The research critically examines the complex implications of race, gender, and sexuality as they intersect within the historical and contemporary experiences of black women. Central to this inquiry is the concept of “hyper visibility,” as articulated by Gqola (2007), which highlights the paradoxical experience of black women who find their bodies under intense scrutiny yet simultaneously rendered invisible amid systemic violence. This dual vulnerability exposes a troubling reality: hyper visibility commodifies their bodies, while invisibility undermines their agency and recognition. As highlighted by Magubane (2001), colonial medical, literary, and scientific discourses have historically constructed detrimental images that serve to inferiorise native women—a process that has not only persisted but has also evolved within current socio-cultural frameworks. This inferiorisation reflects a continued legacy of colonialism that affects the lived experiences of black women today. The disruption caused by the eradication of traditional gynocracies, as articulated by Maese-Cohen (2010) and Oyewumi (1997), further illustrates the subtle yet pervasive impacts of colonial narratives that persist invisibly within contemporary social structures.
The narratives of elderly and young women who reflect on significant socio-political changes provide valuable insights into the perceived detriments of modernity to traditional values. For instance, Qiniso’s observations about modern older males and their inappropriate gazes toward young girls exemplify a troubling shift from past socio-cultural mores to current complacency regarding intergenerational boundaries. This transition underscores a significant cultural shift, moving from enforceable norms designed to moderate male behaviour to a contemporary framework where such boundaries have become increasingly blurred. Similarly, Miriam’s reflections capture the shifting dynamics of male behaviour in public interactions, revealing a tendency toward sexual objectification among younger generations. Her poignant anecdote regarding her great-granddaughter raises critical questions about the implications of unchecked male sexuality, urging an examination of the responsibilities associated with such freedom. Thandi’s critiques of perceived moral decay among today’s youth, juxtaposed with historical practices aimed at regulating sexual conduct, demand a nuanced understanding of how these codifications—though designed to maintain social equilibrium—often reinforced restrictive gender dynamics. Thandi’s assertion that “we are now all the same” poignantly highlights the struggles individuals face in the absence of traditional practices, urging further exploration of the expectations placed on contemporary relationships and their historical roots. The enduring influence of hetero-patriarchal structures on gender dynamics emphasizes the complex interplay between evolving societal norms and the lived experiences of women across generations.
The narratives also reveal a stark critique of contemporary expectations of young women, as elderly women draw attention to the gendered power dynamics shaping interactions among youth. Dudu’s observations expose the disturbing normalisation of coerced sex and violence in everyday interactions, particularly regarding the predatory behaviours of older boys toward younger girls. Notably, the transactional nature of these relationships exemplifies the harmful socialisation processes that reduce women’s identities to mere commodities. Dudu’s recollections of escalating violence in response to rejected advances further illustrate the precarious realities facing young women, highlighting a brutal dynamic that perpetuates a culture of compliance through fear. These narratives unveil a continuum of exploitation where young girls’ emerging sexualities become increasingly vulnerable to male entitlement, raising profound concerns about consent and exploitation within today’s socio-cultural framework. Lungile’s observations further underscore the scrutiny and degradation faced by women’s bodies while simultaneously emphasising the critical need to balance sexual freedom with personal safety. In synthesis, the discussions urge a re-evaluation of traditional practices and conduct by older men and boys and encourage a critical dialogue on the responsibilities and safety considerations for young women navigating the complexities of modern relationships and their ‘newly’ discovered sexualities and experiences.
6.1. Reflections on the Research Process
When exploring the question, “To what extent can critical reflection enhance knowledge production in the fields of gender, sexuality, and race?”, it is evident that the researcher’s critical reflexivity is crucial. This reflection, particularly when grounded in the lived experiences of marginalised voices, significantly deepens our understanding of these vital areas. Often, it is from the instabilities and uncertainties that the most compelling insights and intuitions about realities and possibilities for change emerge (Bennett & Pereira, 2013). It is with this in mind that I begin to detail my experiences of the research process. Thus, Ampofo argues that feminist narrative research demands that feminist researchers be reflexive about their positioning as researchers in the field (2009). Reflexivity refers to active acknowledgement by the researcher that their actions and decisions unavoidably influence the meaning and context of the experience under inquiry. By means of reflexivity I understood that I am an integral part of the ‘world’ I was studying and also that it is impossible to detach myself in relation to assembling of the stories, analysis and the interpretation (Henwood & Pidgeon, 1993; Porter, 1993; Mason, 1996). Phiri and Nadar (2010 in Nadar, 2014) add that being reflexive signifies that one recognises that the process of research is as vital as the product.
I therefore I agree with Ampofo’s contention that we are only able to maintain ‘our’ own strength as feminist scholars and activists through constant reflection in both the personal and communal contexts as well as appreciating ‘our’ privileged and also disadvantaged positions in some contexts (2009). Instead of setting aside our emotions and ethics from the process, Ampofo encourages that we embrace them as a part of the process, as emotion and intellect are argued to find a meeting space in narrative research (2009). Similar to Ampofo (2009) Collins (2000 in Nadar, 2014) discerns emotion as a measure of the validity and credibility of an argument. Most importantly, Ampofo illuminates that, when it comes to the lives of women on the continent, often these are our daily experiences or that of our mothers, aunts and sisters, which could possibly lead ‘us’ to offer a more sensitive outlook (2009). In addition, Reinharz and Davidman (1992) explain that the strong connection between the researcher and the participant is an indication that the relationship had “left” (p.263) the realm of research and had entered into the personal lives of participants. Moreover, reflexivity in research also means considering the implications and myriad ways of posing research questions, framing particular issues and experiences as ‘problems’ that require intervention, and the powerlessness of participants in framing and presenting their own issues and concerns (Boonzaier and Shefer, 2006 in Kiguwa, 2019). Reflecting on my experience in the ‘field’, I was not prepared for what was to come, although I had convinced myself that I had done all the necessary preparations for the fieldwork. I had interview guides with me so as to ensure that I remained within the boundaries of the topic, and I was convinced I possessed all the good skills to proceed with the interview process, coupled with the knowledge I had gained from the literature consulted. I resumed fieldwork with the intent to collect and thereafter analyse the data.
In hindsight, I realise that my approach was not that different from how the colonial researchers approached research as well as their relations with the ‘subjects’ of their enquiry. Similarly, researchers refer to this research approach as dehumanising to research participants (Smith & Coombs, 2003). In fact, scholars have problematised terminology such as the ‘collection of data ’,‘ research ’and ‘data analyses’ as dehumanising to participants and their experiences (Roy & Starosta, 2001). As a result, I maintain that the manner in which I approached the research process as well as the participants positioned me in a state of arrogance and privilege, resembling that of a colonial gaze into the lives of the subaltern. Furthermore, it was in my first one-on-one interview that I came to the realisation that my journey with the women was taking a different turn from the one I had envisioned. I was bitterly disappointed and grappled with the fact that I perceived the participant as not answering my questions nor comprehending the probes I was providing her. What stood out was the barrier we experienced in terms of the language used to describe sex-related questions and experiences; the terminology contained in the questions was a direct translation from the English language. As the interview progressed, the participant was tense as some of the words relating to sexual experiences sounded vulgar and taboo when expressed in an African language. Similarly, Tamale (2011) in her work on researching sexualities among African women cautions that, in terms of language, it may be challenging to translate words that may be non-existent in the research language. Given my experience, I paused fieldwork for some time in order to reflect on what I perceived to have gone wrong and came back to Pretoria from the research site in Mpumalanga. Fortunately, my academic supervisor had set up an appointment for us to meet in order to discuss my fieldwork experiences and to map a way forward. I was relieved at this opportunity as I could discuss what I had perceived to be an impasse in my project.
Cameron and Kulik (in Mateveke, 2017) illuminate that the language that the women have access to for representing issues of sex and sexuality exerts a noteworthy effect on what is taken as possible, normal and desirable. Cameron and Kulik further argue that there is a relationship between the linguistic representation of sex or sexuality with power relations, and language serves as an important element in the political struggles around sexuality (in Mateveke, 2017). The discussion challenged my views on how I perceived research and the participants. It was through this project that I had resolved to reverse the damage that research has caused to indigenous people’s lives and the manner in which they perceive themselves due to ‘our’ interference. After much introspection, I resumed fieldwork with the intention of having conversations with the women instead of viewing my encounters with them as research interviews. I was prepared to journey with the older women and the young women in their narratives; they are individuals who had seen me grow up and some had observed my growth as a child and into the woman I am today. It was at that point that I experienced relief and could express myself and also allow the women to take their stories wherever they wished with no boundaries set by a list of questions or an interviewer gazing at their responses as if to make a ‘discovery’ and to pathologise their experiences. In this instance, I draw from Harrison’s (2008) advice that key to conducting narrative interviews is learning to listen, and providing the participants the space to talk. In the process of conversing with the women, I soon became aware of my ‘imperial privileged’ position. I did not view myself as such due to my background in that area as well as the people. However, I found myself constantly renegotiating my insider position in the discussions. I had to accept the fact that I was a university student studying towards a qualification, thus presenting me as a researcher much like other researchers who had also come into our communities to conduct research. In some instances, I was referred to as a psychologist or a social worker “sent by Zuma” (government) through the university to identify problems in the community in order for the Department of Social Development to come and assist that community. I recall during the focus group discussion with both young and elderly women that one of the older women proceeded to say the following:
“I am speaking to you young people, a psychologist has come as far as Pretoria to address you and to find out what your problem is, why are you having so many children while you unemployed and unmarried. Tell her; she is here for you.”
The above extract indicates that our participants in research continue to view research as a quest for pathology in underprivileged communities; they do not perceive themselves as possessing the intellectual knowledge that we seek to learn from. Furthermore, my journey with the women highlighted the fact that “issues of survival and struggle take precedent over issues of knowledge production” (Zavala, 2013, p.66); as an example, in the in-depth interview that I had with one of the older women, she expressed that the community was tired of research institutions coming to;
“take information from them and not coming back to them with collective solutions for their struggles”:
“You know they open up this well of pain and then leave you like that and not come back to assist you based on what you told them. I am only talking to you because you are like my grandchild; otherwise I don’t want to hear from those people who exploit our pain just so they can write big reports and forget about us.”
These thoughts resonated with me that we cannot continue to conduct research and leave the community without having made an impact; thus, decolonial scholars and thinkers encourage researchers to view research journeys as invitations to dialogue. Moreover, participants had conflicting emotions regarding the research process. In a focus group discussion, one of the older women instructed me to switch off the recording device because my professor did not need to “hear this” and that, as my elder, she did not wish to misrepresent the community. The participant further expressed that it was now up to her to represent me well in the eyes of the academic community that I belonged to, so that they could see that “I come from a decent area” and that I was raised well. In our in-depth discussion, some of the older women often questioned my presence in the area: “Why come here, now? This area is not what it used to be. I wish you had come at a better time.” The views of the community of women that I interacted with echoed Smith’s (1999, p.1) sentiments that to indigenous people “research has become a dirty word”.
In addition, I have also had to contend with the idea that I am a young African woman raised in a context that forbade discussions around sex with elders. In cases where such discussions do occur, they are done in a discrete environment; in some cases, the ‘talk’ was reserved for young women who were initiates or women who were entering into marriage. Thus, sex in my family and in most circles in my community is considered a taboo topic. In contrast, during the in-depth discussions that I engaged in with the older women and in the focus group discussions, the older women were quite pleased to divulge details around sex as well as their experiences. In fact, during these discussions, the elderly women took the liberty to educate young women on matters relating to sex:
“Young women know nothing about sex, although you think you do. It is our job to impart that knowledge. No matter how educated you are you need to know the power your sexuality holds. Ask us—we’ve been there.”
Furthermore, I found my fieldwork journey a humbling experience as well as enlightening. Particularly with the in-depth discussions I had with the older women in their homes, I experienced a connection far deeper than that of a researcher-participant relationship. Interestingly, I was viewed as one of the children in the home; the older women would come to me with complaints about their grandchildren’s wrongdoings as a grandmother would to her eldest grandchild. In the process of conducting the in-depth discussions, I was praised and affirmed as a strong black woman who had done her family and community proud. In most cases, upon my arrival for the interviews, I would often find the women busy with their daily chores including taking care of their grandchildren which often took precedence over our interview. In most cases, I assisted with the chores; this proved advantageous as we could ease into the topic and it would quickly turn into a ‘normal’ conversation. For instance, while busy doing laundry, I would learn about ‘my grandmother’ as she recounted stories of resilience and being a young black woman in the confines of tumultuous political periods in South Africa.