Becoming oneself in amaXhosa womanhood

The substitution of ‘the pot’ for ‘the body’ appears, then, to hold another message which conveys that the son will not attain ‘being oneself’. Integral to this are women’s expectations, their pain, worry and trauma. All she endured to bring their son to adulthood. The pot accentuates the potential horror of the practice and holds the mother as complicit as the father in its organisation. 1 would argue that the only way to understand this painful, incongruity is to explore Bloch’s thesis about what it means “io be oneself' and how, in circumcision, this is persistently pitted against, “what we assume others to be” (Bloch, 2013, p. 120). Bloch elucidates how reciprocity works in the attainment of selfhood, for circumcision not only brings the son to selfhood, it does so, in perpetuity, for women too. Knowing what it means to be Xhosa women, they willingly give their consent because from the time of their births, they have an intimate understanding of the ritual. In taking part, women seek to bring a gender sensitive womanhood and in reciprocity, manhood to fruition. Klaits (2002) writing of Batswana funerals, explores a similar notion to Bloch’s but emphasizes the physicality and emotion in the shaping of a sense of self with others in public display. “Linkages between self and other are not imagined as relations between discrete, independent and rational thinkers, under the influence of socio-political currents”, rather Klaits argues, and this pertains to circumcision, “people find themselves connected in their very physical wellbeing through emotional states and sentimental connections recognized and forged in (amaXhosa) public space” (Klaits in Livingston, 2008, p. 290).

Circumcision demonstrates that agency is not confined but instigated in women and men in the gendered milieu of a rite of passage which seeks to re-affirm identities in a re-enactment of innate predispositions. Engendering is, however, fluid - a dance of bodily motion, emotion, and disposition - and happens intuitively and physiologically in and between the intimacy and temporariness of a circumcision ground belonging to men and women’s homes. It is, therefore, by social intent that the ritual boundaries of circumcision define transitory, gendered spaces where like a stage, these are set for the period of the event. Ritual ensures that the resulting embedded cognitive and behavioural patterns live on enduringly in memory, in nuance and in acculturated, gendered, social behaviour. Ritual boundaries try, therefore, to delineate the ideal, re-defining a reproductive responsibility. Against a ritualised ideal sits the knowledge that day-to-day life, personality, and social relations are variable and ill-defined. I would argue that, as human beings, we work to come back to the ideal, particularly at endings and beginnings; birth, death, marriage and coming of age. This working towards an ideal happens for many people throughout their lifetime; conversely, in the rite of passage, endings and beginnings are virtually scripted in minute detail. Such scripting once functioned in the smallness of village life to bring familial groups of Xhosa people into a more identifiable, bounded engagement in reciprocal relations within that body social. Although variations in the ritual happen, the essence of the practice - its purpose and ritual function - remains because women, as guardians of birthing and death, have long known how to claim their agency (Gasa, 2003).

Reciprocity in patriarchy

A man does not see the circumciser till it is time and he goes into seclusion and disappears after this. He (the circumciser) is trained and he must be known. They say mothers have no role, hut the mother must give approval. Women are not disempowered, and this is a question of voice. Seclusion used to be one month. When there is witchcraft then the practice defines what is to be done.

These words, from an elderly amaXhosa man, affirm that men and women, take an active part in an orthodox practice. He adds a note of caution about bewitchment and how the practice is orchestrated to exclude malevolent forces; in this women’s voices are critical. This affirms a centuries-old practice, rooted, by patrilineal descent, into the migration of a circumcising Bantu-speaking people down the east coast of Africa (Maggs, 1986; Caldwell, Orubuloye, & Caldwell, 1997). Women, it appears, of their own volition, have customarily withdrawn to allow Xhosa men to shape their sons’ future, aiding the instantiation of dispositions for gendered orientation across this society (Mauss & Halls, 1954). In positioning an argument for their willing agency, I take into consideration, Gasa’s (2007) caution as an autochthon, feminist writer that it is unwise to overinvest in women’s voices or silence as “their response is informed by their prevailing conditions and the nature of the patrilineal oppression they are experiencing” (Gasa, 2007, p. 216). Gasa echoes my own uncertain feelings about amaXhosa women’s subordination. My fieldwork gave a different perspective: the women argued strongly that they were not subordinated, but were partners in this patriarchal tradition. Their withdrawing instigated an African sense of gendered reciprocity, in which this action equally engendered their role in sexual and social reproduction (Hudson-Weems, 1998).

Tensions arise as to how I, not being amaXhosa, understand injunctions for silence and confines on voice as women having agency when, from my feminist perspective, this advocates for the opposite. Feminism provokes loud, gendered assertions for authority. Furthermore, whilst oral testimony and history confirms this man’s account, women do not feature in literary accounts of circumcision (Laidler, 1922; Ntombana, 2011). Indeed, they are absent from most historical, anthropological, and medical literature; their role is hardly mentioned in current social media or written records (Laubscher, 1937; Hunter, 1956; Silverman, 2004; Mavundla et al., 2009). The question arises as to whether this absence comes from within the culture because they are suppressed or reflects observations from without. Of patriarchy, Strathern (1972) argues for a deeper understanding of women’s roles given that their active participation tends to be ignored. In this respect, diversity in gender and identity across women, and the demands imposed by successive migration questions their subordination (Maggs, 1986; Parsons, 1993).

An alternative thesis is that European gendered dispositions, debates, and theory have misinterpreted women’s roles and status. This, I argue, has perpetuated conceptions of African women’s disempowerment. Current literature also tends to portray indigenous women in South Africa as beleaguered by gender-based violence, gender inequality and at risk from repeated violence and sexual infections (Kim & Motsei, 2002; Dunkle et al., 2004). Furthermore, a high prevalence of HIV infections in the region and reports of domestic violence appear to affirm a sense of disempowerment and victimhood amongst autochthonous women. These disturbing accounts reflect on circumcision practices, contradicting womanly wisdom, their considered opinion and agreement.

In making African perceptions of womanhood distinct from a white feminist perspective Ogunyemi writes that her African womanism embraces, “consciousness of sexual issues, she must incorporate racial, cultural, national, economic, and political considerations into her philosophy” (Ogunyemi, 1985, p. 64). Ogunyemi’s incorporation of a multiplicity of roles into African women’s perception of self and gender orientation recognises that engendering is far more complex than the dualistic categories implied in a European feminism. Arndt expresses caution about making this distinction as feminism does suppose that “gender is only one among many constituents of identity” (Arndt, 2000, p. 711). Yet, any attempt at gender categorisation -partly through feminist initiatives - tends, I would posit, to impose a bureaucratic definition onto identity politics, categorising females versus males and those in-between. In comparison, I would argue for a more nuanced approach to gender, where gendered orientation and sexual preference are aspects of personhood and identity. These, especially amongst the isiXhosa-speaking people, are worked on over a lifetime; they seek stasis but are certainly never static. Character and a holding role to sustain identity has precedence and this aptitude will be shown in a later discussion on the initiation of diviners.

In amaXhosa communities, I often saw women adeptly moving between home and work, traditional rituals, and cosmopolitan society; displaying diverse skills and emotional equanimity they worked so their sons could go for circumcision. Although many were poor, they showed a sense of resilience and determination; their strength and authority displayed in noisy, emotive, joyous celebrations of this customary practice. Chatting amongst themselves, they spoke of bewitchment and how to stop it upsetting the event. This not only reflects the elder’s warning, but also the fact that other cultures speak of the fear of bewitchment around gendered and sexual transformations, especially in those suffering psychoses. As previously argued, I have relied on the fieldwork experiences and writing of Bloch (1986) and, separately, Obeyesekere (1981), as anthropologists, to guide my interpretation of consciousness, the self, cognition, and mysticism. Fearing that silence, is the only response to their being framed from without as subordinated, I draw on these authors to give a depth of voice to Xhosa women.