different types of fired-clay artefacts. The ability to produce informed

discussion is increased by comparative analysis and by understanding that each

type of material is one component of a whole assemblage; viewing each artefact

type in isolation means this assemblage, and the activities and beliefs that

produced and gave meaning to it, remain obscure and poorly understood. As

Conneller has argued, prioritising form over material is an element of Western

philosophy that perceives artefacts (in this case, pots, and figurines) as rigid entities

with discrete and regulated qualities, leading researchers to treat them accordingly

(Conneller 2011: 19; see also Ingold 2007). Here, fabric analysis has demonstrated

that the pottery’s and figurines’ fabric is analogous, both in terms of the clay itself

and the temper. Again, this supports the view that the makers of the Koma Land

pottery and figurines were the same.

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6.3 Manufacturing techniques

The use of similar if not identical fabric for the Koma Land pottery vessels and

figurines is not, in itself, robust enough evidence to validate the argument that the

makers of both were one and the same. Whilst the selective addition of quartz

temper to both types of ceramic provides a beginning, it is also crucial to assess

how far (and if so, in what ways) the techniques used to produce the pottery and

figurines overlapped. To an extent, the ability to do so is restricted by the condition

of the assemblage and the visibility of the manufacturing techniques. Discussions

begun in Chapters 4.2.2. and 5.6 about the use of a ‘ball and socket joint’ style

technique to attach figurine limbs to figurine bodies, and pot-stand legs to pot-

stands, however, have already demonstrated that there were mutual methods of

manufacture.

6.3.1 Shaping and forming

Two methods of figurine manufacture have been identified; the figurines “were

either modelled as a solid object, or made from different parts fitted together using

precise joints. Arms and legs were sometimes modelled separately and then

attached” (Insoll et al. 2013: 13). These joints were in the style of a human “ball and

socket joint” (Insoll et al. 2012: 29). The use of a similar style ‘ball and socket joint’

to affix the pot-stand legs from Koma Land to the pot-stands has been observed, as

discussed in Chapter 5.6. Evidence for the use of this technique is found in the

shape of the pot legs excavated from the YK10/11 shrine mound. Although, no

whole pot-stands have yet been found to corroborate this either at Yikpabongo, or

at Tando-Fagusa (Nkumbaan 2016). Unlike the figurines, some of the YK10/11

pottery sherds exhibit distinctive marks from coiling (see Chapter 4.5). The two

handles in the assemblage have been identified as drawn from a lump, a technique

comparable with modelling a solid object, such as a figurine, from one piece of clay.

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Figures 33 and 34: The former illustrates the “ball and socket joint” used in the manufacture of some

figurines (Insoll et al. 2013: 13), and the latter is a computed tomography scan of an incision through

the body of a figurine from the top of the head (Insoll et al. 2013: 13).

A significant feature of the Koma Land figurines are the narrow linear incisions

piercing the body, either through the top of the head, through facial orifices in the

human/ anthropomorphic figurines – most frequently the mouth and ears – or

sometimes both (Insoll et al. 2013: 13; Robinson 2017; Figure 34). It is theorised the

rounded cavities were made before firing using bird feathers or porcupine quills,

and the more pointed ones using reeds, grass, or sharp sticks (Insoll et al. 2016: 30).

There is no evidence that any of the pottery vessels received any comparable

treatment. Generally, the size of the perforations in the perforated sherds (4.2.4)

appears to have dwarfed the thickness of the incisions in the figurines. It is possible

that the incised cavities in the figurines may have been created with the use of the

same/similar tools used to create the ceramics’ line and groove decoration.

6.3.2 Decoration

In this section, high resolution images of Koma Land figurines from Insoll et al. 2013

have been examined, providing a sample of 48 figurines excavated from YK07,

YK08, YK10, YK11, and one figurine (No. 43, see Table 23 below) from Tando

Fagusa. This sample is compared with all of the decorated sherds in the YK10/11

pottery assemblage (n=2535). As these sample sizes are disproportionate, the focus

in Section 6.3.2 is a semi-quantitative documenting of which techniques are unique

to the sherds and to the figurines, and which techniques are visible on both, rather

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than a comprehensive quantitative comparative analysis. With future publications,

this will become possible.

Technique Sherds Figurines

Incised lines ✓ ✓

Grooves ✓ ✓

Stamping ✓ ✓

Roulette: strip ✓

Roulette: cord ✓

Roulette: mat ✓

Roulette: carved wooden ✓ ✓

Appliqué ✓ ✓

Rectangular banding ✓

Pinching* ✓ ✓

Table 23: Comparison of the decorative techniques used for YK10/11 pottery assemblage and the

YK07, YK08, YK10, andYK11 figurines. *When the clay is pinched together using the fingers to create

a crest or protrusion. It is different from appliqué, which uses additional pieces of clay that are added

to the figurine, unlike pinching, which moulds clay from the artefact itself.

No. Figurine context number Figurine type Decorative techniques

1 YK08-2-AB8.2 Crocodile Carved wooden roulette, appliqué,

pinching

2 YK08-AB9-L7 (1-4) Rider and mount Incised lines, appliqué

3 YK08-2-A8/B8.6 Large Janus figurine Incised lines, appliqué

4 YK07-2-D1.1 Large clay-cylinder fragment Pinching

5 YK07-2-D4.1 Small winged human/ bird

6 YK07-2-C1.1 Tail and rear body of unknown

creature

Stamping

7 YK08-2-A8/B8.6 Human arm and hand Appliqué, stamping

8 YK07-2-D1.3 Human torso and left arm Appliqué, stamping

9 YK08-AB9-L7 Anthropomorphic cone

figurine

Appliqué

10 YK11-H13/H14/I13/I14 Elongated anthropomorphic

head

Appliqué, incised lines

11 YK11-H13/H14/I13/I14 Combined human/animal head Appliqué, incised lines

12 YK10-I15.3.4 Chameleon Pinching

13 YK07-2-D4.7 Combined human/bird with

pointed base

Appliqué, incised lines

14 YK07-2-D4.1 Standing bird Appliqué, stamping, incised lines

15 YK07-2-D4.1 and YK08-AB9-L5 Fragments of bird (x3) Appliqué, incised lines, grooves

16 YK08-AB9-L7 Body of a bird Stamping

17 YK07-2-A7.1 Clay bicone

18 YK07-2—D3.2 Clay bicone

19 YK11-Q10-L1 Clay bicone

20 N/A Conical figurine



23 N/A Conical figurine Incised lines



26 N/A Conical figurine Stamping


28 YK10-O11.3 Stylised androgynous human

head

Appliqué

29 YK08-AB9-L5 Stylised male head Appliqué, incised lines

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30 YK08-AB9-L6 Stylised male head Incised lines

31 YK07-2-D5.1 Anencephalic head Appliqué

32 YK07-2-B5.1 Reptile/ mythical creature Appliqué, grooves

33 YK10-D11.3 Seated female Appliqué, grooves, stamping

34 YK07-2-D2.1 Torso fragment Appliqué, grooves, stamping

35 YK07-2-O2-1 Janus head Appliqué, stamping

36 YK07-2-D1.3 Stylised human head Appliqué, stamping

37 YK07-2-A3.1 Stylised human head Stamping

38 YK08-A9/B9-L7 Human head with cap/ hair

style

Appliqué, carved wooden roulette

39 YK07-2-01.2 Bearded head Appliqué, stamping

40 YK07-2-B5.1 Large head (crested hairstyle) Appliqué, pinching

41 YK07-2-C4.1 Janus head Appliqué, pinching

42 YK07-2-C4.2 Janus lid Appliqué

43 TD07-1-A1.1 Torso and upper legs with

phallus

Appliqué, stamping

44 YK08-2-A8.6 Stylised Janus head Appliqué, stamping

45 YK07-2-C4.1 Standing anthropomorphic

figurine

Appliqué, grooves, stamping

46 YK08-2-A9-B8.6 Stylised double torso Appliqué, incised lines

47 YK08-2-AB-8.6 Standing female Incised lines

48 YK07-3-O11-L2 Four-faced Janus Appliqué

Table 24: A catalogue of all the of figurines from Insoll et al. 2013 and the decoration(s) they exhibit.

A hard copy was used in this analysis, but the figurines in this table can all be viewed in an online

version of the exhibition guidebook at:

https://issuu.com/manchestermuseum/docs/koma_guidebook [8/01/2017]. If the box is grey, no

decoration was visible.

Table 24 illustrates the types of decoration common to the figurines and the

pottery sherds. Some types of roulette are absent from the figurines’ decorative

repertoire, and unsurprisingly, rectangular banding is a decorative form limited to

the YK10/11 rims. It demonstrates that appliqué was the most common decorative

technique (58.3%) from this sample of Koma Land figurines. It is used to add detail

such as jewellery, weaponry, hairstyles, and clothing to human/ anthropomorphic

figurines, and is used to add texture to some of the animal figurines, for example

the reptile/ mythical creature’s appliquéd spots (Table 24, No. 32). Figure 35,

below, illustrate examples of the range of decorative techniques visible on the

figurines.

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Figure 35: Clockwise from top left: Standing anthropomorphic figurine (No. 45; Insoll et al. 2013: 34);

Combined human/ bird with pointed base (No. 13; Insoll et al. 2013: 18, 22); Combined human/

animal head (No. 11; Insoll et al. 2013: 21); Human head wearing textured cap (No. 38; Insoll et al.

2013: 29, 36); Chameleon (No. 12; Insoll et al. 2013: 21); and Crocodile (No. 1; Insoll et al. 2013: 3).

Comparatively, appliqué made up only 0.11% of YK10/11’s decorated sherds. Both

tables demonstrate that similar techniques were used for both types of ceramic.

Differences in (or omitted) techniques are a consequence of suitability; carved

wooden roulettes may be suitable for adding texture to small areas of figurines (see

Table 24, No. 1 and 38), for example, but roulettes as a whole are more suited to

the smooth, level surface provided by a pot wall than to complex and irregularly

shaped figurines. Incised lines and stamps, which can be of countless forms,

lengths, and sizes, are more flexible and therefore more suited to Koma Land

figurine decoration than roulettes.

Techniques used to decorate the figurines often created texture, as with the

reptile/ mythical creature’s spots, to create the ridges along an animal’s back (Table

45

13

11

38

12

1

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24, No’s. 6, 11, 12, 14, and 15), or around the edge of a figurine (e.g. as with some

of the conical figurines; Table 24, No’s. 23, 24, 27, and 27). In the YK10/11 pottery

assemblage, textured, tactile surfaces are repeatedly created through the use of

roulette decoration. These textured surfaces suggest some of the figurines and the

pottery were designed for haptic as well as visual interaction.

In archaeology, visual experiences have often been prioritised over other types of

sensory experience, including touch, although researchers have been seeking to

resolve this (Gheorghiu 2007: 46; Frieman and Gillings 2007; Gosden 2001;

Hamilakis 2014: 23, 43, 48; Paterson 2007: 3). Particularly, Hamilakis has argued

that the Western prioritisation of vision – “autonomous, de-sensorised” – puts it at

odds with the reality of archaeological sensory understanding; “the fundamentally

sensorial nature of both the object of archaeological enquiry (i.e. material things),

and the archaeological process itself” which is reliant on movement and tactility

(2014: 53). Classen has argued that touch is cultural, “tactile communication" learnt

in childhood (2005: 13), something Paterson has also discussed, stating that touch

can be both a form of communication (2007: 154) and a way to recall information

and experiences through memory (2007: 178).

The relationship between ceramics and tactility is not uncommon. Barley, for

instance, references several Sub-Saharan ethnographic examples in which heavily

textured pots are deliberately created (usually using appliqué) to highlight the

contents, which may be potent or dangerous (Ruwenzori Mountains, Uganda; 1994:

121), to represent and remind the user of a morality or folktale (among the Bemba,

in Zambia; 1994: 106), or to reference local scarification practices (among the Zulu,

in South Africa; 1994: 138). Whilst the whole YK10/11 assemblage cannot make this

claim, the possibility that tactility was part of sensory engagement with the

figurines and/ or vessels should be entertained.

6.3.3 Surface treatment

Slip – most frequently in the 2.5YR Munsell colour series (red, red-orange, pink) –

was present on 73.32% of the YK10/11 pottery assemblage. Published descriptions

of the figurines also observed some with “traces of a red or pinkish clay outer slip”

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(Insoll et al. 2013: 13). Whilst many of the figurines had only traces of slip, the slip

covering the pottery sherds was substantial, indicating either that the slip had been

applied more liberally to the sherds than the figurines, or, that the sherds had

remained in a fairer condition for longer.

The eroded nature of many of the sherds, as Chapter 4.1 has previously remarked

upon, and the fact that the available context information shows that sherds were

often placed in layers around and over figurines (leaving the sherds more

susceptible to wear from shrine activities and later, taphonomic processes),

suggests the former is more likely. Conversely, the figurines may retain only traces

of slip because they were more active shrine-constituents and because they were

handled more frequently. Certainly, the number of YK10/11 sherds (9692) dwarfed

the number of YK10/11 figurines (251, whole and fragmented; see Insoll et al. 2012:

29), indicating they were a much more prolific resource.

The suggestion that slip was more liberally applied to the vessels has been

supported by the fact that (as noted in Chapter 4.6.1) there were a significant

number of decorated sherds in the assemblage with slip that has been applied

thickly enough to all but obscure the decoration, whether this is incised, grooved,

stamped, rouletted, or a combination. Comparatively, the decoration present on

the figurines, the details of clothing and jewellery on the human and

anthropomorphic examples, and the deep/ shallow incised holes that pierce many

figurines, have not been obscured by the over-exuberant application of slip.

This difference in the amount of slip used on figurines and pots may reflect the

practice of slipping vessels both for aesthetic purposes and to reduce vessel

porosity, as opposed to a merely aesthetic application for the figurines. Whilst not

dismissing the possibility that the application of slip to the vessels and figurines had

meaning that extended beyond the practical and the aesthetic, determining this

from the material record alone is problematic. The use of slip colours similar in hue

to the fabric suggests the makers’ intention was to enhance the pre-existing colour

palette of the figurines and vessels.

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6.4 Approaches to fire

All of the clay structures and artefacts excavated from YK10/11 Koma Land contexts

– two clay libation structures (in YK10-3-I15, and YK11-O12), figurines, pottery

vessels (and by extension, the pottery discs), a skeuomorphic clay gourd, and six

fired lumps of clay – were low-fired (Insoll et al. 2012: 36, 39; Kankpeyeng et al.

2013: 482, 492; see Chapter 4.8). It is probable the same type of firing technique

was used for all types of ceramic artefact. Chapter 4.8 theorised that the YK10/11

assemblage was open fired (fuel and ceramics stacked together, possibly in a pit,

with the fuel directly touching the ceramics) and used local, readily-available wood

and plant matter for fuel. Using West African ethnographic parallels, the YK10/11

excavators also identified the figurines as being open fired, described here as “the

bonfire method” (but see Orton and Hughes 2013: 135 for the interchangeability of

these two terms; Rice also called this “mixed firing” 2015: 172), whereby figurines

were “stacked under layers of wood and closely monitored [during firing]” (Insoll et

al. 2013: 13).

What should also be considered is the sensory experience of firing; the assumption

that technical processes were just that, technical, is misleading and divisive, but

also undermines the value of the senses to the technical elements of the firing

process. Gheorghiu’s experience of an experimental firing of Chalcolithic-style

pottery with open firing techniques, for example, led him to conclude that the

processes could be described as “technological-ritualistic actions”, which were

In a direct relationship with the human senses because the colours of the

flames or for the fired objects, as well as the smells and the radiated heat,

inform about the interior process of combustion (2007: 40).

Whilst this is an ephemeral state of being that cannot be captured by the material

record, sensory perceptions have a place in archaeological interpretation.

The use of the same firing technique for all types of ceramic artefact indicates that

the Koma Land pottery and figurines were made by a group with a collective

knowledge of ceramic (pyro)technology. This assertion is supported by the

similarities in fabric and production techniques that the two types of ceramic also

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share, discussed above. It is recognised that it cannot be reliably determined

whether the pottery vessels and figurines were produced from separate or mixed

firing events, nevertheless, if the latter were true, it would add to the argument –

repeated throughout this thesis – that ritual and domestic spheres of activity were

not perceived as divisible entities by the inhabitants of Koma Land.

The ability to discuss firing conditions and techniques is made difficult by the fact

that evidence for them is rarely visible in the material record (Santacreu 2013: 101;

see Chapter 4.8 for discussion). Koma Land was no exception, and this has limited

the possibilities for detailed interpretation in this regard, but what has been

observable in the material record is the use of fire in the treatment of already-fired

figurines. Deliberate ‘scorching’ of a YK08 mounted-rider rider figurine (YK08-AB9-

L7) was confirmed both by its excavation from an area of burnt earth, and by DNA

analysis (Robinson et al. 2017: 17). Swabs taken from the figurine’s mouth cavity

identified Coniochaeta yeast, which were known “early colonisers of post-fire sites”

(Robinson 2017: 17). A YK07 figurine (YK07-2-A4-1) was also scorched (Robinson

2017: 13, 17). The authors interpreted this activity as deliberate deactivation of

spiritually-powerful artefacts possibly imbued with personhood (Robinson et al.

2017: 17).

Figures 36 (left); the mounted-rider figurine (YK08-AB9-L7) in situ in the YK08 shrine mound with

pottery sherds (Insoll et al. 2013: 10); and 37 (right), again on display (Insoll et al. 2013: 11).

In her publication on 26 Koma Land figurines in a private collection, Dagan also

observed that some figurines (number unspecified) were “black with signs of

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smoke, and [had a] black patina on reddish material or clay”, which Dagan

interpreted a consequence of the firing technique (1989: 27). Whilst these figurines

are unprovenanced, the presence of smoke discolouration, on top of the “reddish

material” (which is interpreted here as slip), may provide evidence to suggest that

activities involving the deliberate scorching of figurines were practiced across the

region. This is a suggestion that requires further significant archaeological

excavations and figurine analyses to be accurately determined.

Comparatively, field notes available for a portion of the YK10 pottery assemblage

did not record any scorched sherds or the excavation of any sherds from areas of

scorched earth (Insoll et al. 2010), nor is there any record of scorching of YK10’s

clay-libation structure (Insoll et al. 2012: 36). It is unclear whether any of the burnt

areas present on the YK10/11 sherds could be attributed to this practice, because

for the most part it was not possible to distinguish between burning from firing or

use. Given that fire is already the catalyst that transforms leather-hard clay to

ceramic (Gheorghiu 2007: 27, 40; McInnes 2015: 137), the relationship between the

figurines and their post-fire burning is an interesting one. This practice may indicate

the inhabitants of Iron Age Koma Land had a strong conviction in the transformative

powers of fire. Additionally, it is entirely possible that smoke was perceived as

transformative, or purifying (McInnes 2015: 138). The fact that there is, so far, no

evidence that any pottery sherds were treated in this manner is also intriguing. If

one continued to follow Robinson et al.’s (2017: 17) line of argument – that the

scorching was a method of deactivating the figurines (possibly with the power of

the smoke, as well as the fire itself) – one could surmise that the pot sherds were

not imbued with this type of power. Of greatest significance here, however, is the

evidence that the figurines and pottery sherds were treated differently.

6.5 Fragmentation and deposition

“A total of 251 figurines and figurine fragments were recovered during the 2010 and

2011 excavations of mound YK10-3/ YK11. This included 238 figurine fragments, six

largely complete and seven complete figurines. Fragments dominate the

assemblage. Of these, 240 had old breaks and six new breaks caused during

excavation” (Insoll et al. 2012: 29).

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Vessels and figurines in the YK10/11 assemblage were both fragmented, but where

the fragmentation of figurines was deliberate, the majority of vessels were

fragmented ‘accidentally’, through use, and then deposited (the arguments

supporting this interpretation were set out in Chapter 5, so will not be repeated

here). The minority – the known deliberately fragmented vessels – were those

found in situ in the shrine mound. These vessels were not part of the assemblage

assessed by this thesis (see Insoll et al. 2013: 23). Less than 1% of the YK10/11

pottery assemblage could be refitted, and no more than four sherds belonging to

the same vessel were discovered. In Chapter 5, it was theorised that the pottery

sherds were being sourced from household, possibly midden, sites and then

brought to the shrine. Pottery sherds have proven ubiquitous at all of the Iron Age

shrine and settlement sites so far investigated (Anquandah 1987b: 174; Asamoah-

Mensah 2013: 65; Kankpeyeng and Nkumbaan 2008: 95), whilst figurines were

sparse in settlement contexts at Tando Fagusa (Nkumbaan 2016: 133), and were

“totally absent” from the YK10 settlement mound (Asamoah-Mensah 2013: 126).

The deliberate fragmentation of artefacts has been perceived as an act of

enchainment between people, landscape, and things (Chapman 2000, 2008;

Chapman and Gaydarska 2007; Tilley 1999: 100-101). More specifically,

enchainment can occur when artefacts are deliberately fragmented and then

dispersed across the landscape, “a network of places” that may be natural, cultural,

or manipulated (Chapman and Gaydarska 2007: 188). With the dispersal of

fragments of an artefact – which may be held in particular locations, or by groups or

individuals – spatially and temporally across the landscape, the fragment becomes a

mnemonic, a method of commemoration, a token of a shared identity that both

links individuals/ communities together, but also acts as a method of recalling or

remembering “absent people, objects, and places” (Chapman 2008: 9; Chapman

and Gaydarska 2007: 187-188, 199).

The concept of enchainment has potential for thinking through the figurines from

Koma Land, and to some extent, the pottery vessels broken in situ, because the

biographies of these artefacts appear to relate directly to the shrine. The majority

of the shrine’s sherds, however, were domestic fragments that were subsumed and

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recontextualised into social and ritual practices, activities, and experiences, after

‘accidental’ breakage. This is a process Chapman (2000, 2008; and with Gaydarska,

2007) has not considered, and Brittain and Harris (2010: 582) have critiqued

Chapman’s theory for failing to fully explore the connections between enchainment

and accumulation. The process of enchaining a fragment is defined by the act of

creating that fragment, and by the knowledge that fragment is (was) part of a

whole. The act of deliberate fragmentation is a memory making process, and

arguably, the act of remembering the event of fragmentation, or of knowing that it

is a fragment of an artefact, gives that fragment social agency.

Bailey has also recently critiqued Chapman’s and Gaydarska’s fragmentation

theories, cautioning them against what he describes as “anecdotal explanation[s]”

of figurine breakage, which “suggest function and meaning in ways that cannot be

assessed for accuracy with the evidence available” (2017: 826), and in Chapman’s

and Gaydarska’s case, has seen discussions of figurine breakage reduced to debates

about intentionality (2017: 828).

How then to understand accidental fragmentation? Accidental breakage of a

domestic pot is not necessarily socially or culturally inconsequential, and

understandings of this type of fragmentation need to move beyond the

Westernised belief that a broken artefact – if not broken within a deliberate, and

further, visibly deliberate, framework of ritual or social meaning – is merely rubbish.

In early 20th century AD Nigeria, for example, Igbo women made strong expressions

of grief if they saw another woman accidentally break her water pot whilst carrying

it (Barley 1994: 92).

Discarded material, such as fragmented and worn pot sherds (remembering the

argument in Chapter 5.5 that the YK10/11 sherds had significant post-breakage,

pre-depositional biographies), and the places in which it was deposited (such as a

midden, as has been found in Koma Land Yikpabongo settlement mounds

[Asamoah-Mensah 2013] and a ‘rubbish dump’ excavated at Tando-Fagusa

[Nkumbaan 2016]), may be subject to traditions, rules, and certain kinds of social or

ritual practice to the same extent as other areas of activity (McNiven 2013).

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Certainly, evidence of midden-curation and symbolic practices have been evident

in archaeological contexts further afield. In Iron Age southern Britain, for instance,

complex midden activities at East Chisenbury were interpreted not as rubbish and

unwanted material (which included ceramics, animal and human coprolites, a large

faunal assemblage, metal artefacts, a human skull fragment, and evidence of pre-

midden settlement), but as representative of feasting, and as deliberately organised

and structured material, (Brown et al. 1994: 48-49), possibly as a memory-making

activity.

The activities at this site were not isolated occurrences, but appear to be

comparable with midden activities at other British Iron Age sites (Lawson 2000:

267; McOmish 1996; Parker-Pearson et al. 1999). These midden sites have been

interpreted as deliberate stockpiling of organic material and powerful, noticeable

representations of fertility; not only because of their contents, but their size, shape,

potential to give off heat, and their aroma (pers comm. M. Giles, May 2017).

Returning to African contexts, Insoll has pointed out that organic material used in

West African shrines, medicine, and divination may have been deliberately chosen

for characteristics such as having a strong aroma (Insoll et al. 2015: 49, 363); the

shrine experience was sensory and not one limited to sight and touch. Probable

bells, skeoumorphically represented in clay in Koma Land shrines in Yikpabongo,

and Tando-Fagusa (Insoll et al. 2013: 23) – where an iron fragment of one was also

uncovered (Nkumbaan 2016: 144) – also hint at the importance of sound.

The fragmentation and deposition practices of the recontextualised domestic

sherds exhibit a kind of ‘reverse’ enchainment. The fragmented sherds are already

dispersed in the landscape, potentially already reference a ‘network of places’

through their quantity and pattern of distribution, and as fragments of known

entities, are already embedded in social praxis and habitus. In this way, combining

these fragments into a new whole – the shrine – and depositing them with other

artefacts such as the figurines is another process of accumulation. Sherds (and

other material) sourced from settlement middens and placed in the shrine may

have been representative of those settlement contexts and the individuals that

inhabited them.

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To understand more fully the shrine mound’s process of accumulation and how this

might be interpreted, comparing the ratio of deposited figurines (including

fragments) to pottery sherds is illuminating. The quote at the beginning of this

section makes clear that the YK10/11 assemblage included 251 whole and partial

figurines. For comparison, the YK07/08 assemblage included 923 figurines, of

which, 868 were fragments, and 55 were whole (Insoll et al. 2016: 28; the size of

the YK07/08 pottery assemblage is unknown). The full YK10/11 pottery assemblage,

as recorded in Chapter 4.1, was made up of 9692 pottery sherds. This means that

for every deposited YK10/11 figurine in the shrine, there were 38.61 sherds of

pottery.

Understanding this pattern of accumulation relies, firstly, on whether it is

interpreted as one or two large deposition events, or an unbroken series of smaller

deposition events. Secondly, on how many sherds and/ or other artefacts those

using the shrine brought each brought with them to deposit, and how frequently

they did so. Whilst unique items such as the quartz lip/ ear plug have been

interpreted as representing an individual’s identity (Insoll et al. 2012: 40), it is more

challenging to justify the pottery sherds’ use in this manner, and the ability to

recognise the individual identity in the material record, and indeed, the attempts

to, are increasingly being problematised (Brittain and Harris 2010: 583-586; Conlin

Casella and Fowler 2005: 8; Fowler 2004: 1, 19; Knapp and Van Dommelen 2008;

Robb 2010: 494, 499).

Without looking specifically for the individual in the material record, it is possible to

argue that based on quantity, pottery sherds were more frequently deposited than

figurines, and probably in greater numbers each time. This assessment is based on

the knowledge that layers of sherds were often employed to cover, reference, or

act as “beds” to one or two figurines, and the shrine’s libation structure (Insoll et al.

2010: 13; Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 492; see Chapter 5 for discussion). Thus, multiple

sherds were utilised with each figurine. Of course, as is argued for the pottery discs

(see Chapter 6.7), it is not likely that the deposited sherds were immutable, and

curation activities may have led to the repositioning or removal of sherds, or

alteration of the shrine’s structure. In comparison, the figurines may have been

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deposited only for particular events, or in special circumstances, such as illness. This

latter concept is based on the fact that some figurines, as previously discussed (see

Chapter 1), realistically depicted illness and medical disorders (Insoll et al. 2013:

26).

6.6 Vessel-figurines

Vessel-figurines are hybrid artefacts that have combined a pottery vessel with

figurative elements. Only one is known of archaeologically, and it was excavated

from a YK08 shrine context. This example is a “Janus” head type – see Figure 38 –

that measures 22.4cm in height, 16.6cm in width, and 16.7cm in length (Insoll et al.

2013: 32). It consists of two stylised human faces looking in opposite directions,

with the following facial features: two open mouths with tongues, noses with

nostrils pierced into the clay, two raised navels, comb-like features on top of the

head (which are likely hairstyles), and four handles/ arms that had been added

separately, although only three now remain (Insoll et al. 2013: 32).

Figure 38: A ‘Janus’ head hybrid vessel-figurine (Insoll et al. 2013: 32).

Cocle, an art historian who described five examples, was the first known academic

to publish a work examining Koma Land vessel-figurines (1988, 1991). All five

examples were sourced from private, unnamed, European collections as part of a

selection of Koma Land material loaned for an exhibition on historic West African

figurative ceramics in Holland, in 1991, titled “Kronkronbali” (Sabbe and Gistelinck

1991: x). All vessel-figurines were interpreted as “spirit pots” (Cocle 1991: 177-179,

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181-182; my translation). The five examples described by Cocle are summarised

below, with illustrations provided where they were present in the literature.

Image (if available) Vessel-figure description

1

43.5cm in height. The lid is a stylised human head,

with nose, eyes and semi-open mouth, a crest-like hat

or hairstyle, and a ridged neck with decoration,

possibly stamped. The body is rounded, with a

pedestal base, a prominent, pointed navel, and two

appliquéd outstretched hands, palm upwards (Cocle

1991: 177).

2

50cm in height. The lid is a stylised human head, with

nose, eyes, open mouth, ears, pointed chin, an

elongated neck, and a cone-shaped hat/ hairstyle with

stamped decoration. The vessel is rounded and has

three legs forming a tripod-base. The body has what

Cocle interpreted as a sword and scabbard (1991:

178-179), but which might be an outstretched arm

and hand, or male genitalia.

3 38.5cm in height. The vessel body has two appliquéd

outstretched hands, palm upwards, and the lid is a

stylised human head and neck, with a necklace (Cocle

1991: 178).

4 48cm in height. A stylised human figure with legs,

feet, navel, nipples, genitalia, arms, and hands,

around what Cocle described as a “suckling child”;

and the pot forms the stand upon which the figure

sits. The lid is a stylised head with elongated neck,

necklace, facial features including prominent ears,

and a hat or head covering (Cockle 1991: 182).

5

30cm in height. This is of a different type to the other

four examples as there is no lid; instead, this example

was made all in one piece, with a hollow ‘spout’;

presumably, the vessel itself is hollow and designed to

contain liquid. The spout’s downwards angle suggests

liquid was designed to drip from it. There is no other

visible opening on the vessel and none was

mentioned by Cocle (the back of the vessel cannot be

seen in the photograph), which may suggest liquid

was also added via the spout. There is a decorated

handle on the spout’s opposite side. This vessel-

figurine exhibits stylised arms with hands resting on

the pot’s body, possible male genitalia, decorated

neck, and stylised human head with open mouth,

nose, prominent ears, and bulbous eyes (Cocle 1991:

181-182).

Table 25: A catalogue of all published vessel-figurines from Iron Age Koma Land without

archaeological provenance.

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Closer inspection of the five examples in Table 25 strongly suggests they are fake.

Stylistically, they do not correspond with the Iron Age figurine types – including the

one, securely-provenanced vessel-figurine – although certain characteristics have

been copied or repeated. Most notably, the facial features, including open mouth

(e.g. see Insoll et al. 2013: 8, 12, 18, 21), which characterises the majority of the

Koma figurines, and the protruding ears (e.g. Insoll et al. 2013: 21, 27), although

these are less frequently depicted. The colour of the second example is also similar

to the clay and slip colours present throughout the Koma Land ceramics (see

Chapters 4.6, and 6.3.3). Closer examination of other types of Koma Land figurines

illustrated in Cocle’s publication leads to the conclusion that some of these were

also imitations (e.g. Cocle 1991: 175).

Unfortunately, Anquandah included images of these other probable imitations in

his 1998 publication (compare Anquandah 1998: 42, with Cocle 1991: 162); as they

are all well-referenced, however, it is easy to attribute these to Cocle. Nevertheless,

whilst the vessel-figurines are unprovenanced, and most likely, replicas, it is worth

documenting them here. Cocle’s Dutch language study in Sabbe and Gistelinck’s

(1991) out-of-print exhibition catalogue provides a valuable, if unfortunate, impetus

to further in-depth archaeological study of Koma Land. The favouritism shown to

figurines has been repeatedly protested in this thesis, but here is a reminder, if one

were needed, that figurines are just as much a victim to ‘figurine essentialism’ as

the types of artefact they supersede.

Anquandah’s 1998 report on the excavation in 1985 described vessel-figurines as

“terra cotta-cum-pot[s]” with a “torso with stylised stomach, lower limbs, genitals,

navel etc.” (1998: 125). He also observed that there were animal-headed varieties

(1998: 125). Yet, Anquandah’s descriptions and images of these “terra cotta-cum-

pot[s]” were entirely derived from Cocle’s publications (1988; 1991; see Anquandah

1998: 125, 127-128, 182). This suggests that Anquandah did not excavate any, and

used only Cocle’s work as evidence of their existence. The ensuing use of these by

Anquandah in his interpretations of the Koma archaeology (Anquandah 1998: 125,

127-128, 182) is evidently problematic; another valuable reason to document them

here, so that future researchers are aware of this issue and can circumvent it. Given

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that the only recorded archaeological example of a vessel-figurine was excavated in

2008 (YK08; Insoll et al. 2013: 32), the question then remains as to where the

inspiration for the imitations of this figurine type, recorded by Cocle in 1991,

originated? Unfortunately, it appears the answer will almost certainly be from real,

looted example(s) of vessel-figurines, whereabouts unknown.

6.7 Pottery discs

Pottery discs were manufactured from pre-existing sherds through deliberate

grinding of their edges to round and smooth them (Insoll et al. 2013: 17). Visible

reminders of the domestic vessels from whence they came exist in the decoration

still visible on their surfaces; of a selection of 27 pottery discs excavated from YK07

and YK10 displayed in an exhibition on Iron Age Koma Land in Manchester Museum

in 2013-2014, most had “varied roulette impressed, incised, modelled and red-

slipped decoration” (Insoll et al. 2013: 21; Figure 39).

Figure 39: Pot discs from Koma Land, and a modern example of a gourd container they were possibly

used to stopper (after Insoll et al. 2013: 21).

The discs in this exhibition varied in size from 0.5cm-0.9cm in thickness, and 3.3cm-

6.7cm in diameter (Insoll et al. 2013: 21). These dimensions concur with those of

the 77 pottery discs excavated in 1985 by Anquandah and Van Ham from Mound

H.310 (the only mound of four to contain discs): 0.4cm-1cm in thickness, and 3cm-

7cm in diameter (1985: 28). The average sherd thickness of the YK10/11

assemblage is also comparable, with the majority of sherds 0.4cm-1cm in thickness.

Again, this supports the already-established view that the discs were modified

sherds.

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The largest recorded pot disc was excavated in YK10, described as a “large ceramic

‘plate’ abraded on its edge deliberately to form a circle” refitted from three sherds

and 2.4cm thick (Insoll et al. 2010: 32). It is unclear whether this fragmentation was

a consequence of a breakage prior to, or contemporary with, its deposition,

taphonomic processes, or accidental breakage during excavation. Also unclear is

the exact number of pottery discs recovered from the YK10/11 mound because this

information is, as yet, unpublished. Only in one instance, during the description of a

specific feature in the YK10/11 mound (discussed below; see Insoll et al. 2012: 36),

were the number of pottery discs – five – specifically mentioned. Interestingly, the

2010 field notes record a further eight sherds that were deliberately modified

through abrasion to their edges, but were “not discs” (Insoll et al. 2010: 32-34).

Their purpose remains unclear.

Archaeologists from the original investigation into Iron Age Koma Land interpreted

the discs as game pieces or gold weights (Anquandah and Van Ham 1985: 28). Later,

Anquandah confirmed that the discs did not conform to any known “Islamic,

Imperial or Traditional” weight system, and instead suggested they were “lids or

stoppers for cups and small jars”, based on ethnographic analogy (Anquandah

1998: 113).

In the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s, pottery-discs-as-gold-weights was a common

theory at West African sites (Crossland 1989; Garrard 1975, 1980: 2, 29-30, 1982;

McIntosh 1995; Stahl 1999), based on Garrard’s comparative analysis of the weight

of pottery discs from the Ghanaian Iron Age sites Begho, Amuowi, and New Buipe

with the Islamic gold-weight system (Garrard 1980). Crossland observed that nine

Begho-B2 discs fitted within the Islamic mitkal and uqiya weight parameters, as

established at Jenné-Jeno, but the remainder did not conform to Garrard’s theory

(1989: 45). Gold gold-weights were thought to be common; but because of their

value they are more frequently found circulating the antiquities market than in

provenanced excavations, making it difficult to fully understand their wider

contexts, and the processes involved in the weighing system (Stahl 1999: 38).

Possibly, the interpretation of pottery discs as gold-weights at Begho may have

been influenced by the fact that Crossland expected to find copper or brass scales

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for weighing gold dust there, but had not, after four excavation seasons (1989: 45).

Thus, Crossland turned to other elements of the material assemblage – the shaped

pot sherds (1989: 45) – as a way to potentially explain this absence of evidence.

Four of eight pottery discs from Jenné-Jeno conformed to the Islamic weight system

with a 5% margin of error; the remaining four did not (McIntosh 1995: 217).

Similarly, Stahl reported that the pottery discs from Amuowi and Begho

“correspond[ed] well” to Garrard’s weight parameters, but that the New Buipe

sample conformed “less clearly” (1999: 39). The 22 pottery discs from Stahl’s own

site of Kuulo Kataa in the Banda region did not fit into the Islamic weights system,

leading to the conclusion that they had another purpose, “or there was greater

variation in weight standards than recognised by Garrard” (Stahl 1999: 39).

The probability that some pottery discs were used as gold-weights is not disputed,

but Garrard can be criticised for omitting discussion of the pottery discs from sites

including Gao and Jenné-Jeno in Mali, and the Ghanaian sites, above, that did not

conform to any of the weight systems (Islamic, Akan, and Roman) he identifies discs

from these sites as adhering to (1980: 457). Only discs whose weights conformed

with a known system were discussed (Garrard 1980: 457, 458).

Alternative interpretations for pottery discs, including for discs at sites Garrard

investigated, have been forwarded. Twenty-one round and oval pot sherds

excavated from three mounds at New Buipe, for example, were interpreted by York

as tools for smoothing the surface of pots as they were being constructed

(Crossland 1989: 98; York 1965). Pottery discs found at sites in Cameroon and Chad

have also been described as pottery smoothers (Verron 1969). At Dawu, a 17th

century AD site in Akwapim in Ghana’s Eastern Region, 23 discs were interpreted as

“gaming counters” (Ozanne 1961; Shaw 1961). A single pottery disc found in Hyena

Cave in Ghana’s Tong Hills could have been a “weight, gaming piece, potting tool, or

amulet”, or possibly a bottle-stopper (Insoll, MacLean et al. 2013: 109).

Multiple modified sherds were excavated from Daima II and Daima III in the Lake

Chad region of northeastern Nigeria (Connah 1981: 159). At this site, Connah

distinguished between what he named a “‘shaped sherd’…a sherd that has been

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chipped into a circular, or other, shape” (Connah 1981: 158) and a “‘utilised

sherd’…a pot sherd that has been ground smooth on one or more edges, or, rarely,

on one or both of its surfaces” (Connah 1981: 159). These re-used sherds, which

made up the majority of Daima’s overall artefact assemblage because, Connah

theorised, local stone was a scarce resource (Connah 1981: 209), may have been

used as tools, such as for “shaping or smoothing wood, pottery, or even mud”, or in

potsherd-pavements, although it was not possible to tell which sherds were used

for what activity (Connah 1981: 159, 189).

At Jenné-Jeno, McIntosh observed that whilst discs may have been used as gold-

weights, it was also possible they were used in pavements, whilst concave versions

were interpreted as pot lids (1995: 147, 217). Similarly, circular concave discs at 10th

to 12th century AD Oursi hu-beero in Burkina Faso were interpreted as pot lids (Von

Czerniewicz 2011: 87). One disc in particular fitted perfectly into a flask’s opening

(Von Czerniewicz 2011: 87). Pottery artefacts from Sou Blama Radji, in Cameroon

interpreted by Rapp as pot lids, “could also be interpreted as pottery buffers”

(Livingstone Smith 2007: 209; my translation).

In the last decade, Kankpeyeng, Insoll, and others, have also concluded that the

discs functioned as bottle-stoppers for gourd and horn containers of liquids –

perhaps medicinal – with grass packed around each disc to ensure a secure fit

(Insoll et al. 2012: 36, Insoll et al. 2013: 21). Gourd and horn are both materials

which do not survive well, if at all, in the archaeological record, and so finding any

physical evidence of them is extremely unlikely. As such, it is not clear if containers

and discs were ever deposited together.

Conversely, there is irrefutable evidence that the discs were deposited as

independent artefacts. In YK07, for example, a feature containing a face-down skull

surrounded by 27 pottery discs was excavated from trench squares D3/D4/C3/C4

(Insoll et al. 2012: 41). In the 2011 season, five discs were excavated from the

YK10/11 shrine mound in association with complete and fragmented figurines,

querns, quartz fragments, and pot sherds (Insoll et al. 2012: 36). Pottery discs were

also recorded in the YK10/11 shrine in less specialised arrangements, mixed in

layers with grinding stones, sherds, and figurines (Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 482).

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These arrangements suggest the discs were used and understood in multiple ways.

The decision to use pottery discs exclusively for one feature, and alongside pottery

sherds in a second, indicates the discs’ meaning(s) and purpose(s) were different

from the unmodified pieces of pottery. Following Fowler’s discussion of partibility

and enchainment (2004: 68), the discs could be perceived as partible artefacts

deposited in the shrine as representative of the container as a whole. Another

interpretation (which may also explain why comparatively few pottery discs have

been excavated in comparison to other types of ceramic), is that the discs – in their

role as stoppers of medicine containers – were active constituents in the treatment

process. Possibly, imbued with the power of the shrine either for the purpose of

helping to contain the potentially powerful/ dangerous substances within the

container, or alternatively, to empower these substances, courtesy of the discs’

prior association with the shrine. In the case of the former view, this may explain

why, in YK07, 27 pottery discs were arranged around the human skull. Indeed, the

discs themselves may have been imbued with medicinal substances (pers comm. T.

Insoll, June 2017), as some of the figurines were (Robinson et al. 2017).

The theory of pot discs as active and mobile shrine-constituents has at its core the

argument initiated in Section 6.5; that placing an artefact in the shrine was not

necessarily a terminal deposition, but a step in an ongoing cycle of the curation and

circulation of its materials. In this role, the previously deposited pottery discs would

be removed as needed to facilitate medicinal treatment, and then returned to the

shrine for secure discard, or for curation and eventual recirculation. As, for

instance, in the Tengzug shrine in the Tong Hills in northern Ghana, shea butter is

brought as an offering to the shrine, and incorporated into it (Insoll et al. 2013: 64,

Insoll 2015: 271; and personal observation). When a specific treatment requires it, a

portion of shea butter is retrieved from the structure of the shrine and is

incorporated into an appropriate medicine, often taken away for use (Insoll et al.

2013: 64). Whilst this specific shea butter is then used up, the supply of it is

constantly renewed by new additions to the shrine in the form of offerings, (Insoll

et al. 2013: 64, Insoll 2015: 271; and personal observation) and the potency of the

shea as a medicinal ingredient and binding agent is a consequence of its association

210

with the shrine established prior to use. This ethnographic example underscores

the point that deposition of an artefact into a shrine context does not necessarily

represent the end of that artefact’s life-span, and this is a concept that deserves

wider recognition in archaeology.

With the YK10/11 assemblage, this concept works in two capacities. Firstly, the

potential for artefacts to be removed, re-added, and modified. Secondly, the act of

deposition was not one that consumed the artefact, but one that transformed it. As

argued in both this chapter and in Chapter 5, the artefacts are the shrine, and in

this sense the biography of the sherd was cyclical, as it progressed from being an

intrinsic element of a whole vessel, to a fragment of it, to then being

recontextualised and re-pieced, as a pot-sherd, and as an intrinsic element of the

shrine.


The primary objective of Chapter 6 was to disabuse the notion that the Iron Age

Koma Land pottery and figurines constituted separate material categories.

Historically, they have been perceived so. “Figurine essentialism” has pervaded

archaeological discourse (Bailey 2005: 13) with figurines, both in West Africa and

beyond it, perceived as ritualistic, artistic, and androcentric, and pottery perceived

as domestic, gynocentric craft-work. Initially, this is how the Koma Land figurines

were perceived, judged using Western art-criteria (e.g. Anquandah 1998; Beltrami

1992; Dagan 1989). Anquandah has since called for archaeologists to research and

understand aesthetics using localised, contextually relevant data (2014: 215).

The consequence of ‘figurine essentialism’ for the Koma material was the lack of

integrated study of the pottery vessels, sherds, and figurines, despite the fact (as

has been made clear) they were made of similar if not identical material and

produced using the same range of techniques. In this chapter, this issue has been

addressed and rectified. Examination of the fabric of both revealed significant visual

similarities, and evidence of the use of similar temper, including the use of quartz

for a selected range of both the pottery and figurines. The use of techniques such

as X-ray fluorescence and X-ray diffraction, to examine the figurines’ fabric in a

211

consistent manner in microscopic detail, would help determine the validity of this

interpretation. Section 6.3 demonstrated that the pottery and figurines shared

production techniques, including the use of the unique ‘ball and socket’ joint

construction technique for some of the figurines and the pot-stand legs. Whilst the

figurines’ decorative techniques were few in number, they were analogous to the

greater range of techniques used for the vessels. Red slip dominated both types of

ceramic. Both were low-fired, and appear to have been open-fired. Also of

significance was the vessel-figurine, a hybrid artefact combining

human/anthropomorphic figurative elements with a functional pottery element.

Collectively, these factors suggest the figurines and pottery vessels were made from

a repository of techniques shared by the inhabitants of the Koma Land region.

In other words, they are ceramic artefacts made, in all likelihood, from the same

material and using a selection of interchangeable techniques adaptable to different

forms. These observations are not restricted to the YK10/11 ceramic material

assemblage, but are extended to the ceramics from the YK10 Mound D settlement

mound (Asamoah-Mensah 2013), and excavations at Tando-Fagusa (Nkumbaan

2016). The next chapter discusses this in greater detail.

What has also been made evident is that whilst the pottery and figurines were

produced using comparable methods, they were used for different purposes. The

pottery was originally domestic and had a significant post-breakage, pre-deposition

use-life, most likely in secondary domestic contexts, before use in the shrine.

Possibly, the sherds were retrieved from midden contexts. Conversely, the figurines

appear to have been made specifically for shrine activities and subsequent

deposition. Figurine and figurine-fragments were sparse in Koma Land settlement

contexts (see Chapter 7.3), and based on use-wear, appear to have had shorter

biographies. Those that realistically depicted medical disorders (Insoll et al. 2013:

26) may have been specifically created to address those issues. Other clues include

the fact that some figurines were deliberately scorched (see Chapter 6.4), whereas

as the evidence for the vessels indicates all burning was a consequence of firing and

domestic use.

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Therefore, despite being originally created for different purposes, the deposition of

material including iron objects, cowrie shells, pottery discs, figurines, but

predominantly, pottery sherds, in the YK10/11 shrine makes evident that ritual and

domestic were not mutually-exclusive categories in Iron Age Koma Land. Any such

divisions are arbitrary. Further, the concept that these objects were deposited in

the shrine is, to some extent, a fallacy, because the combination of artefacts,

undistinguished and unseparated, was what the shrine was made of.

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Chapter 7: The YK10/11 assemblage and Iron Age West Africa

7.1 Introduction

Relative to the size and chronology of Koma Land, archaeological investigation of it

is still in its infancy. Occupying an area estimated at 150km2, and a chronology of

800 years, the 30 or so publications on Iron Age archaeology in Koma Land, are, to

date, comparatively minute. Many areas of research are as yet unexplored. In each

chapter of this thesis the analysis of the YK10/11 pottery, associated material, and

shrine mound has generated more questions than answers.

The scale of these questions varies from specific queries as to the pottery: were the

pottery vessels definitively made from local clay? For what reasons were quartz

fragments used as temper? Where did shrine-deposited sherds originate, and

where were the remainder of the vessels? To Koma Land more generally: Why was

the region seemingly abandoned in the 14th century AD? Was occupation by the

inhabitants uninterrupted or sporadic? Was the YK10/11 pottery typical of Koma

Land, or is it heterogeneous? How extensive were the region’s interactions with,

and knowledge of, the wider world? The questions generated by one shrine mound

are inexhaustible; future research promises to be both a daunting and exciting

prospect.

Chapter 7’s purpose is to use the analysis of the YK10/11 assemblage and shrine

mound developed in Chapters 4, 5, and 6 as the basis for further comparative

analysis. Comparative analysis, firstly, of the YK10/11 material with the other sites

and assemblages so far excavated in Iron Age Koma Land. Secondly, thematic

analysis of issues and topics that have influenced or impacted Koma Land, and that

are pertinent to, or interlink with, issues in the West African Iron Age more

generally. The main themes have been identified as mobility, trade/ exchange, and

transmission of knowledge, although other concepts may be introduced as

relevant. By examining these issues, it is possible both to gain insight into some of

the questions posed above (and others) and to establish the YK10/11 shrine

assemblage’s wider temporal, spatial, and thematic contexts.

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As a reminder, the West African Iron Age in its entirety spans 500 BC to AD 1400

(Dueppen 2012b: 18), but for brevity, discussion is restricted to assemblages, sites,

and issues that fall within Koma Land’s chronology. Koma Land has been

thermoluminescence and radiocarbon dated to the 6th to 14th centuries AD, and is

located within the Sisili-Kulpawn River Basin in Ghana’s Northern Region

(Kankpeyeng and Nkumbaan 2009: 195-196). More widely, West Africa’s spatial

parameters are delimited by Dakar, Senegal (14.6928˚ N, 17.4467˚ W), Lagos,

Nigeria (6.4531˚ N, 3.3958˚ E), Adrar des Ifoghas, Mali (19.1167˚ N, 1.7500˚ E), and

Lake Chad (13.000˚ N, 14.000˚E); see Figure 40 for visual clarification. Sites

discussed in Chapter 7 are located in modern Benin, Burkina Faso, Ghana, Mali,

Niger, Nigeria, Senegal, Sierra Leone, and Togo (as discussed in Chapter 2,

knowledge of Iron Age archaeology in West African countries such as Guinea-Bissau

and Liberia is currently limited, if not non-existent).

7.2 Iron Age Ghana

This section is an overview of Iron Age Ghana. The purpose is to contextualise Koma

Land and to highlight potential links and issues shared between contemporary sites.

Table 26 offers an effective visual summary of Ghanaian Iron Age archaeological

sites, and is supported by Figure 40, which maps all Ghanaian Iron Age sites with

geographical coordinates from accessible publications. The sites were listed

alphabetically and were grouped by the modern Ghanaian administrative district

they are located in. All of these sites produced ceramics. The sites in Table 26 and

Figure 40 are not all discussed at length in Chapter 7. Some sites are not directly

relevant, and further, there was not the word count to explore them all.

An alphabetised key was used in Table 26 to identify the site-type(s). Types were

determined using the descriptions from the sites’ own excavation summaries and

reports. In any column, ‘X’ indicates there was no data. Sites with no chronological

data, of which there were 19, were included if the excavators demonstrated they

were confident the site was Iron Age on the basis of material culture comparisons

with other known Iron Age sites in Ghana. For example, the presence of

“Earthworks ware” at known Iron Age sites like Monsa and Batabi, both in the

Ashanti Region (Boachie-Ansah 2011: 20, 21).

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Figure 40: A map of all published Iron Age sites in Ghana with geographical coordinates available.

Administrative

region

Site name Site-

type

Map Key Chronology References

Ashanti (4) Adansemanso

A X AD 899 +/- 115

AD 980 +/- 119

AD 1265 +/- 55

AD 1324 +/- 47

Shinnie and Vivian

1991; Shinnie 1992;

Vivian 1996

Akrokrowa C X AD 768-907

AD 69-899

AD 1287-1427

AD 800-987

AD 662-828

Chouin and DeCorse

2010

Batabi Earthwork C 2 X Boachie-Ansah 2011:

17, 21; Kiyaga-

Mulindwa 1978

Monsa Earthwork C 3 AD 1382-1552

AD 1397-1651

170 BC-AD 257

Chouin and DeCorse

2010: 131-133;

Kiyaga-Mulindwa

1978, 1982

Brong-Ahafo (27) Adwadie J 4 X Boachie-Ansah 1978,

1986b; Morgan

2013: 32, 35

Akyiraa/ Anyiman B 5 Iron Age Effah-Gyamfi 1985

Amuowi I and II B, F 6 I: 440+/- 70

II: AD 1610 +/- 75

“Predating the

Bono State”

Effah-Gyamfi 1974,

1985

Asantekwa X X Early Iron Age Davies 1972; Morgan

2013

Asekye I B 7 Phase I: AD 1250-

1450

Effah-Gyamfi 1985:

27

Banda (Kuulo

Kataa, Makala

Kataa)

A 8 AD 1000-1650 Stahl 2001, 2004,

2008, Stahl et al.

2008

Begho/ Begho B2 A 9 Brong Ahafo

Quarter Site 1: AD

1430 +/-

100;1450 +/- 100;

BAQ Site 2: AD

1450 +/- 100/ AD

1000-1400

Anquandah 1982:

143; Bravmann and

Mathewson 1970;

Crossland 1989

Bonoase B X X Dombrowski 1976;

Morgan 2013

Bono Manso A X AD 1380 +/- 75 Effah-Gyamfi 1974:

219-220, 1985;

Morgan 2013: 29-30

Bonoso A, F 10 AD 710 +/- 90

AD 980 +/- 85

Boachie-Ansah 1976:

27-31, 1985: 41-72

1986b: 53-70;

Morgan 2013: 33

Bui, Gonja A, G 11 AD 800-1600 York 1965

Dewoman B 12 13th-18th centuries

AD

Effah-Gyamfi 1985:

21

Dimbia, Gonja A 13 AD 1400

AD 1498-1615

AD 1321-1392

AD 1360-1432

AD 1324-1394

Morgan 2013: 7, 125

Dwommo B 14 Phase I: AD 1250-

1450

Effah-Gyamfi 1985:

21, 27

Jema X X X Davies 1972

Kaam B 15 AD 1395-1468 Boachie-Ansah 1978,

217

AD 1387-1428 1986b; Morgan

2013: 32, 35

Kagbrema A 16 Phase I: AD 1250-

1450

Effah-Gyamfi 1985:

27

Kokuman B 17 “Pre-dating the

Bono State”

Boachie-Ansah 2007;

Effah-Gyamfi 1985

Kramokrom A 18 Phase I: AD 1250-

1450

Effah-Gyamfi 1985:

27

Mumute, Begho B 19 X Agorsah 1986;

Dombrowski 1976;

Effah-Gyamfi 1985;

Morgan 2013: 25

Nyinase B 20 Phase I: AD 1250-

1450

Effah-Gyamfi 1985:

21,27

Nkyiraa I B 20 “Pre-dating the

Bono State”

Effah-Gyamfi 1985:

21

Nyarko Quarter,

Begho

B X AD 1120 +/- 75

AD 1045 +/- 80

Crossland 1975,

1976: 86; Morgan

2013: 25

Techiman B X Iron Age Boachie-Ansah 2005,

2007

Tiprama B 21 13th-18th centuries

AD

Effah-Gyamfi 1985:

21

Twemma J 22 AD 1440-1524

AD 1418-1446

Boachie-Ansah 1978,

1986b; Morgan

2013: 32, 35

Yeji, Gonja X 23 Iron Age York 1973

Central Region (9) Bantama A, C, G 24 Iron Age Boachie-Ansah 2011:

23; Calvocoressi

1977

Brakwa C 25 X Boachie-Ansah 2011

Brenu Achyinim B X AD 1112 +/- 276

AD 1109 +/- 146

DeCorse 2005: 3

Coconut Grove B, I X AD 560-670

AD 580-680

AD 680-880

DeCorse 2005: 4

Dumpow, Eguafo E X AD 400 -570

AD 650-770

Cook and Spiers

2004: 21-22; Spiers

2007

Eguafo State A X AD 1238 +/- 77

AD 1325 +/- 67

Chouin 2009;

DeCorse 2005: 3

El Mina A X AD 887 +/- 104

AD 1012 +/- 124

DeCorse 2005: 3

Eyim, Eguafo A, G X “Early second

millennium AD”

Cook and Spiers

2004: 24

Ngyeduam B, C, G 26 AD 1442-1631

AD 1305-1431

AD 1305-1431

AD 1436-1626

AD 1414-1480

AD 1445-1632

Boachie-Ansah 2011

Northern Region

(14)

Butie, Gonja B 27 X Flight 1968;

Mathewson 1967

Chuluwasi H 28 Phase 1: “Iron

Age”

Phase 2: AD 1400-

1700

Mathewson 1974

Daboya, Gonja A 29 Lower Level:

50+/- 140 BC; AD

770 +/- 165

Middle Level: AD

Anquandah 1982:

142-144; Shinnie and

Kense 1989

218

1180 +/- 150; AD

770 +/- 165

Jimasangi H 30 Phase 1: “Iron

Age”

Phase 2: AD 1400-

1700

Mathewson 1974

Jumi, Gonja B X AD 1460

AD 1630

Mathewson 1968

Kawlaw, Gonja X 31 Iron Age York 1973: 3

Kisoto, Gonja X 32 Iron Age Calvocoressi and

York 1971 [York

1973: 3]; Mathewson

1968

New Buipe, Gonja A 33 Phase 2: AD 790

+/- 100

Phase 3: AD 1445

+/- 100; 1495 +/-

100

Iron Age: AD 1540

+/- 90; AD 1640

+/- 90

Anquandah 1982:

143-144; Bravmann

and Mathewson

1970; Crossland

1973a: 42; Morgan

2013: 25; York 1973

Ntereso B 34 Kintampo Level:

240 +/- 120 BC

Upper Level: AD

60 +/- 110

Anquandah 1982:

142; Davies 1967;

1973

Sekondi B 35 15th century AD Davies 1967: 293,

310-312, 351

Tando A/B, D X X Zakari 2011

Tando Fagusa,

Koma Land

B, D, G 36 AD 500-900 Kankpeyeng and

Nkumbaan 2009:

199-200; Nkumbaan

2016

Yikpabongo, Koma

Land

B, D, G 37 AD 600-1400 Insoll et al. 2011,

2012, 2013;

Kankpeyeng et al.

2008, 2009, 2011,

2013

Zoboku, Koma Land A/B X X Appiah-Adu et al.

2016: 3, Dartey 2011

Upper East (2) Gambaga

Escarpment

A X Iron Age Kense 1992: 147

Tong Hills,

Gambaga

Escarpment

B, D, G,

H, I, J,

K, L

38 AD 80-1624 Fraser et al. 2012;

Insoll et al. 2011;

Insoll et al. 2013

Volta (1) Agbenu Mountain A X AD 1410 - 1455 Ayipey 2016: 117

Western (1) Asantemanso A, F 1 AD 800 +/- 80

AD 1280-1420

Chouin and DeCorse

2010; Shinnie 1986,

1987, 1988, 2005

Table 26: All known published Iron Age Ghanaian sites. Key; A. Major settlement site (large and/or

multiple occupation phase); B. Minor settlement site (small and/or single occupation phase); C.

Earthwork; D. Shrine; E. Sacred grove; F. Origins myth site; G. Burial site/ cemetery; H. Surface

scatters observed (no excavation); I. Midden (shell/other); J. Iron smelting/ working site; K. Field/

terracing system; L. Rock shelter/ cave.

The dated sites were the product of radiocarbon or thermoluminescence dating. In

some instances, the chronology has been determined using only pottery seriation,

hence descriptions such as ‘Iron Age’ or ‘13th to 15th centuries AD’. This is common

219

with sites excavated before scientific, laboratory-based dating methods became

more widely available in the 1970s. The data in each column is as specific as

possible. All sites with accurate longitude and latitude coordinates have been

incorporated into Figure 40. Finally, references in italics are original excavation

summaries, articles, and reports that have been referenced in discussions in

secondary publications, but which have proven here to be inaccessible, out of print,

or otherwise impossible to locate. Nevertheless, as the original publications, they

have been included for the benefit of future researchers. It is hoped Table 26 will

also be of benefit.

Other publications relevant to researchers interested in the trending ‘big data’

movement, are regional (if somewhat dated) overviews of the West African Iron

Age including Anquandah’s Rediscovering Ghana’s past (1982), which has an

excellent chronology table for all known Iron Age sites in Ghana, Davies’ West

Africa before the Europeans (1967), which has a thorough topographical index and

was invaluable for producing the West African site map, and finally, Calvocoressi’s

and York’s article listing all excavations carried out in Ghana at the time of their

writing (1971: 87).

The most frequent site-types were single and multiple occupations sites, as listed

below, followed by burial/ cemetery sites, and then earthwork sites, which are

regionally specific to the Ghanaian coast and hinterlands (Chouin 2000; Chouin and

DeCorse 2010; DeCorse 2005). As some sites contained more than one feature, the

sites may be counted for more than one category. For example, Yikpabongo

contains evidence of shrines, settlement, and burials, so is counted once for each of

those three categories. Features typically essential to occupation sites (such as

middens) were recorded separately because very few were specifically identified.

This reflects the brevity of many early site reports and is a direct example of the

issues surrounding research publication and dissemination discussed in Chapter 2.

In some instances, the site-type was not even identified (e.g. Kisoto, Northern

Region, Table 26).

Archaeologists identified the origins-myth sites using local oral histories; Amuowi I,

for example, contained a sacred hole with an associated rock shelter, the hole being

220

the place from which the Gyamma people emerged, and thus originated (Effah-

Gyamfi 1974: 219), but the rock shelter was also inhabited centuries before this,

and understandably, no oral histories exist for this earlier occupation. Sacred groves

and shrines were categorised separately because the two are not mutually-inclusive

(Insoll 2007), and similarly, as above, occupied rock shelters and caves may have

performed multiple functions (Effah-Gyamfi 1974: 219; Insoll 2015: 214, 312). As a

site containing (potentially major) occupation, as well as shrines, burials, and

middens, plus considerable material culture, Yikpabongo is evidently a significant

site for Iron Age archaeology in Ghana.

A. Major settlement: 21

B. Minor settlement: 22

C. Earthwork: 5

D. Shrine: 4

E. Sacred grove: 1

F. Origins myth site: 3

G. Burial site/ cemetery: 7

H. Surface scatters: 3

I. Midden: 2

J. Iron smelting/ working: 3

K. Field/ terracing system: 1

L. Rock shelter/ cave: 2

The spatial distribution of sites in Ghana reveals the ad hoc approach historically

taken to archaeological research outlined in Chapter 2.4; a fact apparent even with

the caveat that only Iron Age sites have been included in Table 26 and Figure 40.

Many sites are close to one another, demonstrating the investigative method of

discovering a site and then surveying outward from it. This approach reflects

challenges with accessibility, transport, and the environment, such as heavy brush

cover and road quality, which led archaeologists to favour easily accessible

locations near the roads (Bellis 1972 [1978]: 10). As Bellis observed “when a site

distribution map of Ghana is overlaid with one of the road system…sites appear to

follow roads”, an issue he acknowledged was a consequence of belts of heavy

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rainforest, but one he argued was “not insurmountable” (1972 [1978]: 10). The

consequence of this methodology is clusters of sites – mostly in southern Ghana –

surrounded by vast, archaeologically-unknown entities.

Investigations at some of these sites have been renewed (e.g. Boachie-Ansah 2011;

Morgan 2013), but archaeologists have also turned to traditionally overlooked

areas in the north and east (Ayipey 2016; Insoll et al. 2011, Insoll, MacLean et al.

2013; Zakari 2011), which have until more recently be difficult to access (Appiah-

Adu 2016). Other sites, such as Jimasangi and Chuluwasi, both in Northern Region,

would benefit from renewed interest because they have never been fully excavated

and their only archaeological report is very brief (Mathewson 1974).

An exception to this preference for southern sites was Yikpabongo. The motivation

here was almost certainly the earlier reported discovery of figurines, which sparked

academic interest in the area (Kröger 1983). The Koma Land sites appear to have

been occupied for much of the Iron Age, a chronology matched and even surpassed

by other areas of settlement in Ghana, including Akrokrowa in the Ashanti Region

(Chouin and DeCorse 2010), Bui in the Brong-Ahafo Region (York 1965, 1973),

Daboya (Shinnie and Kense 1989) and New Buipe (Bravmann and Mathewson 1970;

York 1973), both in Northern Region, and the Tong Hills in the Upper East Region

(Insoll, MacLean et al. 2013).

Whilst not providing an in-depth synthesis of the Ghanaian Iron Age it is worth

providing a brief introductory summary. To this end, an overview of the Iron Age –

beginning on Ghana’s south coast and continuing northwards – sets the stage for

the in-depth comparative analysis of the Iron Age sites in the Koma Land region

that follows. To ensure it was manageable, Iron Age sites from Ghana’s neighbours

Burkina Faso, Togo and Côte d’Ivoire were excluded from Table 26, but it is stressed

that colonial-era made national borders had no relevance in this period.

Ghana’s southern, coastal region has been characterised by earthworks or

“entrenchments”; Late Iron Age and pre-Atlantic/ Atlantic occupation sites with

high earthen mounds and deep ditches enclosing the perimeter, traditionally

interpreted as defensive fortifications (Davies 1967; Kiyaga-Mulindwa 1982; Wilks

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1957). An associated ceramic ‘Earthworks ware’ has been identified at multiple

earthwork sites on the coast and in the coastal hinterlands, including: Akrokrowa

(Chouin and DeCorse 2010), Asantemanso (Shinnie 1986, 1987, 1988, 2005), Batabi

Earthwork (Kiyaga-Mulindwa 1978, 1982 [Chouin and DeCorse 2010]), sites in the

Birim Valley (Davies 1967: 287-29; Kiyaga-Mulindwa 1982), Monsa Earthwork

(Kiyaga-Mulindwa 1978, 1982 [Chouin and DeCorse 2010]), Ngyeduam (Boachie-

Ansah 2011), and post-Iron Age site Twifo Heman (Bellis 1972 [1978]). Wilks argued

that the construction of earthworks was a response to European contact and

Atlantic trade in the 15th and 16th centuries AD – a population “big bang” (1993: 94)

– although subsequent radiocarbon dating has disproved this theory (Chouin 2012:

18; see Table 26).

A recent return to the archaeology of southern Ghana has led archaeologists to

dispute early understandings of earthwork sites and their ceramics. Firstly, the view

that the earthworks were defensive features has been dismissed as simplistic, and

empirical, although further investigation is needed to determine their function, and

to understand the political and social structures that enabled such massive feats of

labour (Chouin and DeCorse 2010: 139). Alternative theories for the deep ditches

and large numbers of ceramics includes suggestions that water storage in the dry

season was a priority for local settlements (Chouin and DeCorse 2010: 141).

Secondly, Earthworks ware was not confined to earthwork sites (Chouin 2009: 673).

Excavations at numerous Iron Age settlement sites in Eguafo polity, including at

Eyim (Spiers 2007), Dumpow (Cook and Spiers 2004), Coconut Grove (DeCorse

2005), and Abirpow, Asaba, and Bosomtwi (Chouin 2009) have all produced

Earthworks ware. Consequently, Chouin has reclassified this pottery as Atetefo

ware, a regional Akan term that dispels ambiguity about the ceramics’ spatial

distribution (2009: 673).

The majority of Iron Age Ghanaian sites are in the country’s southern and central

regions. Specifically, the Brong-Ahafo Region, which has 26, the southern half of

Northern Region, which contains 14 (four of which are Koma Land sites), and

Central Region, which contains nine. As above, their distribution reflects site

selection practices, including ease of accessibility. Throughout these regions, major

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multiple-occupation sites have been uncovered. Most prominent are Daboya

(Shinnie and Kense 1989), and New Buipe (Bravmann and Mathewson 1970; York

1973) both in Northern Region, and sites in the Banda area of the Brong Ahafo

Region, particularly Begho (Bravmann and Mathewson 1970; Crossland 1989),

Kuulo Kataa, and Makala Kataa (Stahl 2001, 2004, 2008).

In the trans-Atlantic period, Begho was a significant trade-centre (Stahl 2001: 83),

laid out with quarters housing merchants and artisans (Stahl 2001: 86), the earliest

of which – Nyarko Quarter – dated from the 11th century AD (Crossland 1976: 86;

see Table 26). New Buipe, excavated by the Volta Basin Research Project as part of

a series of rescue excavations of sites under threat (and later submerged) by the

development of Akosombo Dam in the Volta River Basin, has one of (if not the)

longest occupation histories in Ghana (Robertshaw 1990: 148; York 1973). Whilst

interrupted, New Buipe’s occupation chronology spans almost 2,000 years and

contains up to 17 distinct pottery wares (York 1973: 1, 95). Much of the pottery was

red slipped, and roulettes and stamped decoration appeared to dominate (York

1973: 53, 171).

With the exception of the four Koma Land sites, archaeological investigations of

Northern Ghana have been sparse. In northeastern Ghana (Upper East Region), an

Iron Age settlement was identified in the early 1990s along the Gambaga

Escarpment (Kense 1992), a distinctive granitic ridge from the Biriman formation

with an elevation of up to 365m above sea level (Insoll, MacLean et al. 2013: 14).

Between 2004 and 2008, surveys, excavations, and test excavations in the Tong

Hills, or Tengzug, which form part of the Gambaga Escarpment, revealed a dense

network of shrines (some, such as Nyoo, containing standing stones), abandoned

compounds, abandoned agricultural terraces, field walls, iron-smelting and working

areas, natural caves and rock shelters, rock features, a cemetery, a granary, rock

game boards, and purposefully deposited standalone objects such as pots and

quartz pieces in situ; in total, 76 sites over a 3km to 4km area (Insoll, MacLean et al.

2013: 26-27, 93). Fourteen OSL dates revealed occupation and activity at these sites

between the 1st and 16th centuries AD (Insoll, MacLean et al. 2013: 94).

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In north-western Ghana, Swanepoel examined the structure of decentralised

societies (2009), and the effect of slave-raiding on the same (2011), although this

work post-dates the Iron Age. In north-central Ghana, 21 sites listed in two

publications have been identified through field-surveys as potential areas of Iron

Age Koma Land activity. Zakari (2011) has identified 17 sites in a 100km by 100km

area encompassing Ghana’s Northern, Upper West, and Upper East administrative

districts. Comparatively, using data from Kankpeyeng and Nkumbaan, Appiah-Adu

et al. (2016: 3) identified 12 potential sites within a 60km area. However, the map

used in this second article locates Yikpabongo and surrounding contemporary

villages in the Upper West Region, which is not correct. All 21 sites identified in the

two publications have been listed in Table 27, with both spellings of the site name

given where they differed.

Site name ✓ Occupied

X Abandoned

Site mentioned?

Appiah-Adu et al. 2016

(after Kankpeyeng and

Nkumbaan 2009)

Zakari 2011

Baranya X N Y

Barisi Y N

Dabozeasi/ Daboziesi ✓ Y Y

Fumbisi ✓ N Y

Gwosi ✓ N Y

Janga Y N

Kpikpirigu X N Y

Kundugu ✓ N Y

Magongu Y N

Nangruma/ Nagruma ✓ Y Y

Tando ✓ Y Y

Tando Fagusa/ Fagusa X Y Y

Tantale/ Tantala ✓ Y Y

Tantuosi ✓ N Y

Tuvuu/ Tovoo ✓ Y Y

Wiesi ✓ N Y

Yagaba Y N

Yikpabongo ✓ Y Y

Yiziesi ✓ N Y

Zoboku X Y Y

Zugkpeni ✓ N Y

Table 27: Sites of archaeological interest for Iron Age Koma Land. The sites in bold italics are the four

that have been partially or fully excavated. A greyed-out box indicates no data was available.

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These sites represent future research possibilities. So far, only four have been

excavated: Yikpabongo (Anquandah and Van Ham 1985; Asamoah-Mensah 2013;

Insoll et al. 2010, 2011; Kankpeyeng and Nkumbaan 2008, 2009), Tando Fagusa

(Insoll et al. 2013; Kankpeyeng et al. 2011, Kankpeyeng et al. 2013; Nkumbaan

2016), Tando (Zakari 2011), and Zoboku (Appiah-Adu et al. 2016: 3, Dartey 2011).

The following section characterises the known settlement archaeology in Iron Age

Koma Land. It offers an in-depth comparative analysis of the settlement and shrine

ceramics, for the purpose of identifying and defining the wider relationships shared

by Iron Age Koma ceramics across the region.

7.3 Koma Land

Yikpabongo was the ‘original’ Iron Age Koma Land site. It was where Anquandah

and Van Ham began excavations in 1985, and it has subsequently received the

greatest attention. At present, it is represented by 13 archaeological publications

(Anquandah 1987, 1998, with Van Ham 1985, Insoll et al. 2011, 2012, 2013, 2016;

Insoll and Kankpeyeng 2014; Kankpeyeng and Nkumbaan 2008, 2009; Kankpeyeng

et al. 2011, 2013; Robinson et al. 2017) as well as an unpublished MPhil dissertation

(Asamoah-Mensah 2013), and this PhD thesis. The remaining three sites were all

investigated with the renewal of archaeological studies in 2006-2007 (Kankpeyeng

and Nkumbaan 2008, 2009). Tando Fagusa, 24km from Yikpabongo, has been

briefly discussed in five publications (Insoll et al. 2013, 2016; Kankpeyeng et al.

2011, 2013; Robinson et al. 2017), and two of 17 known settlement mounds, and

test-pits into two shrine mounds, were the subject of an, as yet, unpublished PhD

thesis (Nkumbaan 2016). Excavations at Tando and Zoboku were reported in two

MPhil dissertations that are currently inaccessible, so the data for these sites is

limited here (Appiah-Adu et al. 2016: 3; Dartey 2011; Zakari 2011). Table 28 briefly

summarises the known information for each of these four sites.

Unlike sites discussed in the previous section, such as New Buipe, Banda, and

Begho, there is currently little, if any, understanding of the political and social

structures that characterised Koma society. At the moment, excavations have

chiefly focused on examining individual mounds. Thus, whilst settlement and shrine

mounds have been successfully identified at the sites discussed below, a discussion

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of the broader regional context in which they sit cannot yet be offered. As argued

elsewhere in this thesis, the region would benefit from surveys.

Site Settlement

evidence?

Shrine

evidence?

Surface

scatters?

Chronology References

Tando Y Y Y Zakari 2011

Tando Fagusa Y Y Y 6th-10th

centuries AD

Insoll et al. 2013; Kankpeyeng et al.

2011, Kankpeyeng et al. 2013;

Nkumbaan 2016

Yikpabongo Y Y Y Settlement: 5th-

7th centuries AD

Shrine: 9th-12th

centuries AD

Asamoah-Mensah 2013; Anquandah

1987, 1998, with Van Ham 1985,

Insoll et al. 2011, 2012, 2013, 2016;

Insoll and Kankpeyeng 2014;

Kankpeyeng and Nkumbaan 2008,

2009; Kankpeyeng et al. 2011, 2013;

Robinson et al. 2017

Zoboku Y Appiah-Adu et al. 2016: 3;

Dartey 2011

Table 28: A summary of the four (partially) excavated Iron Age Koma sites. References in italics were

not accessible or are currently unpublished.

Whilst all four sites contained settlement evidence, only Tando Fagusa and

Yikpabongo have currently produced secure evidence of shrine-based activity. At

present, they are also the only two Koma Land sites with accessible settlement

mound ceramic analyses. As such, Tando Fagusa and Yikpabongo are the focus

here. The purpose of Section 7.3 is to analyse the settlement mound and shrine

mound ceramics from Tando Fagusa (Nkumbaan 2016) and Yikpabongo (Asamoah-

Mensah 2013; YK10/11 assemblage, Chapter 4) to determine: (a) whether the

settlement and shrine ceramics are homogenous; (b) what stylistic variations occur

in the pottery from different areas of Koma Land; and (c) how the settlement and

shrine assemblages’ biographies and deposition contexts compare. Analysis here is

provisional and designed to be a starting point for future research, because these

three objectives are substantial. Satisfactorily fulfilling them would, ideally, require

physical access to the pottery, and to their contextual data; a dedicated research

project on par with, if not larger than, this thesis.

Before continuing, a note on terminology. In Chapter 2 it was demonstrated that

the ‘stone circle mounds’ – a term coined by Anquandah to describe the structure

of Koma Land mounds he interpreted as high-status burials (1987, 2002, 2006) –

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had been convincingly reinterpreted as shrine mounds by his successors

(Kankpeyeng and Nkumbaan 2009; Kankpeyeng et al. 2011, 2013, Insoll et al. 2012,

2013; but see Dartey 2011 for a more recent argument in support of Anquandah’s

(1998) burial mound interpretation). Nevertheless, in some of the literature (such

as Nkumbaan 2016, and Zakari 2011), the term ‘stone circle mound’ is still

preferred. Nkumbaan, for instance, has retained this terminology, but has

hypothesised, firstly, that these mounds may have been used as shrines and not

burial sites, as Anquandah and Van Ham first suggested (1985). Secondly,

Nkumbaan argued that the settlement mounds and stone circle mounds were

contemporary with one another (Nkumbaan 2016: 22, 59, 163, 167-8). In this

thesis, both of these points (on the basis of current evidence; see Chapter 2) have

been accepted as true.

Conversely, Zakari (2011) has interpreted the settlement mounds surveyed at

Tando as associated with the area’s current population and has identified only the

‘stone circle mounds’ as relevant to the Iron Age population. However, the dating

of Yikpabongo settlement Mound D to the 6th-7th centuries AD (Asamoah-Mensah

2013: 135) and mounds at Tando Fagusa to the 6th-10th centuries AD (Kankpeyeng

et al. 2011: 109), and the similarities and relationships between the material

culture of both mound types (as this section will illustrate) refutes this idea. In this

thesis, it is maintained that the ‘stone circle mounds’ did function as shrines; and

for clarity, the term ‘shrine mound’ will remain in use throughout.

Shrine and settlement mounds were directly associated with one another at Tando

Fagusa, leading Nkumbaan to conclude that the shrines served settlement

compounds on a familial level (Nkumbaan 2016: 23, 204). If so, it may be the case

that each shrine was the result of generations of sequential activity, rather than

one or two short, large-scale deposition events (in Chapter 6, it was shown that the

YK10/11 shrine evidence was not sufficient to confidently determine the scale and

chronology of its deposition events).

As excavations in Koma Land progress, characterising the structure and material of

a selection of shrines would be invaluable, as it cannot be presumed that (a) ritual

activities across the region were homogenous, nor (b) that each shrine held the

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same meaning and function. Documentation of shrines in an ethnographic and

archaeological study in the Tong Hills in Ghana’s Upper East region, for example,

uncovered 14 shrines in a 5km area that ranged “in size from small personal destiny

shrines to large earth shrines with congregations from multiple sections” (Insoll et

al. 2013: 54, 56). Evidence of disparate ceramic practices in Koma Land has already

been hinted at by the greater preference for human figurines with primary sexual

characteristics at Tando Fagusa, whilst for the most part, human figurines

recovered from Yikpabongo have been androgynous (Insoll et al. 2013: 33).

The contents and structure of the YK10/11 shrine mound have been thoroughly

analysed in Chapters 4, 5, and 6, and so will not be repeated here except for

comparative purposes. The three excavated Koma Land settlement (or house)

mounds, however, will first be described in some detail because they are otherwise

unknown. YK10 Mound D (Asamoah-Mensah 2013), Mound TDF-HM12 2008/2010,

and Mound TDF-HM4 TP2 2010 (Kankpeyeng et al. 2011: 209-210, Nkumbaan 2016)

were large structures that contained a mixed assemblage of pottery, occasional

whole pots, grinding stones, querns, a few iron artefacts, oyster shells, cattle bones,

and teeth, and at Tando Fagusa, sheep/ goat and catfish bones as well (Asamoah-

Mensah 2013: 51, 54, 57-59; Nkumbaan 2016: 140). Pottery sherds were the most

prevalent artefact type in all three mounds (Asamoah-Mensah 2013: 118;

Nkumbaan 2016: 88; see Table 29).

A hearth, burnt daub, charcoal and ash, boulders, postholes, and a midden were

present in Mound D (Asamoah-Mensah 2013: 65, 84, 118-119). TDF HM4 and TDF

HM12 appear to have been similarly structured. In HM12, a “dumping area”

identified not as a midden, but as a mud-collection pit for building that was

subsequently used for refuse, was uncovered (Nkumbaan 2016: 76). All three

mounds exhibited hard packed, beaten earth-and-gravel house floors under which

there were complete human burials (Asamoah-Mensah 2013: 58, 119; Kankpeyeng

et al. 2011: 209; Nkumbaan 2016: 146). Mound D contained one burial (Asamoah-

Mensah 2013: 118), Mound TDF-HM12, 15 burials, and Mound TDF-HM4 TP2

2008/2010, two (Nkumbaan 2016: 137). It is not yet known whether these burials

predate, are contemporary with, or postdate the settlement mounds: i.e. were the

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structures built deliberately on top of the burials, were the burials dug into the

floors, (and if so, did they represent multiple or single deposition events), or were

they added after the structures were abandoned?

It should be noted that in two other publications discussing the excavated Tando

Fagusa house mounds – TDF-HM12 and TDF-HM4 TP2 – only 11 burials were

reported (Kankpeyeng et al. 2011: 209, and Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 492). Further,

the three publications’ descriptions of the burials’ orientations and placement were

inconsistent (compare Kankpeyeng et al. 2011: 209, and 2013: 492, with Nkumbaan

2016: 137). In this thesis, Nkumbaan’s (2016) discussion of the burials has been

relied upon because it appears to have formed the primary data source for the

discussions about Tando-Fagusa that took place in these secondary articles, of

which Nkumbaan was also a secondary author (Kankpeyeng et al. 2011: 209).

Three of the 17 Tando-Fagusa burials were juveniles (Nkumbaan 2016: 139), but the

age-range of the remainder was unspecified. The human remains were on their side

in a flexed position with the knees pointed towards the chin (Nkumbaan 2016: 138).

Assessments of gender were forwarded on the basis of whether the skeleton was

facing to the left or right (Nkumbaan 2016: 201), but this rationale is disputed in the

following paragraphs.

At Tando Fagusa, Nkumbaan observed that the house mound burials had no

specific bodily orientation, but the skeletons all appeared to face either east (or

sunrise) or west (or sunset) (Nkumbaan 2016: 138). It is not clear from Asamoah-

Mensah’s (2013) report how the single set of YK10 settlement mound remains were

orientated.

Studies in parts of Ghana and Nigeria have used ethnographic observations of burial

customs to identify gender based on the direction a body is facing (Ucko 1969: 273;

see also Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 492; Meek 1925: 123; Nkumbaan 2016: 201;

Rattray 1932; and Zimoń 2007: 48). Westwards-facing individuals have been

identified as women, and eastwards-facing individuals as men; because their

respective roles in society as preparers of the family evening meal, or as farmers

rising early, specifically associates them with the setting or rising sun (Ucko 1969:

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273; see also Kankpeyeng et al. 2013: 492; Meek 1925: 123; Nkumbaan 2016: 137-

138, 201; Rattray 1932; and Zimoń 2007: 48). This is a custom that has been

recorded throughout contemporary northern Ghana (Kankpeyeng et al. 2011: 209).

It is this custom that Nkumbaan has put forward as relevant to determining the

gender of the Iron Age burials in Tando Fagusa (2016: 162).

It is not argued here that the burials’ direction is unimportant. In Chapter 5.5,

comparisons were made between the placement of the partible, selected YK10/11

human remains and the figurines. Whilst varying, the directions (both the

orientation, and cardinal directions) of figurines and human remains appeared to

have been chosen with care. The YK10/11 skeletal material was all orientated in a

south/southwest/southeast direction (Insoll et al. 2016: 27; see Chapter 5.5), and

the presence of Janus head type figurines also suggested that direction was

significant to the inhabitants of Koma Land (Insoll et al. 2013: 14). In 1985,

Anquandah had similarly recorded Koma burials orientated with the head southeast

(1987: 174). Interestingly, this southeast orientation has also been recorded for

burials at the Late Iron Age settlement of Kuulo Kataa in Ghana’s Banda region

(Stahl 2001: 136).

The position of the burials is, by itself, not an adequate archaeological determiner

of gender in Koma Land, however. Whilst ethnography has its place as a way to

broaden archaeological insight, directly associating the burial practices of

contemporary northern Ghanaian communities with those of people buried over a

thousand years prior does not. Further, we should not presume that the Iron Age

inhabitants of this region recognised only two genders. The fact that many figurines

were androgynous, for example, suggests that understandings of sex and gender

were not as binary as man/woman, and possibly, that there were some Koma Land

contexts in which sex and gender were irrelevant – at least to the figurines’

meaning and purpose. Joyce has also made this argument for figurines in the

European Palaeolithic (2008b: 9). Indeed, even where figurines do have primary

sexual characteristics, the archaeologist should not take those characteristics, as it

were, at face value (Bailey 2017: 88), or treat the figurine’s form as “self-evident”

(Joyce 2008b: 9).

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Examining the published Koma figurines (such as Insoll et al. 2013), it becomes

apparent that it is facial features, incisions into (mostly facial) bodily orifices, navel

hernias, and bodily ornamentations (such as jewellery, hats, and hairstyles) that

were the most consistently reproduced elements. Particularly, the representation

of the nose, ears, eyes, and mouth, but especially the eyes and mouth, which were

stylistically similar for many figurines regardless of whether human, animal, or

anthropomorphic (e.g. Insoll et al. 2013: 3, 18, 21, 22, 26). The mounted-rider

figurine is an excellent illustration of this stylistic similarity; with the wide-eyed and

open-mouthed expressions of both mount and rider almost comically similar (see

Figure 37 in Chapter 6.4).

Comprehensive osteoarchaeological analysis of the excavated burials would be the

most accurate way to determine each individual’s biological sex. If biological sex did

correlate with the positioning of the burial, it would create grounds for a

stimulating discussion on sex, gender, and Iron Age burial practices in this region, as

Nkumbaan goes on to recognise (2016: 162). Nonetheless, the existence of this

correlation should not be presumed from the outset. On a slightly tangential note,

skeletal analysis would also be valuable for examining whether any of the medical

issues depicted in the Koma Land figurines could be recognised in the burial record.

Grave goods were present in the one settlement burial at Yikpabongo, and in many

at Tando Fagusa, and included pot sherds, iron bracelets and anklets worn on the

bodies, glass beads, and in one instance, “twisted brass and glass beads [worn]

around the neck” (Asamoah Mensah 2013: 54; Kankpeyeng et al. 2011: 209). Many

of the burials (although number unspecified) were covered with large pot sherds

(Asamoah-Mensah 2013: 54; Nkumbaan 2016: 80, 138). These sherds were not

distinguished from the remainder of their ceramic assemblages during analysis, so it

was not clear how, or if, they differed.

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Figure 41: The YK10 settlement burial covered in large pot sherds that appear to refit (after

Asamoah-Mensah 2013: 54).

The sherds from both sites did appear to be larger than the majority deposited in

the YK10/11 shrine, suggesting they had a shorter use-life and/ or were deliberately

fragmented specifically for the burial. Very close inspection of an image from

Asamoah-Mensah’s report (2013: 54; Figure 41) showed that the Mound D burial

sherds were roulette decorated everted rim and body sherds that would appear to

refit. The roulette type seems to be braided strip. An image of pot sherds covering a

Tando Fagusa burial (Nkumbaan 2016: 138) also revealed these to be rim and body

sherds. No decoration could be distinguished from the image, and whilst Nkumbaan

confirmed that the sherds were decorated (2016: 138), how was not specified.

At this stage, it is possible to draw tentative parallels between the use of pot sherds

as house mound burial-covers and the use of pot sherds in the shrine to reference

and cover figurines. Possibly, this practice – interpreted in Chapter 5.5 as a process

of protection and containment – may be mirrored in the use of pot sherds to cover

the settlement burials. Also mentioned in Chapter 5.5 was the fact that Anquandah

recorded the placement of human remains on top of pots (1987: 174), as well as

underneath them. The destruction of a pot, or pots, at the death of an individual is

a well-recorded phenomenon throughout West Africa, although clearly the beliefs

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behind this action were context-dependent (Berns 1988: 73; Herbert 1993: 205;

Insoll 2010: 99; Smith 1989: 61; Wild 1935).

Some burials at Tando Fagusa (number unspecified) were covered by whole pots

and not pot sherds. In these instances, a pot, complete but for a deliberate hole in

its base, was placed upside-down over an individual (Nkumbaan 2016: 114). This

practice mirrors the creation (if not the meaning) of a libation structure in the

YK10/11 shrine by deliberately piercing a hole in a pot’s bottom; although here, the

pot was upright (Insoll et al. 2012: 36).

Pottery discs were associated with human remains in shrine and settlement

contexts (although no pottery discs were found in YK10 Mound D [Asamoah-

Mensah 2013]). Nkumbaan observed that a YK07 shrine contained “a half skull,

turned upside down, at the base of which were placed about 27 ceramic discs”

(2016: 111; see also the original article Kankpeyeng and Nkumbaan 2009). In

Chapter 6.7, this particular arrangement of YK07 material was interpreted as

potentially demonstrating the ability of the discs to contain spiritually dangerous

substances, in an extension of their role as bottle-stoppers.

The YK10/11 shrine mound contained both discs and human remains, as discussed

in Chapter 6.7. These discs were not directly associated with the human remains,

but were part of a mixed assemblage of figurines, pottery sherds, and querns.

Eighteen pottery discs were also uncovered in HM12 and HM4 “in association with

human burials” (Nkumbaan 2016: 111). Conversely, SCM3 TP3 and SCM5 TP4

collectively possessed three pottery discs, but no human remains (Nkumbaan 2016:

111). The inclusion of discs in settlement burials suggested “their possible use in

ritual activity related to funerary rites” (Nkumbaan 2016: 111). What criteria

determined the use of sherds, pottery discs, or whole pots in settlement burials are

not yet apparent.

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7.3.1 Comparative analysis of the settlement and shrine ceramics

7.3.2.1 Sherd frequencies: issues and variables

Six Koma Land pottery assemblages are analysed in the next section. As above,

these consist of two pottery assemblages from Yikpabongo (the YK10/11

assemblage and a settlement assemblage analysed by Asamoah-Mensah (2013)),

and four pottery assemblages from Tando Fagusa – two settlement assemblages

and two shrine assemblages – excavated by Nkumbaan (2016).

The six assemblages were comparatively analysed to determine their composition

(forms, fabrics, decorations, surface treatments), and to understand the similarities

and variations evident in the types of sherds deposited in shrine and settlement

mounds. The assemblages were compared using percentage frequencies to

mitigate the differing sample sizes. Nevertheless, some variable factors remain, and

are discussed below.

Firstly, the sampling and sherd discard practices varied for each project. In the

YK10/11 assemblage, sherds below 2cm were discarded as containing no useful

diagnostic data, and undecorated body sherds were analysed to understand fabric

and surface treatments. Comparatively, in the Mound D Yikpabongo settlement

assemblage sherds under 3cm were discarded, whilst the majority of the

undecorated sherds were treated as undiagnostic and discarded in the field, or

archived (Asamoah-Mensah 2013: 25). An unknown number were assessed for

surface treatment and fabric (Asamoah-Mensah 2013: 59).

At Tando Fagusa, Nkumbaan examined, recorded and archived undecorated sherds,

but as with the YK10/11 assemblage, time constraints prevented full analysis of

these (2016: 89, 94, 99). It was not clear if sherds below a certain size were

discarded at Tando Fagusa. In practical terms, this has meant that the proportions

of decorated and undecorated sherds in each assemblage has been influenced by

discard practices, and therefore cannot be used as reliable evidence as to whether

the inhabitants of Iron Age Koma Land had a preference as to what type of sherd

they deposited.

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A second, associated factor to consider is how deliberate the action of sherd

deposition at each site-type was. To elucidate; it was hypothesised in Chapter 5

that the deposition of sherds in shrine contexts was a deliberate action as part of

specific ritual activities. Sherds in the shrine were purposefully selected for use

there, and the nature of the sherd (decorated, undecorated, slipped, unslipped etc.)

may have affected whether or not it was chosen. Comparatively, it was

hypothesised that the settlement assemblages were likely to be more randomised

because these sherds represented probable accidental breakages of domestic

material in situ before recontextualisation.

That is not to say these breakages were without meaning. Sherds in settlement

midden contexts or in Nkumbaan’s (2016: 133) ‘refuse’ context – in which figurine

fragments were also deposited – may have had social meaning and been

deliberately accumulated, as argued in Chapter 6.5. Sherds used as burial-covers in

the settlement mounds also situate themselves in multiple, interlinked spheres of

meaning.

In Chapter 4, analysis of the YK10/11 assemblage revealed a slight preference for

decorated sherds over other sherd types and this was interpreted as a deliberate

choice by the Iron Age shrine users. Yet, in light of the above factors, it should be

acknowledged that whilst I had control over the sampling practices used in the

analyses on site and in the DAHS, I did not have control over the excavation and

initial discard practices. Therefore, the preference for decorated sherds in the

YK10/11 assemblage should be re-evaluated and also treated circumspectly, as it

may have arisen from actions taken before the ceramic assemblage became the

focus of this thesis, or from my own sampling practices, as outlined in Chapter 3.

What this brief critical examination has revealed is the need to test the hypothesis

that settlement and shrine mounds in spatial proximity were directly interrelated,

as Nkumbaan theorised (2016: 204). In Chapter 4 it was theorised that the

decorated sherds formed the largest portion of the YK10/11 assemblage because

the shrine’s users and makers had deliberately selected/ preferred this type of

sherd. Is it actually the case that sherds deposited in the shrine mound were

sourced from associated settlement mounds? Were the two directly connected? Is

236

it possible to determine if the selection practices for shrine sherds and burial-cover

sherds were connected?

If directly associated, archaeologists might expect to see a relationship between the

sherd types present or absent in each mound. If not, this poses some interesting

future research questions about the nature and source of the shrine’s ceramic

material. This examination has also prompted self-reflexion on the profound

influence of methodological choices as to how material is understood, but also as to

the issues created by empirical thinking (following Johnson 2011); i.e. initially

accepting without question the Iron Age inhabitants’ intrinsic value of decorated

sherds over other types because, in Koma Land contexts, this has been reflected in

the researchers’ own attitudes and discard practices.

7.3.2.2 Detailed comparative analysis of the six assemblages

After detailing the contexts from which the settlement mound ceramics were

excavated, and highlighting analytical variables, Section 7.3.2.2 now comparatively

analyses the pottery assemblages themselves. All of the available data for shrine

and settlement mound pottery has been briefly summarised in Tables 29 to 38. In

each table, the first column summarises the findings of this thesis, the second the

findings of Asamoah-Mensah (2013) from Yikpabongo settlement Mound D, and

the remaining four columns the findings from Nkumbaan’s 2008 and 2010

excavations at Tando Fagusa in Koma Land (2016). In Tando Fagusa, one settlement

mound (TDF-HM12 2008/10) was fully excavated, a second (TDF-HM4 TP2) was

investigated via a test-pit; whilst two stone circle/ shrine mounds (TDF-SCM3 TP3,

and TDF-SCM5 TP4) in proximity to the settlement mounds were also provisionally

assessed using test-pits (Nkumbaan 2016: 74-82). TDF-HM12 was excavated over

both the 2008 and 2010 field seasons (Nkumbaan 2016: 7). For a complete

explanation of the structure and contents of each table, see the figure descriptions,

and the summary paragraph provided after Table 38.

237

Totals

Pottery

characteristics

YK10/11 shrine

mound

YK10 Mound

D (Trench 1

and 2)

TDF-HM12

2008/ 2010

TDF-HM4

TP2 2010

TDF-SCM3

TP3

TDF-SCM5

TP4

Percentage (%) of

whole assemblage

100% (ceramics

only)

95.33% 88.80% (all mound types)

Total sherds (=n) 9692 3024 13899 (all mound types)

Total sample/

diagnostic sherds

(=n)

5448 968-1026

(approx.)

999 517 262 654

Total complete pots

(=n)

1 (unanalysed) 1 17

Table 29: A summary of the six settlement and shrine mound pottery assemblages.

Diagnostic totals: number/ percentage frequency (%)

Sherd types YK10/11

shrine

mound

YK10 Mound

D (Trench 1

and 2)

TDF-HM12

2008/ 2010

TDF-HM4

TP2 2010

TDF-SCM3

TP3

TDF-SCM5

TP4

Rims 949/ 17.41 208/ 20.3 215/ 21.5 7/ 1.35 126/ 48.09 216/ 33.03

Necks 1/ 0.1 16/ 1.56 5/ 0.5 3/ 0.58 0/ 0 14/ 2.14

Decorated body 2267/ 41.61 721/ 70.3 726/ 72.6 505/ 97.7 160/ 61.07 454/ 69.42

Undecorated body 2191/ 40.21 55/ 5.3 241/ 24.1 6/ 1.6 100/ 38.12 196/ 29.9

Indeterminate 690/ 69.07 412/ 79.7 125/ 47.7 295/45.1

Bases (inc.

pedestals)

35/ 0.46 5/ 0.48 54/ 5.4 5/ 0.96 9/ 3.44 27/ 4.13

Perforated 47/ 0.86 13/ 1.27 5/ 0.5 6/ 1.16 2/ 3.23 2/ 0.3

Handle/ lug/ lid/

other

5/ 0.09 16/ 1.56 35/ 3.5 0/ 0 2/ 3.23 2/ 0.3

Rim diameter range

(cm)

6cm-61cm

Sherd thickness

(cm)

0.3cm –

3.4cm

0cm-3.9cm

Table 30: A summary of sherd types in each assemblage by number and percentage frequency.

Fabrics: number/ percentage frequency (%)

Fabric Type YK10/11

shrine mound

YK10 Mound

D (Trench 1

and 2)

TDF-HM12

2008/ 2010

TDF-HM4 TP2

2010

TDF-SCM3

TP3

TDF-SCM5

TP4

Fine 3087/ 98.28 278/ 27.1 ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓

Medium 41/ 1.3 142/ 13.8

Coarse 16/ 0.5 190/ 18.5 ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓

Very coarse 0/ 0 526/ 51.27 ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓

Table 31: The fabric types for each of the six assemblages.

238

Inclusions/ temper: number/ percentage frequency (%)

Fabric Type YK10/11

shrine

mound

YK10 Mound

D (Trench 1

and 2)

TDF-HM12

2008/ 2010

TDF-HM4 TP2

2010

TDF-SCM3

TP3

TDF-SCM5

TP4

Quartz 300/ 9.55 ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓

Mica 2767/ 88.09 ✓ 0 0 0 0

Grit 2825/ 89.93 0 ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓

Grog 0/0 0 ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓

Sand 18/0.57 0 ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓

Table 32: A summary of inclusions/ temper for each of the six assemblages.

Manufacturing method(s) number/ percentage frequency (%)

Technique YK10/11

Shrine

Mound

YK10 Mound

D (Trench 1

and 2)

TDF-HM12

2008/10

TDF-HM4 TP2

2010

TDF-SCM3

TP3

TDF-SCM5

TP4

Coiling 9/0.05 ✓

Drawn from a

lump/ pinched

7/0.12 0/ 0

Other 254/ 4.66

Table 33: A summary of manufacturing methods for each assemblage.

Rim profiles: number/ percentage frequency (%)

Rim type YK10/11

Shrine

Mound

YK10 Mound

D (Trench 1

and 2)

TDF-HM12

2008/10

TDF-HM4

TP2 2010

TDF-SCM3

TP3

TDF-SCM5

TP4

Everted rim 745/ 13.67 129/ 12.57 130/ 13.01 63/ 12.2 72/ 27.48 122/ 18.65

Inverted rim 139/ 2.55 53/ 5.16 85/ 8.5 34/ 6.57 54/ 20.6 94/ 14.37

Straight rim 65/ 1.19 26/ 2.53 0/ 0 0/ 0 0/ 0 0/ 0

Unidentifiable/

unclear

0/ 0 0/ 0 0/ 0 0/ 0 0/ 0 0/ 0

Table 34: A summary of rim profiles for each of the six assemblages.

239

Forms

Type YK10/11 Shrine

Mound

YK10 Mound

D (Trench 1

and 2)

TDF-HM12

2008/10

TDF-HM4 TP2

2010

TDF-SCM3

TP3

TDF-SCM5

TP4

Jars Collared/ everted

neck jar. Steep

shouldered,

carinated, rounded

body. 63.4% of rims

Restricted mouth

vessels (15.47%&. Of

which, greater

restricted mouth and

lesser restricted

mouth vessel, non-

carinated, rounded/

spherical bodies,

were identified.

0.94% and 2.21% of

rims, respectively.

70% of

assemblage

Large -

medium

Globular

shape

Round base

Average rim

diameter

30cm

✓ Large,

medium, and

small vessels

Large,

medium, and

small vessels

Large,

medium, and

small vessels

Bowls Open/ wide mouth

vessels, rounded

shape, unrestricted

mouth. 15.47% of

rims.

30% of

assemblage

Small -

medium

Hemispherical

Flat/ ring base

Average rim

diameter

14cm (small),

24cm

(medium)

✓ Large,

medium, and

small vessels

Large,

medium, and

small vessels

Large,

medium, and

small vessels

Plates Wide shallow bowl/

plate, n=3. Identified

from bases.

None

recorded

None

recorded

None

recorded

None

recorded

None

recorded

Cups None recorded None

recorded

Small vessels

Rim diameter

15cm or less

Small vessels

Rim diameter

15cm or less

Small vessels

Rim diameter

15cm or less

Small vessels

Rim diameter

15cm or less

Table 35: A descriptive summary of each assemblages’ pottery forms.

Surface treatments: number/ percentage frequency (%)

Type YK10/11

Shrine

Mound

YK10 Mound

D (Trench 1

and 2)

TDF-HM12

2008/10

TDF-HM4 TP2

2010

TDF-SCM3

TP3

TDF-SCM5

TP4

Slipped 3990/ 73.2 80/ 7.79 ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓

Micaceous 292/ 5.35 132/ 12.86

Burnished 0/ 0 197/ 19.2 ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓

Smudged 0/ 0 114/ 11.1 ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓

None 1458/ 26.76 453/ 44.15

Hand smoothing 0 ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓

240

Too eroded to

identify

0/ 0 47/ 4.58

Table 36: A summary of surface treatments for each of the six assemblages.

Decorations: number/ percentage frequency (%)

Type YK10/11

Shrine

Mound

YK10 Mound

D (Trench 1

and 2)

TDF-HM12

2008/10

TDF-HM4

TP2 2010

TDF-SCM3

TP3

TDF-SCM5

TP4

Roulette 1531/ 28.1 582/ 56.7 542/ 54.3 260/ 50.3 128/ 48.8 374/ 57.19

Incised 416/ 16.41 54/ 5.3 31/ 3.1 17/ 3.28 0/ 0 4/ 0.61

Grooved 316/ 7.63 30/ 2.92 69/ 6.91 68/ 13.25 2/ 0.76 22/ 3.3

Stamp/

punctuation

17/ 0.31 26/ 2.53 13/ 1.3 6/ 1.6 1/ 0.38 44/ 6.73

Appliqué/ pinching 3/ 0.05 0/ 0 0/ 0 0/ 0 0/ 0 0/ 0

Rectangular

banding

130/ 2.38 0/ 0 0/ 0 0/ 0 0/ 0 0/ 0

Notches 0/ 0 0/ 0 ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓

Multiple

decorations

122/ 2.23 132/ 12.9 3/ 0.3 10/ 1.93 0/ 0 11/ 1.68

Too eroded to

identify type

0/ 0 8/ 0.77 0/ 0 73/ 14.12 0/ 0 0/ 0

Wavy line

impression

(In the YK/11

this is part of

incised

decoration)

0/ 0 5/ 0.5 0/ 0 2/ 0.76 1/ 0.15

Cord marks (In the

YK10/11

assemblage

this is part of

roulette

decoration)

0/ 0 68/ 6.8 77/ 14.89 4/ 1.53 0/ 0

Table 37: A comparative summary of decoration types for all six Koma Land assemblages.

Firing

YK10/11

Shrine

Mound

YK10 Mound

D (Trench 1

and 2)

TDF-HM12

2008/10

TDF-HM4

TP2 2010

TDF-SCM3

TP3

TDF-SCM5

TP4

Type Open fired Open fired Open fired Open fired Open fired

Temperature (low,

medium, high)

Low

Table 38: The firing techniques identified in the six assemblages.

Tables 29 to 38 are summaries of all currently known Iron Age Koma Land pottery

data, including three settlement mounds (Mound D; TDF-HM12; and TDF-TP2

(HM4)), and three shrines, or ‘stone circle’, mounds (the YK10/11 shrine mound;

TDF-SCM3 TP3; and TDF-SCM5 TP4). Every category has been completed in the

241

greatest possible detail. “0” signifies that no sherds of that type/ characteristic

were present at the site, a greyed-out box signifies that this characteristic/ category

was unmentioned anywhere in the text; and a ‘tick’ signifies that the type/

characteristic was mentioned as present in the text, but that no specific data was

provided for that category.

The data has been presented as numbers/ percentages. Cord marks and wavy line

impressions in this thesis would be subsumed by the roulette category, but they

have been listed separately here to reflect how Nkumbaan (2016) recorded them.

Both Asamoah-Mensah (2013) and Nkumbaan (2016) treated pedestals and bases

as two distinct categories, however, here they were subsumed into one. Similarly,

perforations in sherds were treated by both as a decorative technique (Asamoah-

Mensah 2013: 86; Nkumbaan 2016: 94, 99), but in this thesis, they are categorised

as functional. No attempt at comparison of fabric colours or slips was made

because of the highly subjective nature of these data categories and the different

methods used to identify them. Finally, no comparative breakdown of the specific

types of roulette decoration can be provided because specific types were not

identified by Asamoah-Mensah (2013) or Nkumbaan (2016).

It is clear from all of the tables above that different methodological choices and

challenges in the field have meant that comparative analysis of the six assemblages

was not a straightforward process. Interpretations were limited by having only

partial data in some categories. Nevertheless, some valuable observations can be

forwarded. Crucially, as Figure 42 (below) demonstrates, there were no significant

variations in the types of sherd deposited at each site, nor at each type of site.

The sherd discard practices for both shrine and settlement mounds were broadly

homogenous, and the assemblages were all characterised by a plethora of

decorated sherds, and a dearth of bases, perforated sherds, and ‘others’ (handles,

lugs, and lids). This may suggest that perforated vessels, and vessel ‘accessories’

such as lids and handles, were not widely used, or that they were deposited

elsewhere.

242

Typically, rim sherds were slightly more frequent in shrine mounds than settlement

mounds. Overall sherd quantities are somewhat higher in settlement mounds. The

strong preference for decorated sherds in all of the assemblages, and the

comparative lack of undecorated sherds, has been moderated by the awareness –

as outlined in 7.3.2.1 – that sampling practices were selective. However, what was

revealing were the frequencies of the decoration types.

Figure 42: The percentage frequency (%) of each sherd type in the six Koma Land ceramic

assemblages. Blue lines represent the shrine mounds, and green lines, settlement mounds.

At all six Koma Land sites, roulette decorated sherds formed the majority of the

decorated assemblage. In the YK10/11 assemblage, roulette constituted 60.39% of

all decorated sherds, which was dominated by cord roulette (29.88%) and strip

roulettes (29.35%). Braided strip was the most repeated type of roulette; it

accounted for 96.87% of the strip roulettes, including thick, medium, thin, and very

thin varieties (see Chapter 4.7.1.1).

Whilst the types of roulette found in Mound D and the Tando Fagusa sites were

unspecified, I have identified braided strip roulette (Asamoah-Mensah 2013: 102,

105; Nkumbaan 2016: 127), different examples of carved wooden roulette

(Asamoah-Mensah 2013: 108; Nkumbaan 2016: 128), as well as twisted cord

05

101520253035404550556065707580859095

100105

YK10/11 SCM3 TP3 SCM5 TP4

Mound D HM12 HM4 TP2

243

roulette varieties (Asamoah-Mensah 2013: 108; Nkumbaan 2016: 128) using the

photographs and illustrations provided in both reports.

What in this thesis has been described as carved roulette has been identified as

comb stamping in the Tando Fagusa report (Nkumbaan 2016: 128). These included

sherds with patterns identical to ones in the YK10/11 assemblage (Figure 43,

below). Asamoah-Mensah did not identify any carved wooden roulette or comb

stamping in her assemblage (2013).

Figure 43: The left and centre left images are examples of multiple-decorated sherds from Tando-

Fagusa, “including stamping” (Nkumbaan 2016: 128), and the centre right and right images are

examples of YK10/11 carved roulette sherds.

Individualised incised line decoration was also present at all six sites. Examination

of photographs of decorated sherds from Nkumbaan’s (2016) and Asamoah-

Mensah’s (2013) assemblages makes clear that it would be absurdly difficult, if not

impossible, to take an assortment of decorated sherds from all six Koma Land

locales, mix them up, and then re-sort them by site of origin. Rectangular banding

was only observed in the YK10/11 assemblage, but examination of Asamoah-

Mensah’s and Nkumbaan’s rim profile illustrations suggests it was present, but has

not been identified (see rim profiles three, six, and 11in Asamoah-Mensah 2013:

105; and rim profiles L: T1 (N) L1, X: T (N) L2, and, A1: T1 (N) L3 in Nkumbaan 2016:

244

120-121). Notching, or “making short impressions at given intervals, usually a

millimetre apart, on the rim lip” was the only decoration technique unique to a few

sherds from Tando Fagusa, and “sticks or the finger [sic] could be used to achieve

this if the vessel is still wet” (Nkumbaan 2016: 130; Figure 44).

Figure 44: An example of a rim with notching from Tando Fagusa (Nkumbaan 2016: 130)

Everted rims were the most frequent rim type in all six assemblages, followed by

inverted rims. Straight, or ‘direct’ rims were present only in the YK10/11 mound

and YK10 Mound D (see Table 34). Jars were the dominant form in all six

assemblages, particularly large ones. Bowls were also recurrent, with small,

medium, and large varieties identified. Asamoah-Mensah excavated bowls with

pedestal-type bases (2013: 106). Cups, described as small vessels with a diameter of

15cm or below, were recorded at all four Tando Fagusa sites (Nkumbaan 2016: 89,

92). None were present in the YK10/11 assemblage analysed in this thesis, but a

small, mostly complete cup-like vessel was uncovered by the excavators from the

YK10/11 shrine (Insoll et al. 2013: 23). Alternatively, these may be the same as the

YK10/11 straight-rimmed bowls with smaller rim diameters. The YK10/11

assemblage was the only site of the six to include wide shallow bowls/ plates (see

Chapter 4.2.5).

Perforated sherds were present in all six assemblages. Both Asamoah-Mensah

(2013: 111) and Nkumbaan (2016: 129) have categorised the perforations as a form

of decoration as well as functional, but in this thesis the perforations have been

treated as functional only, and they were not included in the YK10/11 total

245

decorated sherds count. Both authors interpreted the perforations as being used in

vessels designed for food preparation, such as for washing ingredients, straining

seeds, or smoking meat (Asamoah-Mensah 2016: 106; Nkumbaan 2016: 129). In

Chapter 4.2.4 it was also argued that meat smoking or steaming, or straining (or all

of the above), was the likely function of perforated vessels. In all six assemblages,

vessel ‘accessories’ such as handles, lugs, and lids were in the minority. As, typically,

these elements are the most handled parts of any vessel, this can most likely be

accounted for by daily use-wear.

Bases were infrequent in all of the assemblages, strengthening the argument that

the majority of vessels were round bottomed (see Chapter 4.2.2). The excellent

condition of many of the ceramics at Tando Fagusa allowed this type of round-

bottomed pot to be specifically identified from examples in the field (Nkumbaan

2016: 124). Asamoah-Mensah’s base typology also included a majority of rounded

bases (2013: 103).

The point made in Chapter 4.2.2 of this thesis – that such fragmented, rounded

bases would be difficult to differentiate from body sherds – was also confirmed

(Nkumbaan 2016: 124). In 4.2.2, it was suggested that this type of rounded base

may have belonged to pots used for fire-based cooking; at Tando Fagusa,

Nkumbaan also suggests these were used as storage jars (2016: 124). This issue

with the recognition of rounded bases also similarly affected Crossland’s analysis of

pottery from Begho B-2 in the Brong-Ahafo region (1989: 87), demonstrating this is

not a pottery type or methodological issue restricted to Koma Land. In one whole

storage vessel at Tando Fagusa, 170 animal bones (type(s) unspecified; but cattle,

goat/sheep, and catfish made up this site’s faunal assemblage) were found along

with “a few other objects”, suggesting the use of that particular vessel for the

storage of meat products (Nkumbaan 2016: 141).

Observations during analysis revealed that smaller, narrower, and more pointed

bases have greater structural integrity than pots with large, flat, bases and stability

can be achieved by digging the jars into soft ground. In hot climates, partially

burying pots in the ground would assist in keeping the storage vessels’ contents

cool. In all assemblages, pedestal bases were recorded (Asamoah-Mensah 2013:

246

106; Nkumbaan 2016: 125), and at Tando Fagusa, Nkumbaan observed pot-stand

legs, but no pot-stands (Nkumbaan 2016: 124), as was the case in the YK10/11

assemblage.

The eroded nature the YK10/11 assemblage was discussed in Chapters 3 and 4.

Here, it is mentioned again for comparative purposes. Both the Tando Fagusa

(Nkumbaan 2016) and Yikpabongo Mound D (Asamoah-Mensah 2013) reports

recorded eroded and ‘indeterminate’ sherds in their assemblages. Nkumbaan

defined indeterminate sherds as “non-diagnostic…it either could not be determined

which part of a vessel they belonged to or because they were badly eroded” (2016:

89).

Whilst Asamoah-Mensah does not define this term, it is used in her analysis when

discussing sherd types (2013: 87, 93), affecting 0.97% (n=1) of the assemblage. The

number of sherds labelled as “eroded” from Mound D was also minute (n=62;

Asamoah-Mensah 2013: 86, 89, 92, 95, 99); approximately 6.05% of the diagnostic

assemblage. At Tando Fagusa, 87.54% (n=10011; Nkumbaan 2016: 91) of the whole

2008 sherd assemblage was “indeterminate”, but this term also encompassed

unidentifiable form types, and the shrine and settlement ceramics were not treated

separately.

Comparing the YK10/11 shrine assemblage with settlement Mound D, it could be

suggested that the smaller number of eroded sherds is a result of their having a

shorter post-breakage pre-deposition biography. Alternatively, at the sites in Tando

Fagusa it was observed that the large vessels were mainly reserved for use in

settlement contexts, whilst the shrines (or ‘stone circle’) contexts contained the

majority of the small to medium vessel sizes (Nkumbaan 2016: 102). As such, the

presence of small sherds in the shrine mound may have been because of the use of

smaller vessels in it to begin with. This may bring into question Chapter 6’s

discussion of enchainment, or ‘reverse’ enchainment. On the other hand, this

vessel-size pattern does not explain why the YK10/11 assemblage contained such a

substantial number of eroded sherds. Further excavations will help resolve this

issue.

247

Figurines were rare in the Koma Land settlement contexts. Twenty-five figurine

fragments were found in the sixth and seventh levels of HM12 at Tando Fagusa

from a pit initially dug to obtain material for brick-making and subsequently used

for refuse (Nkumbaan 2016: 133). Currently, this is the only published instance of

figurines recovered from a settlement context anywhere in Koma Land, as none

were found in settlement Mound D (Asamoah-Mensah 2013: 126). Conversely, 292

figurine and figurine fragments were excavated from the two Tando-Fagusa shrine

mounds (Nkumbaan 2016: 133). It is unclear why Mound HM12 contained figurines:

were they discarded for technical reasons (e.g. poorly executed, poorly fired), an

offering/ replacement for the earth removed from the pit, as a foundation offering,

to defuse their power, a consequence of ill-health in that household, or for some

other reason? Quite possibly, future excavations of settlement mounds will dispel

the notions that figurines were sparse in these contexts.

To summarise, variations between the pottery assemblages included the discovery

of plates/ wide shallow bowls only in the YK10/11 assemblage, the fact that

notching is a decorative technique currently unique to Tando-Fagusa, the seeming

lack of mica in the Tando Fagusa ceramics, and the variety extant in the vessels’

paste, both across the six sites and within them.

Examination of the fabric using written descriptions and the available images

indicates that all six sites used similar clay probably obtained from a number of

locally-known sources. Whilst the fabric’s fineness/ coarseness varied across the

sites, this is likely a consequence of different potters with varying levels of

experience and slightly different paste recipes. The inclusions and temper used

across all six sites was similar (see Tables 31 and 32), including the use of quartz. It

is not known if mica was included in the Tando Fagusa ceramics because this

information was unavailable in Nkumbaan (2016); but it was reported in the Mound

D assemblage (Asamoah-Mensah 2013).

Coiling was recorded at both Yikpabongo sites, and was the most prevalent

production method for the Mound D ceramics (Asamoah-Mensah 2013: 29). This

was also recorded by Anquandah in his Yikpabongo excavation (1998: 110).

Probably, coiling was the method used to make many of the YK10/11 vessels, but

248

the level of erosion, and in some cases, profuse use of slip (see Chapter 4.6 for

discussion) precluded identification of coiling for the majority of this assemblage.

The method(s) of manufacture were not discussed for the Tando Fagusa ceramics.

With the exception of Mound D, for which this was not discussed, it was

determined that the assemblages had been open fired (see Chapter 4.8 and Table

38; Nkumbaan 2016: 154).

Similarities continued with the rim profiles, and for the most part, the vessel forms

identified. In some cases, the rim profiles were identical, even down to the use of

rectangular banding, although this was only recorded as a specific decorative

technique in the YK10/11 assemblage. At all sites, identifiable bases were sparse,

and all three reports independently concurred that this was a result of the majority

of bases being rounded and therefore difficult to distinguish from body sherds (see

4.2.2, Asamoah-Mensah 2013: 103; Nkumbaan 2016: 124). At all six sites, pedestal

bases dominated the recognisable base assemblage (see above). Pot-stand legs, but

no pot-stands, were uncovered at Tando Fagusa (Nkumbaan 2016: 123) as well as

from the YK10/11 shrine (4.2.2).

Slipping, particularly red slipping, was a feature of pottery sherds in all of the

assemblages (see Table 36; Asamoah-Mensah 2013: 123; Nkumbaan 2013: 131).

The use of red slip for pottery is typical at sites across Iron Age Ghana, and West

Africa more widely, including in Burkina Faso, Nigeria, and Mali (Connah 1967,

2007; Dueppen 2012a, 2012b; Insoll et al. 2000, Insoll et al. 2013; Nicklin 1980;

Ogundiran 2002b; Park 2010; Yo1k 1965).

Burnishing and hand-smoothing were also identified (Asamoah-Mensah 2013: 123,

Nkumbaan 2013: 131). What particularly visually characterised all of the

assemblages were the decorated sherds and the similarities between them;

particularly the use of incised line decoration, which was distinctive and

individualised. With the exception of notching at Tando Fagusa, the decoration

types were all comparable. Roulette dominated all of the assemblages, followed by

incised line and grooved decorative techniques, and then the use of stamping, or as

it was described in the other two reports, ‘punctuation’.

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The aim of Section 7.3.2.2’s comparative analysis of six pottery assemblages from

Iron Age Koma Land was to determine (a) whether the assemblages were of the

same/ a similar ware; (b) what regional variations existed; (c) to examine the

variation in sherd deposition practices between shrine and settlement sites. This

analysis has fulfilled those aims as comprehensively as possible. The variations

between the assemblages have been identified, and it has been confirmed that the

pottery from all six sites was almost certainly of the same ware. The brief

examination of sherd deposition frequencies, meanwhile, revealed overall similar

practices at both site-types. A more detailed analysis of sherd deposition practices

at shrine and settlement sites, using a single, consistent methodology and with

access to all of the assemblages, and full contextual data, would be a valuable

future undertaking.

7.4 Connecting worlds: mobility, trade, and transmission

Having examined the regional contexts into which the YK10/11 shrine may be set,

Section 7.4 turns now to the analysis of its ‘global’ contexts and relationships.

Exploring such global networks and connections, their structure, development, and

influence on past life-ways in West Africa and beyond is of increasing interest to

numerous archaeologists, scientists, medievalists, and historians. See, for example,

Cowrie shells: an early global commodity, a five-year research project tracing the

marine harvesting, movement, and meanings of cowrie shells – particularly the

ever-abundant Cypraea moneta – from the Maldives in the Indian Ocean to the

West African coast and hinterlands during the (pre-)trans-Atlantic period (Haour

2015).

See also recent examinations on the production of identity and the understanding

of outsiders in historic West Africa (Haour 2013), and summaries and syntheses of

particular aspects of African material culture (Barley 1994; Dawson 2009; Gosselain

2010; Haour et al. 2010; Insoll 2015), as well as more general assessments (Chouin

and DeCorse 2010). Further, peer-reviewed journals such as Medieval Worlds, the

more recent The Medieval Globe, and the development of an Arts and Humanities

Research Council (AHRC) research network, involving 33 academics with different

specialisms, aimed at producing non-Eurocentric histories examining how, and how

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far, inhabitants of the medieval era experienced the global world (Holmes and

Standen 2015: 107-108). Finally, researchers have examined patterns of occupation

and site abandonment (Section 7.4.4), to understand how external factors such as

pandemics and environmental change affected populations in historic West Africa

(Chouin and DeCorse 2010; Kelley 2016; McIntosh 2005).

The value of this trend – of analysing historic West Africa’s broader themes,

relationships, and regional connections – is not just its encouragement of

interdisciplinarity. It is also its ability to highlight and cement the role and influence

of West Africa in these wider temporal and spatial historical contexts; a feature also

valuable as a means of showcasing West Africa’s influence, instead of merely

focusing on how it was influenced.

That the YK10/11 shrine had such broad connections is beyond doubt; its material

assemblage contained, firstly, organic substances, including from North Africa

(Robinson et al. 2017; see Section 7.4.1). Secondly, internationally sourced trade

items – glass beads and Cypraea moneta cowrie shells (Insoll et al. 2012: 36; see

Section 7.4.2) – and thirdly, figurines depicting scenes of travel and mobility (Insoll

et al. 2013: 10; see Section 7.4.3). Lastly, a chronology that appears to have

abruptly terminated in the 14th century AD in the same, and probably not co-

incidental, timeframe that multiple other sites in West Africa were also suddenly

abandoned (see Section 7.4.4).

What remains unknown at this juncture is the nature, breadth, and depth of these

wider connections, and where Koma Land, and the YK10/11 assemblage in

particular, sits within them. Thus, this section, using the connections outlined above

to structure it, critically examines how the YK10/11 assemblage was materially and

thematically connected to the wider world in the West African Iron Age. These

themes have been identified as mobility, trade, and, transmission, as manifested in

the material excavated from the YK10/11 shrine.

It also initiates discussion of how far, and in what ways, the Iron Age inhabitants of

Koma Land may have perceived and reacted to such connections, and how such

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‘exotic’ materials originated, and were integrated, into religious and social praxis.

To this end, Chapter 7.4 has been inspired and directed by Kopytoff’s observation

That what is significant about the adoption of alien objects – as of alien

ideas – is not the fact that they are adopted, but the way they are culturally

redefined and put to use (Kopytoff 1986: 67).

It is argued here that the artefacts within the YK10/11 shrine mound were not just

evidence of how Koma Land (or at least one part of it) interacted with the wider

world, but that these artefacts were active, involved, and influential constituents of

those interactions.

The concept of objects-with-agency is not a new one (Gosden 2005; Wobst 2000),

but here the focus is on understanding how artefacts caught up in economic and

exchange networks were ‘good to think’ with. McAnany and Wells have named this

a function of “ritual economy”, which they have defined as the “process of

provisioning and consuming that materialises and substantiates worldviews for

managing meaning and shaping interpretation” (2008: 3), and which recognises

that held ritual and cultural values, beliefs, and attitudes informed and motivated

economic decision making as much as economic and social factors.

To understand the “dispositions that intertwine ritual with economy” in Koma Land

contexts (McAnany and Wells 2008: 4), it is necessary to introduce and examine the

concept of the exotic in further detail. The discussion of the exotic in archaeological

publications typically relates it either to authenticity or to unfamiliarity (Appadurai

1986: 49-50; Foster 1982: 22; Helm 1988: 21; Kopytoff 1986: 67). Thus, it can be

framed as a means of “seeking authenticity” (Appadurai 1986: 47) in the context of

Western populations’ consumption of non-Western material, with the aim of

fulfilling a romanticised desire for historicity (Davenport 1986; Foster 1982: 21). Or,

as the impetus behind the commoditisation and trade of certain artefacts by West

African historic and proto-historic societies, artefacts which were valued because

they were, intrinsically, ‘exotic’ (e.g. Holl 2002: 171, 174; MacEachern 2001: 138;

Oliver 1977 passim; Spiers 2012: 119).

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Both concepts are relevant to this thesis. The concept of authenticity and the exotic

characterises how some art historical narratives of Koma Land have traditionally

approached it (see Chapter 2.2). Figurines from Koma Land, for example, have been

commoditised precisely because they are authentic entities (e.g. David 2012; and

see Insoll et al. 2013: 37). It is ironic, then, that the worth the figurines’ authenticity

has imbued them with causes them, in some contexts, to become worthless, as is

evidenced by the numerous unprovenanced figurines in private collections, and the

creation of imitations (Cocle 1991; Dagan 1989; Scheutz et al. 2016; and see

Chapter 6.6).

The paradox of producing the exotic for European markets was perfectly captured

by Davenport in a case study using interactions between Europeans and East

Solomon Islanders in the Pacific in the 20th century AD (1986). Davenport observed

that many of the island’s population had been urged to convert to Christianity by

European missionaries and visitors; who were also eager to purchase the authentic,

exotic iconography that had previously been tied to the islanders’ own religious

beliefs (Davenport 1986: 101). To fulfil this demand, island craftsmen altered their

sculptures to specifically meet the tastes of the European market (Davenport 1986:

108).

This case study illuminates a number of points. Firstly, that the concept of

exoticness may only be acceptable within certain parameters, or to a certain

‘measure’ of exoticism. For the islanders, it could be argued that their religious

beliefs were unacceptably exotic and different (to European historic standards), but

their art was acceptably so. Secondly, however, with the alteration of the

sculptures’ style to meet Western tastes, the market became defined by Western

perceptions of the exotic, creating, as it were, a ‘synthetic authenticity’ that was

more understandable and familiar to Western ideology.

Therefore, by labelling something as ‘exotic’, it becomes a phenomenon that can be

categorised, and thus, understood and controlled. Elsewhere, this precept has led

Foster to define exotic as “a symbolic-interpretive element”, which, “among other

things, allows numbers of one social group to understand another social group

which they see as different from their own” (1982: 22). Thus, labelling something as

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exotic could be a means of contextualising it and putting it within an acceptable,

and useable, frame of reference.

This creates a paradox. By acknowledging something as exotic – as unfamiliar – that

something is categorised as being outside one’s sphere of reference; an active

process, which, at the same time, also causes it to be contextualised. Thus, the

power and value of an exotic substance or artefact is generated not only from its

status as a strange or unknown entity, but from how the beholder perceives,

places, and uses that information within their own cosmology. In this sense, the

individual has not only perceived or possessed an ‘exotic’ item, but has harnessed

and consumed it for their own purposes. In the West African literature, this is a

nuance that appears to have been little explored, despite Kopytoff’s earlier prompt

(1986: 67). Instead, ‘exotic’ is typically applied to traded items as a descriptive or

justificatory label (e.g. Holl 2002: 171, 174; MacEachern 2001: 138; Oliver 1977

passim; Spiers 2012: 119).

Similarly, whilst movement and routes across the Sahara have traditionally been a

topic of much discussion (e.g. Garrard 1972; Hogendorn and Johnson 1986; Mauny

1950; Monod 1969; Posnansky 1973; Oliver 1977; Oliver and Fagan 1975), little

thought seems to have been afforded as to how this transport may have affected

the meaning and materiality of the traded artefacts themselves (but see Silverman

2015 for an exception to this rule; and Section 7.4.3).

The movement of substances may have been a potent act that could only be

initiated by certain individuals – whether outsiders or inhabitants of Koma Land (as

it is unclear which the figurines might depict; see Section 7.4.3 for discussion) – who

might be required to engage in, or desist from, certain practices to safeguard their

mobility and contain the substances that were being transported. What is evident is

that these materials, whether in regional or national contexts, were components of

a ritual economy (after McAnany and Wells 2008). Here, traded substances and

artefacts were just as likely to be selected for religious and social reasons (defined

by perceptions of the exotic) as economic ones, and were not just pieces on an

economic chessboard.

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Possibly, the distance involved between a commodity’s origin and its consumption

may have caused “specialised mythologies” about it to be created (Appadurai 1986:

48). Indeed, knowledge of the esoteric and the exotic, and control of that

knowledge, “can be politically valuable ‘goods’ as well as actual items” (Helm 1988:

4). As Helm (1988), and Haour (2013b), have observed, this concept also extends to

people. In many West African historical and mythological narratives, outsiders’

source of authority and power derived specifically from their status of not-

belonging (Haour 2013: 4). In such contexts, an individual may have deliberately

sought to maintain their outsider-status to retain a sense of exoticism and

therefore power (Helms 1988: 105). Thus, the movement of substances may have

been caught up in individualised interactions and personal narratives of power and

knowledge.

Conversely, it should also be recalled that increasing familiarity and repeated

interaction with a substance or an artefact over time will begin to relieve it of its

status as an unknown, and to change how it was thought about and interacted

with. This point is useful for thinking about the organic substances present in Koma

Land shrine mounds (see Section 7.4.1). Historical and linguistic analyses of crop

types introduced into West Africa more recently, such as maize in the 16th century

AD, and mangoes in the 20th century AD, for example, have demonstrated that “as

soon as oral history ceases to record it as a ‘new’ crop, it will rapidly be assimilated

into the repertoire of ‘traditional’ cultigens” (Blench 2009: 364). Thus, whilst an

archaeologist may be surprised to find an unexpected ‘exotic’ substance in the

material record, it should not be presumed that an inhabitant of the region in the

time period being excavated would likewise be surprised to see it, or treat it as an

unknown. Of course, the nature of the material record makes it improbable that

archaeologists would be able to identify such complex interactions, unless there

were other sources of evidence available, but it is still crucial to entertain them.

7.4.1 Organic substances

The organic material within some of the figurines offers possible evidence not only

of mobility, but of the integration of “exotic commodities” (Robinson et al. 2017)

into Koma lifeways and belief systems. The most distant commodities were species

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of pine tree not found in Iron Age Ghana, probably from types established in North

Africa, as well as the monkey puzzle tree (Robinson et al. 2017). In West African

ethnographic contexts, the use of bark and pine cones for medicine, often boiled to

create infusions, is well documented (Robinson et al. 2017: 17).

The second commodity was plantain (starchy, savoury, and preferably, cooked

before eating)/ banana (sweet and eaten raw or cooked) (Robinson et al. 2017: 17).

How and when plantains and bananas were introduced to West Africa is a complex

and still debated topic (Blench 2009; De Langhe et al. 1994: 147; Robinson et al.

2017: 16), although there is consensus that the two arrived separately, in many

waves, and many different varieties were present (Blench 2009: 366; De Langhe et

al. 1994: 150; De Langhe et al. 2009: 299).

Currently, archaeologists and linguists theorise that plantain was introduced to

West Africa 3000 years before present, or perhaps, even earlier (Blench 2009: 376;

De Langhe et al. 1994: 152). The timescale in which they spread, and to which

areas, however, is not yet clear (Blench 2009). Whilst widely grown and used in

south and south-central Ghana today, plantain and banana are not typically

cultivated or eaten in the north (personal observation, and pers comm. C. Diku,

January 2015). Currently, it cannot be confirmed where the banana/ plantain found

in Koma Land originated; however, the long dry season of northern Ghana, and the

low rainfall and humidity, does not make it an area likely to successfully yield

plantain without large scale irrigation (Swennen 1990: 4). As such, it was very likely

to have been sourced from beyond the region.

Following Kopytoff (1986: 67), the presence of plantain/ banana and pine and

monkey puzzle tree species is of great interest, but more significant is the manner

in which they were “redefined and put to use” (Kopytoff 1986: 67). However, the

archaeological and historical sources for plantain and banana in West Africa are

typically poor (De Langhe et al. 1994: 147). Other DNA evidence from the figurines

has revealed the presence of grasses and cultivated cereals (not millet, or maize),

“indicating a possible ritual application of grains as pastes or in infusions” (Robinson

et al. 2017: 17).

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The figurines themselves provide some insight into how some of the organic

substances may have been put to use. The design of some of the figurines makes

evident the insertion of pastes and fluids was likely the intention. Robinson et al.

have observed, for example, that the two figurines containing plantain/ banana had

wide mouths, possibly to facilitate the delivery of such viscous substances

(Robinson et al. 2017: 16). It is possible that the uptake of plantain/ banana was a

consequence of its ability to be easily transformed into a paste. A further

possibility, following Helm’s argument that the movement and transferral of

knowledge was as likely as that of artefacts (1988: 4, 11), was that the plantain/

banana and pine were not “redefined”, but were added to the shrine’s medicinal

repertoire because they were already known to their users as medicinal substances

and as having been sourced from a long distance; qualities which may have

increased their perceived efficacy. As stated in the previous section, it is also

probable that the relationship between these substances and their users developed

over time, as they became more familiar entities.

7.4.2 Cowrie shells and glass beads

Traditionally, evidence of trans-Saharan trade and mobility in West Africa has been

restricted to artefacts such as cowrie shells and beads, both of which were found in

the YK10/11 shrine. Cypraea moneta cowrie shells, of which 156 are known of (pers

comm. A. Christie, July 2017), originated in the Maldives in the Indian Ocean (Haour

2015; Johnson and Hogendorn 1986; Ogundiran 2002a) and have thus provided

indisputable proof of long-distance connections in Koma Land. In the pre-trans-

Atlantic period, before Cypraea moneta and the less desirable Cypraea annulus

flooded into West Africa via European trade imports (Ogundiran 2002a: 429), it was

the scarcity of cowries that was thought to be the main factor in their desirability as

trade items, as well as their physical qualities, including their luminescence and

durability (Gronenborn et al. 2012: 267; Hogendorn and Johnson 1986: 6; Nwani

1975: 186; Ogundiran 2002b; see Atkinson 2014). Full analysis of the cowrie shells

from YK10/11 was impossible because their deposition structure and relationships

were unknown. It is entirely possible, however, that the YK10/11 Cypraea moneta

were caught up in cosmological narratives of distance and power as discussed in

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Section 7.4, above. As suggested in Chapter 6.2, white, hard, and shiny quartz

appeared to have had significance in the shrine mound, and it is possible that

cowrie shells were similarly valued. Again, as emphasised repeatedly throughout

this thesis, artefacts should be understood by their materiality as well as their form.

Glass, glass-and-metal, and stone beads were excavated from burials in settlement

contexts at Tando Fagusa (Kankpeyeng and Nkumbaan 2009; Kankpeyeng et al.

2011: 209). Unlike the Cypraea moneta, the glass beads’ origins are ambiguous,

although this could be resolved with chemical composition analysis to determine

their provenance, as beads from 11th to15th century AD Ile-Ife in southwest Nigeria

have been tested (Babalola 2017; Ige 2010).

These glass beads, in various colours, were local to Ile-Ife, and were excavated from

contexts also containing unquestionable evidence, such as moulds and crucibles, of

local glass making; the first secure evidence of local glass production in Iron Age

West Africa (Babalola 2011, 2016, 2017; Ige 2010). These findings substantiate

earlier, unproven suggestions of local glass making in the region (Eluyemi 1987;

Ogundiran 2002b: 52)

“Prior to the 15th century,” glass beads found in West African contexts arrived there

“via the trans-Saharan trade with North Africa” and “some indication of their

importance in West Africa can be found in the writings of Arab travellers of the 12th

to 14th centuries” (DeCorse 1989: 41; see also Connah 2015: 80; Rehren and Nixon

2014: 33). They are also well-established in the Iron Age West African material

record (c.f. Insoll and Shaw 1997; Magnavita 2013). Whilst the significance and of

existence of the trans-Saharan trade of glass beads from North Africa to West Africa

cannot be doubted (e.g. Insoll and Shaw 1997; Magnavita 2013, Robertshaw et al.

2009) the discoveries at Ile-Ife now also point towards a domestic West African

trade in glass beads as a possibility. For Koma Land, it is thus possible that its glass

beads were sourced from West African contexts as well as (or instead of) trans-

Saharan links. In either instance, compositional analysis is required to determine

this.

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7.4.3 Figurines

Expressive visual evidence as to how the makers of the figurines (and pottery)

perceived and understood mobility may be derived from the figurines. Evidence of

involuntary mobility is suggested by figurines that appear to depict slavery, tied

together or mouths bound (Anquandah 1998: 141, 161). Mobility and movement is

evident in mounted-rider figurines (Insoll et al. 2013: 10), although archaeologists

still debate whether the mounts were horses or camels, and what insight this might

provide as to modes of transport and culturally-significant animals (Insoll et al.

2013: 10).

Anquandah argued that “many [Koma Land] sculptures depict horse-riders and

camel-riders who are lavishly ornamented and dressed and appear to be wealthy

traders” (Anquandah 2013: 16). This statement is contradicted by the fact that only

three published examples of archaeologically-excavated mounted-rider figurines

currently exist; two of which Anquandah excavated (Anquandah 1998: 82, 144;

Insoll et al. 2013: 11). Possibly, Anquandah was also referencing unprovenanced

examples (e.g. Cocle 1991; see Chapter 6.6). The third example (YK08-A9B9-L7) was

excavated from a shrine context by Kankpeyeng and Nkumbaan (2009; Insoll et al.

2013: 10). As discussed in Chapter 6.4, this particular figurine had been deliberately

scorched, in situ, which was interpreted as deliberate deactivation (Robinson et al.

2017: 17).

Anquandah’s interpretation of the rider-figurines as realistic depictions of status

and trade was problematically created using inappropriate ethnohistoric

comparisons with the modern Bulsa (see Chapter 2.2.2). Understanding the

mounted-rider figurines as symbolic of journeying may be a more relevant

approach. Working from the precept that geographical space was not a neutral,

static, or homogenous entity (see also Ingold 1993; Tilley 1994) Helm argued that

geographical distance may be equivocal to “supernatural distance” (1988: 4). In this

context, potent substances and artefacts (which would be recognised in the

archaeological record as exotic) achieve their efficacy not only from being perceived

as originating in far-distant locales, but from the “exceptional effort” of the journey

itself Helm 1988: 114). Thus, the process of travelling from the unknown to the

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known (and vice versa) was as significant to a material’s intangible qualities as the

place it was sourced from.

Alternatively, I have previously argued that the skeuomorphic representations of

cowries incorporated into the heads of the bicone figurines, which were pierced

through their centre with the incisions characteristic of the Koma Land figurines,

acted as catalysts that activated the organic substances placed within (Atkinson

2014). Here, it was theorised that the reason for recreating cowries in clay was to

capture and thus enable the perceived powerful essence of an otherwise scarce

resource (Atkinson 2014). Accepting, for a moment, that this is true, it is then

conceivable that the potency of real cowries (and other substances) was such that it

warranted particular actions or mediations in order to resolve, contain, or make

safe the movement (and the mover) of this potent material across the landscape.

Possibly, this may have comprised practices and rituals involving the mounted rider

figurines, as a mnemonic for travelling, and for the traveller, with deliberate

scorching then acting to symbolically cease or finalise a journey.

7.4.4 Site abandonment

A further ‘global’ context into which Koma Land may be placed is site

abandonment, a process that has profoundly influenced interpretation of the

YK10/11 assemblage and the shrine this material embodied. In Chapter 5.5, the

shrine’s abandonment was interpreted as unplanned and abrupt. On this basis, it

was argued that the placement of artefacts in the shrine was not necessarily their

intended terminal deposition point and it was theorised that removing artefacts

may have been as crucial a curation practice as contributing them.

Site abandonment was not exclusive to the YK10/11 mound. On the contrary, it

appears to have occurred throughout Iron Age Koma Land in the 14th century AD

(Insoll et al. 2013: 9). Whilst the cause(s) of abandonment of Koma Land are

uncertain, both internal slave raids and disease have been proposed as factors

(Insoll et al. 2013: 9).

Some Koma Land figurines portray medical issues such as ancephaly, although

sleeping sickness (Hunter 1966: 410), and onchocerciasis, or, “river blindness” –

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which appears to be depicted on some Koma figurines with bulging eyes (c.f. Insoll

2015) – may have been more pressing. River blindness is caused by parasitic worms

whose vector flies thrive in fast-flowing water ways (Hunter 1966: 410). The Sisili

Valley has, historically and in the present, been particularly susceptible (Dickson

1969: 282; Hunter 1966: 406, 410). Koma Land has rivers, including the Sisili, to its

east, west, and south. Indeed, depopulation of northern Ghana in the 19th century

AD has been attributed to a combination of slave raids and river blindness (Hunter

1966: 410), with the latter impeding independence and ability to support oneself

(Hopkins 1973: 18; Meyer 1992: 101).

Stahl argued that Begho, to the southwest of Koma Land and partially

contemporary with it, was “probably involved in the slave trade during the period

1400-1600 when there was a steady flow of slaves to Islamic North Africa”,

although she also notes that this was not major trade but a side-effect of local,

politicised military engagements (2001: 87). Koma Land, less than 150km from

Begho in a straight line, may have also been involved in this conflict and its

consequences. Indeed, Anquandah recorded figurines that depicted “many persons

bound with ropes or chains”, an “illusion perhaps to the slave trade which raged

like a pestilence through the Sisili-Kulpawn basin” (1998: 160)

The depopulation of Koma Land through death or voluntary/ involuntary migration

is just one example of many in an ongoing narrative of abandonment played out

across most of West Africa in the 14th to 15th centuries AD. Other examples include

the majority of earthwork sites in southern Ghana, sometime in the 14th century AD

(Chouin and DeCorse 2010: 143; see also Spiers 2007), as well as major settlements

in Mali’s Niger Delta such as Jenne Jeno and Hambarketolo in the 15th century AD

(Chouin and DeCorse 2010: 144; McIntosh 1988: 103), extensive abandonment of

the Mema region, also in Mali, by the start of the 14th century AD (McIntosh 2005:

177; Togola 1993), as well as of Later Iron Age occupation sites in Sierra Leone

(Chouin and DeCorse 2010: 144; DeCorse 2012).

In southern Ghana, the abandonment of earthwork (and related) sites was marked

by the cessation of Atetefo ware and the sudden appearance of Atwea ware, a new

ceramics style, in the following century (Chouin and DeCorse 2010: 127, Kiyaga-

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Mulindwa 1982: 67). To this list can also be added sites along the Gambaga

Escarpment in Ghana (Kense 1992: 147), including some occupation sites in the

Tong Hills that appear to have been abandoned in the 15th century AD (Insoll et al.

2011: 19-20), and multiple settlement sites in 14th century AD northern Burkina

Faso (Albert et al. 2000).

The material record – as with Koma Land – is not always forthcoming as to the

causes of site abandonment. Sites such as the house complex Oursi hu beero in

Burkina Faso, for example, whose excellent level of preservation (including human

remains) enabled the excavators to determine it had been abandoned in the 12th

century AD following inter-personal violence and a blaze that had destroyed much

of the complex (Pelzer 2011: 175), are rare. Understanding why multiple, broadly-

contemporary sites in West Africa were abandoned over the course of a single

century presents an even greater challenge. To begin, it is, of course, possible that

some or all of the abandonments in West Africa were unconnected. Nevertheless,

academics who have examined this West African phenomenon have done so by

placing it into international historical contexts.

Population centralisation, a two-century drought between 1300-1500 AD, “which

found its physical expression in the lowest Lake Bosumtwe level in 10,000 years” or

plague – the Black Death – encroaching southwards from Europe via North Africa in

the 14th century AD, were all put forward as possible explanations for West African

settlement abandonment by Merrick Posnansky in the 1980s (1987: 17). Examining

the widespread abandonment of the Middle Niger area by the 14th century AD,

McIntosh similarly argued that climate change or a pandemic, such as plague,

spread by Saharan trade routes, may have played a vital role in the area’s

depopulation (2005: 177).

Recently, the idea that site abandonment was a consequence of the spread of

plague to West Africa from Europe and/ or Asia via trade has been reignited

(Chouin 2012; Chouin and DeCorse 2010; Kelley 2016). Chouin has argued that for

Iron Age West Africa to remain untouched by the Black Death, it would need to

have been “hermetically isolated from the rest of the world”, and believes it was

responsible for the mass depopulation and cultural and social shifts West Africa

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experienced during the 14th century AD (2012: 34, 35). To test this hypothesis,

interdisciplinary studies organised by an international colloquium have begun to

examine how evidence of plague in West Africa could be detected using a

combination of archaeological, historical, art historical, anthropological, and other

scientific research methods (Kelley 2016), although the findings are yet to be

published.

The post-14th century AD history of Koma Land is uncertain. There are no written

sources from the trans-Atlantic period (or before) for the area to turn to, and no

relevant oral histories until the ancestors of the current population occupied the

area in the 20th century AD (as discussed in Chapter 1). Koma Land’s current

material evidence provides no clues. Unlike in Eguafo polity, where the original

ceramic ware ceased in the 14th century AD, and after a break, a second ware

(Atetefo ware) began to circulate in the 15th century AD, (Chouin 2009: 673;

Chapter 7.2; Table 26), only one ceramic ware has so far been excavated from the

sites at Yikpabongo and Tando Fagusa (see 7.3.1). On a 17th century AD Dutch trade

map of the Gold Coast, Begho was the northernmost point, and was central to the

exchange of goods between two environmental zones, the forest and savannah,

because it was located on the periphery of the two (Stahl 2001: 83). Absence of

evidence – written, oral, and archaeological – from the trans-Atlantic period for

Koma Land does not mean it was unoccupied, or that it was not significant, but it

does suggest it was not an entrepôt. Current evidence suggests that the

abandonment of Koma Land was not the result of any one factor, but a

combination of issues with enslavement, disease, and the depopulation and

destitution that inevitably follow. Finding archaeological evidence of post-14th

century AD Koma Land would substantiate or refute this. Nkumbaan has also called

for such studies (2016: 209).


Chapter 7’s purpose was to explore relationships. Specifically, those connecting the

YK10/11 shrine with the world around it. These relationships took myriad forms:

local, regional, artefactual, organic, and thematic, and spanned dimensions of

social, cultural, religious, technological, and economic praxis. Thus, the chapter’s

263

structure was designed to progress outwards – from the shrine at its centre – to

facilitate discussion of the local, regional, and global in a manageable way, and to

establish very clearly the place of the YK10/11 assemblage within its wider spatial,

temporal, and thematic contexts.

To this end, Chapter 7 began with a comparative analysis of the relationships

between the YK10/11 assemblage and five others from Iron Age Koma Land: a

settlement mound assemblage, also from Yikpabongo (Asamoah-Mensah 2013),

and four assemblages from Tando Fagusa, two of which were settlement

assemblages, and two of which were associated shrine mound assemblages

(Nkumbaan 2016).

The primary objective of this analysis was to contextualise the YK10/11 assemblage

by examining how it related to and compared with other broadly contemporary

material from Koma Land, to determine (a) whether the ceramics were likely to be

of the same ware; (b) whether it was possible to identify variation between the

mounds as to the numbers and types of sherds deposited; and (c) whether the

sherds had been deposited in similar ways. Limiting this analysis was the lack of

contextual information for the six assemblages, and the different methodologies of

each project; different out of necessity and a need to be flexible, but nevertheless a

cause of issues with data parity and scope.

Despite these complications, Chapter 7.3 concluded that all six assemblages were

more than likely the same ware, based on comparisons of fabric, form, surface

treatment, and decoration. The six mounds had similar numbers of most sherd

types, confirming the interpretation independently reached by Nkumbaan (2016:

124), Asamoah-Mensah (2013: 103), and in this thesis, that the vessels’ bases had

been mostly rounded. The analysis disputed the idea that decorated sherds would

be preferred and more prevalent in shrine mounds than in settlement mounds. This

idea was originally formed during the analysis of the YK10/11 assemblage, of which

decorated sherds were initially expected to make up largest percentage, but one

recognised now to be affected by sherd excavation and sampling practices.

264

The lack of contextual information meant it was not possible to produce informed

comparisons as to the manner of deposition in each type of mound. Examining

images of the sherds used as burial-covers in the settlement mounds (Asamoah-

Mensah 2013: 54; Nkumbaan 2016: 114), however, suggested they were pots

fragmented specifically for the purpose, and could be refitted. Numerous large,

complete jars were also excavated from Tando Fagusa, whilst the YK10/11 shrine

contained only one, small complete vessel (see Table 30; Insoll et al. 2013: 23).

Further, the use of sherds as burial-covers in settlement mounds echoed the use of

sherds in the YK10/11 shrine mound as ‘beds’ and ‘covers’ to reference figurines

(see Chapter 5.5).

Sections 7.4.1. to 7.4.3 used the concept of the exotic to examine the relationships

between the YK10/11 shrine and the non-native material it assimilated. Guided by

Kopytoff’s argument that what is most significant about “alien” material and

concepts is not their presence, but the manner of their use and incorporation into

different life-ways (1986: 67), it has been made clear that the substances in Koma

Land shrine contexts (YK07; YK08; and YK10/11) – pine, plantain/ banana, cowries,

and glass beads – were indicative of the integration of potent material for medicinal

purposes. The artefacts’ potency was likely a consequence of their ‘exotic’ status,

but was not defined by it; and it was also argued that this was unlikely to have

continued to remain the case as the substances transcended the plane of the

unfamiliar and unknown over time. As with anything in archaeology, traded

substances were not static entities, and their significance and meaning would have

developed and adapted with spatial and temporal distance.

These arguments are relevant to both the organic and inorganic material. The

known trans-Saharan movement of Cypraea moneta and glass beads (Hogendorn

and Johnson 1986; Holl 2002; Spiers 2012: 119) ties in with the DNA analysis

identifying species of pine that existed in North Africa during the same time period

(Robinson et al. 2017). Thus, the Koma Land DNA analysis provides original

evidence of the movement of organic materials in a time period typically

characterised in archaeological contexts only by the movement of inorganic ones.

265

Movement and mobility in Koma Land was not confined to trade, but was also

evident in the abrupt abandonment of the region in the Late Iron Age. This was not

an isolated phenomenon – as Section 7.4.4 has evidenced – but was an issue which

affected a large proportion of sites in West Africa from the 14th to 15th centuries

AD, and in some cases, earlier. Depopulation was likely caused by multiple factors,

including slave raiding, environmental challenges, and disease. Diseases may have

been environmentally-localised afflictions, such as river blindness in the Sisili-

Kulpawn River Basin, or may have also been a consequence of a pandemic, such as

the plague, which could have spread from Europe and Near East Asia using the

same trans-Saharan routes as the commodities discussed earlier (Chouin 2012;

Chouin and DeCorse 2010; Kelley 2016).

The full breadth and depth of the connections between Koma Land and the wider

world are yet to be established, but this provisional investigation using the evidence

from known Koma Land shrine contexts (Insoll et al. 2012; Insoll et al. 2013;

Kankpeyeng and Nkumbaan 2008, 2009; Kankpeyeng et al. 2011, 2013; Robinson et

al. 2017) has given some insight into Koma Land’s place within it. Beginning with a

critical, comparative analysis of the pottery from two Koma Land locales, to

determine the artefact-relationships evident within Koma Land itself, the themes of

mobility, trade, and transmission have been addressed using the YK10/11 material

assemblage.

Discussion throughout Chapter 7 has primarily focused on how the wider world has

interacted with and influenced Koma Land, instead of vice versa, because of the

nature of the evidence available. At present, clues as to the influence of Koma Land

are transient and inferential – for example, the presence of exotic material implies

local demand for the consumption of those materials – but it is hoped these will

become more visible with future investigations.

266

Chapter 8: The motivations and identities of the Koma Land pottery and figurine makers


The core objective of this thesis was to gain, for the first time, a detailed

understanding of pottery excavated from Iron Age Koma Land in northern Ghana.

Specifically, the 9692-strong pottery assemblage from the YK10/11 shrine mound,

dated to between AD 800 – 1100, located in the village of Yikpabongo in Ghana’s

Northern Region.

Justification was not found only in the argument that such a comprehensive

analysis had never been undertaken (earlier Koma Land pottery analyses were brief

and problematic; see Chapter 2), but in the fact that the sustained historic focus on

fired-clay figurines from Koma Land, at the expense of the remainder of the

material, including pottery, was obstructing contemporary interpretations and

understandings of the region. The analytical and interpretive capabilities of pottery

sherds, typically the most abundant product of any post-prehistoric excavation

(Horejs et al. 2011), had been undervalued and under-utilised. Instead, in the

historic literature on Koma Land, the practice of ‘figurine essentialism’ – introduced

earlier in this thesis (after Bailey 2005) – was facilitating misconceptions and

unsound interpretations about the region’s archaeology and its Iron Age inhabitants

(c.f. Anquandah 1987; Anquandah and Van Ham 1985; Scheutz et al. 2016).

There was a strong desire to address the theoretical-fallout that the analytical

disparity between the figurines, pottery, and other clay-made artefacts had

generated; the literatures’ treatment of these artefacts as completely separate

categories without acknowledgement of the fact they were made using the same

material. With their division into separate categories of material came also the

arbitrary separation of their makers, meanings, and purposes (see Chapter 2 for a

critique of this literature).

To this end, the primary aim was to characterise the YK10/11 pottery, using the

chaîne opératoire to structure this process and focusing on all elements: fabric,

form, function, surface treatment, decoration, production techniques, use wear,

and firing (see Chapters 3 and 4). The secondary-usage and modification of pot

267

sherds was also considered (Chapter 6.7). The second objective was to understand

the relationships between the pottery and the shrine mound, and, using a

biographical approach, to examine the biographies of the sherds from their initial

use as part of domestic cooking vessels, to their fragmentation, reuse, deposition,

and possible curation (see Chapter 5). In this way, the motivations and identities of

the pottery makers could also be explored.

To contest the arbitrary divisions between pottery and figurines, the third objective

was to reintegrate analysis of the different types of ceramic (see Chapter 6), by

critical comparison, as far as possible, of their production techniques, fabrics and

temper, decorations and surface treatments, and structural, depositional

relationships. Finally, to start to look beyond Koma Land, to understand its place in

the regional and ‘global’ Iron Age / medieval world, but more importantly, to gain

insight into how its inhabitants may have understood and interacted with the wider

world, and incorporated it into their cosmology and belief system (see Chapter 7).

To summarise the main points and interpretations made in this thesis, it has been

established that:

(a) Analysis of Koma Land pottery and figurines, even from the same contexts, has

historically been disproportionate, to the detriment of the former (see Chapters

2 and 3);

(b) The catalogue and analysis of the YK10/11 shrine mound pottery in this thesis is

the first its kind (see Chapters 2 and 3);

(c) The YK10/11 pottery assemblage was manufactured for domestic purposes and

belonged to the same ware, based on analysis of pottery using the above

categories (see Chapter 4);

(d) The assemblage consisted, primarily, of jar forms, most of which were closed

vessels with everted rim profiles and rounded bodies, followed by deep and

shallow bowl forms. Three plates, or very wide, shallow bowls, were also in

evidence (see Chapter 4.2).

(e) A dearth of bases suggested the majority of these were rounded (and thus,

indistinguishable from body sherds), as would suit vessels for fire-based

268

cooking, or possibly, dug into the ground for storage (Nkumbaan 2016; see

Chapter 7.3.1; and Chapter 4.2);

(f) Using archaeometric analysis, it was determined that the pottery was

homogenous, supporting the argument it was created by the same group of

people (see Chapters 4.3 and 4.4);

(g) The pottery sherds had significant post-breakage pre-deposition biographies,

and as such, should be treated as a resource in their own right, rather than only

as discarded material (see Chapter 5);

(h) It is misleading to view the YK10/11 pottery sherds (and the remainder of the

assemblage) as deposits in the shrine; instead, this material structured and

created it. As such, the pottery formed part of a network of things with ritual

import, and may have been enchained to, or symbolically representative of, the

landscape (see Chapter 5);

(i) Comparative analysis of the YK10/11 assemblage with five other Koma Land

pottery assemblages; from two shrine mounds, and three settlement mounds

(Asamoah-Mensah 2013; Nkumbaan 2016), produced no results that would

dispute the interpretation that the pottery from all assemblages belonged –

with expected, minor stylistic variations – to the same ware (see Chapter 7);

(j) Comparative analysis of the YK10/11 pottery material with the known,

catalogued, provenanced figurines produced strong evidence that both were

created using the clay types, same repository of techniques, using similar

stylistic criteria, and thus, that the makers of the Koma Land pottery and

figurines were one and the same (see Chapter 6).

8.2 Future research

As argued in Chapter 2, the 1985 excavation and analyses have been instrumental

to understandings of the Iron Age Koma Land region’s archaeology (Anquandah

1987, 1998, 2002, 2003, 2006, 2014; Anquandah and Van Ham 1985); but did not

necessarily always facilitate productive understandings, in consequence of the

aesthetic, art historic focus on the fired-clay figurines, at the expense both of the

remainder of the material assemblage, and the figurines themselves (see Chapter

6.6). Research projects including this thesis have begun to alleviate this disparity,

269

but – although now without the use of problematic theoretical paradigms – it is still

present in some of the archaeological literature on Iron Age Koma Land (see

Chapter 5.5).

In consequence, the scope of future research into Iron Age Koma Land should be

defined by two key words: expansion, and relationships. Expansion of known sites is

required through further excavations, perhaps beginning with the list of potential

Koma sites presented in Chapter 7.2 (after Appiah-Adu 2016; Zakari 2011). To date,

shrine and settlement mound assemblages have been uncovered (Asamoah-

Mensah 2013; Kankpeyeng and Nkumbaan 2008, 2009; Kankpeyeng et al. 2013;

Nkumbaan 2016), and it has been convincingly suggested that these sites types

were interrelated, possibly on a familial level (Nkumbaan 2016: 23, 204). Further

excavations will assist in determining the relationships between them, and how

these relationships might vary between different sites in Koma Land.

Similarly, to date, one ware has been identified as belonging to the Iron Age in

Koma Land, based on the analysis of the YK10/11 assemblage and a brief

comparative analysis with five others from Yikpabongo and Tando Fagusa in

Chapter 7 (Asamoah-Mensah 2013; Nkumbaan 2016). Koma Land, however, is a

large region (approximately 150km2), of which the villages of Yikpabongo and

Tando Fagusa form only a small part (Tando Fagusa is 24km southeast of

Yikpabongo). It is possible that continuing excavations will reveal further spatially or

temporally different pottery wares.

Indeed, whether absent or present, determining this fact will assist in characterising

and contextualising the Koma Land ware, of which the YK10/11 assemblage forms a

part, its spread, use, and production. To this end, further compositional analyses of

pottery and local clay would confirm or refute the argument made in this thesis

that the pottery was locally produced. Similarly, provenance studies of the quartz

temper in the YK10/11 pottery assemblage would be useful; to determine, for

example, if the quartz was local, and/ or if it was sourced from a particular region.

This would have implications for Insoll’s argument that the quartz was used to

reference “potent places” (2015: 50), and may give insight into why white quartz

was preferred, and why it was so selectively used in the pottery and figurines.

270

Chapter 7’s comparative analysis of the pottery assemblages from shrines and

settlements would have been enriched by a detailed understanding of the

structures of these mounds, and the depositional practices and relationships

evident within them. At present, it is not possible to determine how, and if so, in

what ways, pottery sherds in settlement and shrine mounds were differentiated

between. Nor it is possible, as theorised in Chapter 5, to confirm whether sherds

were selected from settlement mounds, or settlement mounds’ middens, for

deposition in shrine mounds.

Understanding the source of the sherds from the YK10/11 shrine mound, which

were interpreted as having a considerable post-breakage pre-deposition biography,

would assist interpretations as to their meaning and significance within the shrine,

and as well as the period before they were deposited or contributed to it. In this

way, insight into the motivations and identities of the Koma Land pottery and

figurine makers could be more convincingly extended to encompass the

motivations and identities of the users of the pottery and the figurines, as well as

their makers.

271

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Appendices

Appendix 1: Descriptions of each data category collected for the YK10/11

assemblage

Illustration number: To allow quick association of drawings and photographs with

their database entry. Rims, bases, lugs, handles, perforated and decorated body

sherds were illustrated until all variations were represented.

Sherd ID: The number assigned to the sherd in the database to enable quick

searches and a quick grasp of sherd totals.

Context: Identified the stratigraphic layer from which the sherd was excavated. E.g.

YK10 Q10 L2 equates to Yikpabongo 2010, 1m x 1m trench square Q10, Level 2.

Standard practice in the Department of Archaeology and Heritage Studies at the

University of Ghana was to excavate in 1m x 1m trench squares, and to excavate

each square in 10cm spits; L1 meaning 0-10cm, L2 10-20cm, and so forth.

Description: Of the sherd, including its type, shape, and form, as relevant.

Diameter: The rim and base diameters were measured as appropriate, in

centimetres.

Average sherd thickness: For the sake of consistency this was measured, in

centimetres, 1cm below the rim on diagnostic rim sherds. For body sherds, the

thickest section of the body was measured.

Condition of sherd: This was determined using the categories of Excellent, Good,

Fair, Poor, and Very Eroded, to ensure the quality of the sherd was recorded, in

case this influenced analysis.

Firing condition of sherd: Using the guidelines set out by the Prehistoric Ceramic

Research Group (2010: 28, 34-35, 54), one of the following was observed for each

sherd: oxidised, unoxidised, oxidised exterior and interior, with an unoxidised core,

or irregularly fired. Irregularly fired sherds were those defined as having patchy

core and surface margins. A final category listed all sherds for which this was not

recorded/ could not be identified.

309

Clay hardness: This was recorded as hard, medium or soft, again with reference to

the PCRG’s guidelines, “if a sherd can be scratched with a fingernail then it is soft”

(2010: 27). If the surface crumbled at the application of a fingernail, the sherd was

recorded as soft; if an impression was left, medium; and if the fingernail left no

impression, then the sherd was recorded as hard.

Clay colour(s): These were observed by studying the inner core of the sherd, if

necessary after cleaning with a soft brush and cool water to remove dirt and debris,

and allowing to dry again to prevent colour-misidentification. A Munsell soil colour

chart was used to identify the colour of each sherd, in order to promote

standardisation and replicability.

Fabric type: The type was recorded with the acknowledgement that the definition

of it “can be a very subjective activity”, and of the tendency for ancient pottery “to

present extreme variability within the fabric of a single vessel” (Prehistoric Ceramic

Research Group 2010: 21), an observation applicable to some of the Koma Land

material. The classifications coarse, medium, and fine were used, dependent upon

the information collected by the next three categories.

Inclusion frequency: This was determined with the aid of loupes at 10x and 20x

magnification, where necessary, to identify one of the following groups: rare (less

than 3%), sparse (3-9%), moderate (10-19%), common (20-29%), very common (30-

39%), and abundant (40+ %). Again, this follows the guidelines set out by the

Prehistoric Ceramic Research Group (2010: 25-26).

Description of inclusions: This category observed the sizes (in centimetres) and

colours of any inclusions in the clay matrix. The inclusion type, if known, was also

recorded e.g. sand, quartz, mica.

Inclusions well sorted: A yes/ no question identifying whether the inclusions

appeared randomly or regularly distributed, or not, with the latter indicating the

deliberate introduction of particles or the particular manipulation of the clay by the

maker.

310

Decorations(s): Recorded the type, if any e.g. incised lines, grooves, stamping (see

Chapter 4.7). For roulette decoration, very thin (0.3cm or less), thin (0.5cm or less),

medium (1cm or less) and thick (over 1cm) were distinguished between. This may

aid identification of the types of tools used to create the roulettes, and also ensures

all variations are accounted for.

Location of decoration(s): On body sherds, this was naturally limited to identifying

whether the decoration occurred on the exterior or interior surface (where

identifiable) of the sherd. With rim and base sherds, it was possible to be more

specific, giving details as to the orientation and placement of the decoration(s). For

example, the proximity of the decoration to the rim, and whether the roulette was

applied left to right, or right to left.

Surface treatment(s): Due to the nature of the assemblage, this mainly involved

recording whether or not the vessel had been slipped. Any burnishing, polishing,

and noticeable use-wear, were also recorded. Slip was recorded using the Munsell

colour system.

Location of surface treatment(s): As with the location of the decoration, this was

mainly limited to identifying exterior and interior surface treatment on all sherd

types. If slip had been deliberately applied to a certain area of a sherd, and not to

others, this was noted (e.g. some sherds were only slipped on areas without

decoration).

Other: A general notes category offering observations as to ambiguous or unusual

sherds, and also recording any evidence of manufacturing technique, which

generally could not be distinguished by visual inspection.

311

Appendix 2: Rim diameters

These are the rim diameters in the YK10/11 assemblage.

Rim diameter (cm) Frequency(=n) Percentage (%)

Indeterminate 5 0.52

0cm-4cm 0 0

5cm-9cm 2 0.21

10cm-14cm 73 7.68

15cm-19cm 215 22.63

20cm-24cm 229 24.1

25cm-29cm 198 20.84

30cm-34cm 106 11.15

35cm-39cm 65 6.84

40cm-44cm 38 4.0

45cm-49cm 12 1.26

50cm-54cm 4 0.42

55cm-59cm 2 0.21

60cm-64cm 1 0.10

Appendix 3: Rim diameters by vessel-form

Rim diameter (cm) Restricted mouth vessels Open/ wide mouth vessels Unidentified

0-4cm 0 0 1

5-9cm 0 1 0

10-14cm 58 12 2

15-19cm 53 29 6

20-24cm 37 38 8

25-29cm 23 28 10

30-34cm 12 18 7

35-39cm 7 13 3

40-44cm 4 7 1

45-49cm 2 0 0

50-54cm 0 0 0

55-59cm 0 0 0

60-61cm 0 1 0

Appendix 4: The rim circumferences and their frequency

These are the YK10/11 rim circumferences (dxπ).

Circumference (cm) Frequency (=n) Percentage (%)

18.85cm 1 0.11

28.6cm 1 0.11

31.42cm 6 0.63

312

34.5cm 3 0.32

37.69cm 15 1.59

40.84cm 16 1.69

43.98cm 33 0.35

47.12cm 28 2.96

50.26cm 36 3.81

53.41cm 40 4.23

56.55cm 51 5.39

59.69cm 60 6.35

62.83cm 37 3.92

65.97cm 48 5.08

69.12cm 54 5.71

72.25cm 45 4.76

75.39cm 45 4.76

78.54cm 45 4.76

81.68cm 42 4.44

84.82cm 45 4.76

87.96cm 43 4.55

91.11cm 23 2.43

94.25cm 37 3.92

97.39cm 15 1.59

100.53cm 24 2.54

103.67cm 16 1.69

106.81cm 14 1.48

109.96cm 16 1.69

113.09cm 16 1.69

116.24cm 13 1.38

119.38cm 16 1.69

122.52cm 4 0.42

125.66cm 18 1.90

128.81cm 7 0.74

131.95cm 5 0.53

135.09cm 5 0.53

138.23cm 3 0.32

313

141.37cm 6 0.63

144.51cm 3 0.32

147.65cm 2 0.21

153.93cm 1 0.11

160.22cm 3 0.32

163.36cm 1 0.11

172.78cm 1 0.11

175.93cm 1 0.11

191.64cm 1 0.11

Appendix 5: Average sherd thicknesses in the YK10/11 assemblage

This is the mean average sherd thickness of all sherds for which this was recorded.

Body sherds included decorated and non-decorated. Rim sherds were measured

1cm below the rim for consistency, and base and body sherds at their thickest

point.

Average sherd thickness

(cm)

Rim (=n) Body (=n) Base (=n)

0cm-0.4cm 2 37 0

0.5cm-0.9cm 298 1,113 6

1cm-1.4cm 486 674 8

1.5cm-1.9cm 133 166 7

2cm-2.4cm 28 28 8

2.5cm-2.9cm 1 9 3

3cm-3.4cm 0 1 0

Appendix 6: The average thickness of the YK10/11 rim sherds This is the mean average rim thickness. This measurement was taken on the

thickest part of each rim. Due to a communication error with my research assistant

in the field, rim thickness was only recorded for 585 of the rims.

Average rim thickness (cm) Frequency (=n)

0cm-0.4cm 0

0.5cm-0.9cm 43

1cm-1.4cm 102

1.5cm-1.9cm 91

2cm-2.4cm 100

314

2.5cm-2.9cm 118

3cm-3.4cm 81

3.5cm-3.9cm 41

4cm-4.4cm 4

4.5cm-4.9cm 3

5cm-5.4cm 2

Appendix 7: The YK10/11 archaeometric samples listed by type and technique A list of every archaeometric sample. The table shows what type of technique(s) the

sample underwent, and provides the sample’s type, condition, and context number.

Non-powder prepared samples were examined whole, without modification.

Sample Context no. Type Slipped? XRF P-XRF SEM Comments

CS1 YK16 Clay / Y Y Y



1 Yk10 5 Q2 L1 Undecorated body N Y Y Powdered

2 YK10 3 M13 L1

Tile/ brick / Untested

3 YK10 5 R1 L1 Undecorated body Y Y Appears modern

4 YK10 3 I12 L1 Sandstone / Y Iron rich

5 YK10 3 O10 L2

Non-diagnostic rim / Y

6 YK11 Daub / Y Powdered

7 YK10 3 L13 L1 Undecorated rim Y Y Y

8 YK11 Quartzite / Y

9 YK10 3 N11 L2

Undecorated rim N Y Y

10 YK11 H14 L3 Undecorated body Y Y Y Powdered

11 YK11 M10 L2 Undecorated rim N Y Y

12 YK10 L12 L2 Undecorated body N Y Powdered

13 YK11 O12 L1 Undecorated body N Y Powdered

14 YK11 O12 L2 Eroded roulette body

Y Y Y Powdered

15 YK10 N10 L1 Undecorated body N Y Powdered

16 YK11 J13 L2 Eroded roulette body

N Y Powdered

17 YK10 3 L13 Undecorated body N Y Powdered

18 YK11 O12 L1 Eroded roulette body

N Y

19 YK11 Q10 L1 Undecorated body Y Y Y

20 YK11 Q10 L2 Eroded roulette body

N Y Powdered

21 YK10 3 1B L2 Sandstone / Y Y Powdered; weathered

22 YK11 M12 L1 Undecorated body Y Y

23 YK11 I14 L3 Undecorated body N Y Y Powdered

24 YK11 M12 L2 B

Undecorated body Y Y Y

25 YK10 5 R1 L2 Undecorated body N Y Powdered

26 YK11 N13 L2 Undecorated body Y Y Y Powdered

27 YK10 3 1C L1 Undecorated body N Y Powdered

28 YK11 L12 L1A Undecorated body Y Y Y

29 YK11 P12 L1 Eroded roulette body

N Y Y

30 YK10 3 I12 L2 Undecorated body Y Y Y

315

Appendix 8: The YK16 clay samples p-XRF data

The raw data from p-XRF analysis for the three YK16 clay samples. This technique

was measured in parts per million. All the p-XRF samples (see also Appendices 9 and

10), were analysed using a Thermo Scientific Niton XL3t980 GOLDD+ in the

University of Manchester’s Archaeology Department (Campbell 2017: 2).

SAMPLE CS1 CS2 CS3

Mo < LOD < LOD < LOD

Zr 388.05 406.625 426.74

Sr 86.15 63.985 166.6

U 11.985 14.97 8.725

Rb 48.875 61.18 50.265

Th 8.68 10.38 8.22

Pb 9.855 10.625 7.32

Au 7.8 < LOD < LOD

Se < LOD < LOD < LOD

As < LOD 5.66 6.06

Hg < LOD < LOD < LOD

Zn 20.2 30.62 23.94

W 47.94 < LOD < LOD

Cu 36.22 40.11 30.24

Ni 65.63 54.115 60.49

Co < LOD < LOD < LOD

Fe 28958.77 34047.21 29684.97

Mn 282.775 232.095 318.5

Cr 49.035 63.835 41.72

V 127.09 119.03 115.21

Ti 5677.265 6881.005 5410.16

Sc < LOD < LOD < LOD

Ca 4326.755 2833.88 6443.295

K 9374.795 9494.195 9992.275

S < LOD < LOD < LOD

Ba 410.16 310.12 460.06

Cs 46.87 27.76 28.205

Te 77.02 33.55 34.855

Sb 17.745 14.63 < LOD

Sn 17.91 < LOD 14.37

Cd < LOD < LOD < LOD

Ag < LOD < LOD < LOD

Pd < LOD < LOD < LOD

Nb 11.995 14.985 10.7

Y 3 3.24 2.805

Bi < LOD 8.99 8.18

Re < LOD < LOD < LOD

Ta < LOD < LOD < LOD

Hf < LOD < LOD < LOD

Al 97536.85 111864.1 86849.37

P 821.5 647.38 1036.655

Si 271174.9 267819.7 277455.2

Cl 154.565 155.36 127.9

Mg < LOD < LOD < LOD

316

Appendix 9: The YK10/11 pot sherd samples p-XRF data

The raw data from P-XRF analysis for all sherds. This technique was measured in

parts per million.

SAMPLE 1 3 7 9 10 11 13 14 19

Mo 5.32 < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD

Zr 120.015 102.885 213.395 145.945 212.87 406.08 247.24 191.91 233.98

Sr 245.285 773.72 155.82 277.785 214.015 647.485 201.53 585.08 210.32

U < LOD < LOD 9.79 < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD

Rb 60.085 27.585 46.945 21.62 46.485 69.63 44.26 38.045 45.845

Th < LOD < LOD 9.39 7.47 6.865 15.705 7.76 6.655 6.825

Pb 9.43 9.93 7.99 8.67 9.415 17.515 8.67 11.495 11.34

Au < LOD < LOD < LOD 12.4 < LOD < LOD < LOD 9.67 < LOD

Se < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD 4.85 < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD

As < LOD 12.63 < LOD < LOD < LOD 7.56 < LOD 7.87 < LOD

Hg < LOD < LOD < LOD 15.34 < LOD < LOD 10.5 < LOD < LOD

Zn 40.81 113.635 38.235 65.055 45.1 176.165 25.335 54.93 55.68

W < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD 51.21

Cu 19.16 94.795 57.84 53.045 34.55 55.695 35.035 21.17 32.76

Ni 70.275 200.425 106.56 126.695 73.905 141.31 72.85 75.655 101.02

Co < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD

Fe 31089.64 88665.88 36577.35 47272.54 41317 48425.02 29882.18 34323.42 43967.03

Mn 413.215 1976.185 460.225 718.615 397.3 1043.015 207.55 368.145 350.045

Cr 45.09 130.82 60.825 75.04 73.51 97.55 39.26 69.77 103.715

V 70.535 207.705 86.685 130.285 134.115 156.76 92.335 100.615 120.58

Ti 3012.075 10714.28 4687.89 5432.63 4596.875 7461.26 4280.79 4373.62 6213.545

Sc 63.98 < LOD < LOD 54.75 < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD 52.625

Ca 11230.26 13163.35 7444.785 11497.83 9940.86 17364.96 8680 11906.24 10662.77

K 17810.44 12607.88 11277.43 6835.765 13907.8 19355 13735.91 12590.7 20163.05

S < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD 89.42 < LOD < LOD

Ba 1004.42 1003.665 1091.405 1007.3 896.45 1846.415 914.125 690.635 784.96

Cs 30.24 95.09 73.165 70.07 30.255 78.74 35.275 43.05 37.31

Te 45.8 135.74 107.46 92.3 41.25 105.075 49.71 56.47 63.685

Sb 20.24 40.255 33.745 25.855 13.53 28.75 14.825 18.82 19.015

Sn < LOD 44.085 33.515 23.96 < LOD 39.06 11.88 17.6 16.24

Cd < LOD 22.42 13.9 18.02 < LOD 15.64 < LOD < LOD < LOD

Ag < LOD 173.165 144.6 141.615 < LOD 140.26 < LOD < LOD < LOD

Pd < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD

Nb 3.375 4.71 5.34 2.775 6.41 10.21 8.05 4.26 5.985

Y 1.9 2.35 2 < LOD 3.09 4.61 2.36 1.73 3.125

Bi < LOD < LOD 7.09 6.83 < LOD 12.605 7.84 < LOD < LOD

Re < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD

Ta < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD

Hf < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD

Al 105814.5 145598.4 129613.6 128169.5 99366.89 107114.1 97421.59 98275.66 136007.2

P 3213.13 2558.59 1022.86 1904.9 5821 5416.73 6400.845 2187.88 3997.61

Si 299677.4 234753.8 257245.5 267190.7 266238.2 296731.8 281274.6 279918.8 256293.4

Cl 123.02 454.76 305.615 208.56 102.7 206.05 74.895 91.85 211.465

Mg 16328.99 19618.47 9460.08 14433.04 < LOD < LOD 12454.83 < LOD 15282.43

317

SAMPLE 20 22 23 24 26 27 28 29 30

Mo < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD

Zr 86.605 177.46 158.235 143.535 188.575 170.63 125.365 99.815 348.54

Sr 348.22 121.18 343.395 149.69 391.62 238.305 349.58 282.46 327.455

U < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD

Rb 33.075 58.705 18.795 39.075 47.55 59.985 32.07 34.41 41.685

Th 6.74 8.655 5.66 5.26 9.04 6.3 6.685 5.16 7.55

Pb 8.08 7.98 11.225 < LOD 12.165 8.455 11.37 9.37 < LOD

Au 9.08 < LOD 8.58 < LOD < LOD < LOD 8.57 10.58 < LOD

Se 5.16 < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD

As < LOD 10.5 < LOD 6.63 < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD

Hg < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD

Zn 53.07 91.515 72.855 39.68 66.87 44.415 89.085 67.82 93.125

W < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD

Cu 51.155 43.4 54.96 37.415 36.75 34.53 87.35 52.355 109.34

Ni 95.325 104.245 86.07 140.59 98.76 64.685 132.44 122.765 117.62

Co < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD

Fe 43202.35 66858.51 46875.47 46352.64 45311.62 37074.68 39755 47556.46 74921.98

Mn 691.415 255.97 519.27 450.88 626.44 384.415 794.24 399.36 584.74

Cr 66.53 151.6 75.925 126.57 105.39 59.34 80.615 74.9 98.57

V 92.125 185.355 129.335 134.035 137.76 86.99 117.975 103.865 294.535

Ti 3435.9 6781.835 3585.55 5724.535 4915.63 3658.23 5114.425 5789.015 10199.23

Sc 51.42 < LOD 60.95 50.96 < LOD < LOD 51.43 61.7 < LOD

Ca 17020.65 7046.99 14888.77 10572.73 13032.3 12645.94 14311.05 11280.15 18949.36

K 8680.99 19137.53 7413.105 19746.39 11842.66 21356.3 12378.13 15952.18 10933.57

S < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD 382.02 < LOD

Ba 546.405 1015.56 1166.455 1142.76 815.29 872.28 1156.97 975.045 677.215

Cs 54.695 55.635 46.4 67.52 34.71 33.335 69.685 65.48 63.98

Te 98.17 87.705 64.565 95.065 45.135 41.905 92.82 86.47 95.22

Sb 24.595 28.415 17.44 23.045 17.67 13.09 23.055 29.04 29.345

Sn 25.335 27.62 17.35 26.275 13.805 14.18 29.485 26.155 31.015

Cd < LOD 18.85 < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD

Ag 117.18 < LOD < LOD 111.295 < LOD < LOD 117.755 118.505 128.775

Pd < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD

Nb 3.445 3.985 4.79 4.915 6.775 4.355 3.035 < LOD 5.145

Y 1.775 1.655 2.2 1.78 2.765 2.455 < LOD < LOD 3.18

Bi < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD 7.06 < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD

Re < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD

Ta < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD

Hf < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD

Al 113485.5 114967.3 91454.99 137758.6 97323.9 98225.09 110298 121630 107172.2

P 1383.08 3005.755 8868.235 5706.765 2100.575 5147.56 4697.015 2972.755 2410.45

Si 275514.5 214228.8 242570.2 233830 268245.8 268186.6 266846.9 244122.2 197253.5

Cl 113.675 309.27 101.2 197.98 142.695 172.065 209.815 177.73 991.185

Mg < LOD < LOD < LOD < LOD 11687.5 < LOD < LOD 11530.16 13647.3

318

Appendix 10: The YK10/11 mineral samples p-XRF data

The raw data from p-XRF analysis for the mineral samples. This technique was

measured in parts per million.

SAMPLE 2 6

Mo < LOD < LOD

Zr 108.97 506.375

Sr 312.945 151.055

U 8.54 < LOD

Rb 45.39 59.665

Th < LOD 10.155

Pb < LOD 14.335

Au < LOD < LOD

Se < LOD < LOD

As < LOD < LOD

Hg 9.21 < LOD

Zn 51.89 52.99

W < LOD < LOD

Cu 46.84 41.405

Ni 74.295 61.21

Co < LOD < LOD

Fe 36270.9 29726.11

Mn 435.245 478.28

Cr < LOD 48.75

V 84.485 94.87

Ti 3036.79 4467.265

Sc 62.04 34.795

Ca 14049.42 7966.38

K 10183.05 12532.97

S < LOD < LOD

Ba 854.395 649.815

Cs 27.745 38.965

Te 47.36 50.17

Sb < LOD 13.875

Sn 15.21 16.42

Cd < LOD < LOD

Ag < LOD < LOD

Pd < LOD < LOD

Nb < LOD 10.905

Y < LOD 3.995

Bi < LOD 7.69

Re < LOD < LOD

Ta < LOD < LOD

Hf < LOD < LOD

Al 95998.25 102671.7

P 2563.875 1933.055

Si 264288.7 320484.1

Cl 134.35 127.465

Mg < LOD < LOD

319

Appendix 11: The YK10/11 and YK16 XRF data

This table presents the raw data from the XRF analysis of ten samples, undertaken

using a Bruker-AXS S4 Pioneer X-ray fluorescence spectrometer (WDS XRF) at the

University of Exeter’s Penryn Campus in Cornwall. The manufacturer’s semi-

quantitative analysis package was used. The ten samples were pot sherds (15, 16,

17, 25), mineral samples (4, 8, and 21), and clay samples (CS1-CS3). The data was

expressed as percentages.

Sample: 4 8 15 16 17 21 25 CS1 CS2 CS3

LOI 9.14 0.7 2.44 4.73 3.98 25.43 0.92 24.21 25.98 26.41

SiO2 34.59 68.87 60.06 57.28 71.26 46.21 59.78 49.97 47.11 50.3

Al2O3 16.5 16.3 22.1 22 16.2 16.7 22.8 18.8 20 16.1

Fe2O3 37.68 1.825 6.244 6.766 4.517 4.53 8.084 4.041 4.266 3.828

CaO 0.102 2.33 2.54 2.94 0.529 1.84 2.39 0.599 0.379 0.855

MgO 0.11 0.612 0.98 1.43 0.311 0.982 0.865 0.342 0.354 0.383

Na2O 0 5.22 2.22 1.82 0.12 1.49 1.97 0.095

K2O 0.182 3.24 1.18 1.56 1.31 1.25 1.11 1.08 0.988 1.03

TiO2 0.391 0.358 0.53 0.58 0.703 0.487 0.638 0.735 0.763 0.649

P2O5 0.11 0.17 1.39 0.483 0.892 0.871 1.15 0.083 0.0501 0.14

S 0.046 0.054 0.048 0.059 0.062 0.046 0.027 0.0126 0.04

MnO 0.8756 0.014 0.0763 0.0938 0.0572 0.0635 0.0931 0.0329 0.0248 0.0411

Cr2O3 0.0233 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

Cl 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

V 0.0868 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

Co 0.0178 0 0 0 0 0.0011 0 0 0 0

Ni 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

Cu 0.0184 0 0.007 0.0092 0 0.005 0.0107 0.005 0.004 0.004

Zn 0 0.005 0.0086 0.0087 0 0.0051 0.0089 0 0 0.004

Rb 0 0.0092 0.0036 0.0044 0.0048 0.0043 0.003 0.0052 0.0057 0.0049

Sr 0 0.12 0.0408 0.0499 0.0067 0.024 0.0383 0.0096 0.0063 0.0172

Zr 0.0167 0.011 0.0108 0.0109 0.042 0.0124 0.019 0.0399 0.0447 0.0413

Ba 0.123 0.117 0.079 0.14 0 0.0968 0.107 0 0 0.066

W 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

Pb 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

320

Appendix 12: Scanning electron microscopy images

These are the high-resolution images captured using the SEM XL30 scanning

electron microscope in the School of Earth, Atmospheric, and Environmental

Sciences’ Williamson Research Centre, at the University of Manchester. There was

no colouration software package available for this equipment.

321

Sample 6A Sample 6D

Sample 6G

Sample 7A Sample 7F

Sample 7I

322

Sample 10A Sample 10D

Sample 10G Sample 10J

Sample 9A Sample 9D

Sample 9G Sample 9J

330

Appendix 13: A summary of the SEM results

Note that SEM does not provide a statistical breakdown of the quantity of each

element. An “X” indicated the element was present and a greyed-out field that it

was not present, or below the limit of detection.

Sample 1 5 6 7 9 10 11 14 18 19 21 23 24 26 28 29 30

Element

Si X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

Al X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

O X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

Ti X X X X X X - X X X X X X X X X X

Fe X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

K X X X X X X X X X - X X X X X X X

Mg X X X - - X X X X - X X X X - - X

P - - - - - X - - X - - X X X - - X

Ca X X X X X X X - - - X X X X X X X

C - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - X

Cl - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - X

Na X X - - - - - - - - X - - - - - X

S - - - - - - X - - - - - - - - - -

Pt - X - - - - X - - - - - - - - - -

Pb - X - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ce - - - - - - X - - - - - - - - - -

Mn - - - - - - - - - - X X - - - - -

B - - - - - - - - - - X - - - - - -

Ba - - - - - - X X - - - - - - - - -

Br - - - - X - - - - - - - - - X X -

331

Appendix 14: Strip roulettes in the YK10/11 assemblage

Documenting strip roulettes, particularly braided strip roulette (BSR) to assist future

researchers with its correct identification and documentation (see also Mayor

2010a). Note that it is often easier to determine the type of roulette by viewing a

high contrast image of the sherd, e.g. in bright light or in black and white. This is

most easily done in the processing period using photo-editing software.

An alternative method to using plasticine to take moulds of the roulette in relief is

to do a ‘rubbing’; i.e. a pencil tracing of the sherd that accurately captures its

texture and relief. In the Ghanaian climate, the heat made the use of plasticine

challenging because on occasion it melted, or else it dried out and was unusable. A

rubbing provides a permanent record of the roulette sherd that can be easily

digitised and is less fragile, and more convenient, than applying a mould. It is also

easily accomplished using only paper and pencil.

For this method, use graph (or plain) paper, and a soft pencil to avoid damaging the

sherd. Hold the paper down firmly over the sherd with one hand, to prevent the

paper from slipping. It is easiest to do this by placing thumb and forefinger on the

paper at one corner of the sherd. This also helps you to define the sherd’s edges.

Use a pencil to carefully shade over the sherd with your other hand, to produce an

impression of it on the paper. Always shade in the same direction as the roulette.

This captures the most detail, and reduces the risk of creating holes in the paper

from shading over an uneven surface.

333

Appendix 15: All of the YK10/11 sherds, organised by context, reported in Koma

Land publications.

All of the sherds used to create Figure 32 and inform its analysis.

Context Levels (10cm spits)

Rim (undecora

ted)

Rim (decorate

d)

Undecorated body

Decorated body

Base Perforated

Total by square

YK10 3 M15

L1 0 0 0 1 0 0 1

YK10 3 N13

L2 0 0 1 0 0 0 1

YK10 3 O13

? 1 0 0 0 0 0 1

YK10 3 P14

L2 0 0 0 1 0 0 1

YK11 5 N8

L2 0 0 1 0 0 0 1

YK11 H10

L2 0 0 0 1 0 0 1

YK11 H9 L4 0 0 0 0 0 1 1

YK11 J10 ? 0 0 0 1 0 0 1

YK11 L10 L3 1 0 0 0 0 0 1

YK11 M13

L1 1 0 0 0 0 0 1

YK11 O11

L1 1 0 0 0 0 0 1

YK11 O14

? 0 0 0 1 0 0 1

YK11 P11 ? 0 0 1 0 0 0 1

YK10 3 H14

L1, L3 0 0 0 2 2 0 4

YK10 3 M10

L1 0 0 2 0 0 0 2

YK10 I10 L1 0 0 0 2 0 0 2

YK11 J11 L3 0 0 0 2 0 0 2

YK11 L11 L1 0 0 0 2 0 0 2

YK11 H13

L2-3 1 0 1 1 0 0 3

YK11 M14

L2-L4 2 0 0 1 0 0 3

YK11 P11 L2-3 0 0 1 2 0 0 3

YK10 3 M12

L1-3 0 0 0 4 0 0 4

YK10 I11 L1-2 0 0 0 4 0 0 4

YK10 3 P10

L1, L3 5 0 0 0 0 0 5

YK11 L14 L2, L4 1 0 0 3 1 0 5

YK10 3 H11

L1-4 1 0 1 4 0 0 6

YK10 3 H12

L1-3 3 1 0 3 0 0 7

YK11 Q12

L1-3 2 1 0 5 0 0 8

YK11 O10

L1-2 0 0 9 0 0 1 10

YK10 5 P11

L1-2, L4-5 11 1 0 0 0 0 12

YK11 P10 L1-3 3 0 1 9 0 0 13

YK11 L13 L1-2 5 0 2 9 0 0 16

YK10 3 M14

L1-3 5 0 2 12 0 1 20

YK11 O12

L1-2, L4 9 2 8 0 0 1 20

YK10 3 H10

L1-2, L4 7 0 1 16 0 0 24

YK10 3 L1-4 6 1 0 17 0 1 25

334

M13

YK10 5 O11

L1-3 7 1 0 21 0 0 29

YK10 5 O12

L1-4 0 0 0 33 0 2 35

YK11 I14 L2-6 9 2 5 18 1 4 39

YK11 N14

L1-3 10 2 8 19 0 0 39

YK10 3 J13

L1-2 8 0 2 33 0 0 43

YK11 H14

L1-5 8 3 2 31 2 1 47

YK11 M12

L1-3 22 2 6 16 1 1 48

YK10 3 P13

L1-2, L4-5 11 0 0 42 0 0 53

YK11 M11

L1-2 17 4 5 26 0 1 53

YK11 O9 L1-2 23 1 1 28 0 1 54

YK11 N12

L1-3 18 3 0 34 0 0 55

YK10 3 O10

L1-3 20 0 4 33 0 0 57

YK10 3 I12

L1-3 13 3 2 39 0 1 58

YK10 3 I13

L1-3 13 1 2 44 0 0 60

YK10 3 J12

L1 13 2 0 47 0 0 62

YK11 N13

L1-2 15 1 8 42 1 0 67

YK11 P9 L1-2 L4 27 1 1 39 0 0 68

YK11 M10

L1-2 25 6 6 40 0 2 79

YK11 L12 L1-3 30 4 6 38 0 2 80

YK11 P12 L1-3 15 1 7 57 1 1 82

YK10 3 N10

L1-2 18 4 0 62 2 1 87

YK10 3 N11

L1-2 21 0 0 65 1 3 90

YK11 Q11

L1-4 26 3 40 110 1 3 183

YK11 Q1O

L1-3 46 7 35 100 0 4 192

Total by sherd type 480 57 171 1120 20 32 1873