Ruth Jackson, Max Kelly - Women Researching in Africa-Springer International Publishing - Palgrave Macmillan (2019)

WOMEN
RESEARCHING
IN AFRICA
THE IMPACT OF GENDER
Edited by
Ruth Jackson
and Max Kelly
Women Researching in Africa
Ruth Jackson · Max Kelly
Editors
Women Researching
in Africa
The Impact of Gender
Editors
Ruth Jackson Max Kelly
Deakin University Deakin University
Geelong, VIC, Australia Geelong, VIC, Australia
ISBN 978-3-319-94501-9 ISBN 978-3-319-94502-6 (eBook)

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-94502-6
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Foreword
For many African women, the idea of being both independent and a
researcher brings many challenges as both attributes are uncommon.
Women have two hurdles to overcome: first to be independent and then
a researcher.
In my family, I am the seventh of nine children. My parents did not
have any formal education. I grew up in a society where boys are highly
privileged—both implicitly and explicitly—over girls. This means girls do
not experience the world in the same way boys do. The norms and values
in most societies in Ethiopia encourage and privilege boys to go outside
and explore the world, while limiting girls to stay at home. Females who
strive to be independent and go outdoors are derided and called critical
and discouraging names. These hurdles from society have the power to
compromise girls’ ability to learn and achieve higher education.
I stood up to these pressures by focusing on my education and push-
ing myself to stay outdoors and experience the world. Despite all the
challenges, I fought persistently to grasp the world as I conceived it
and succeeded in becoming one of the few female medical doctors in
Ethiopia. My academic success inspired the people around me to accept
me as a female who is independent.
v
vi
Foreword
The medical school at Jimma University where I earned my medical

degree has a community-oriented educational philosophy. At the end of
each academic year, a team of 10 to 15 students conducts research about
the health-related needs of people who live in remote rural areas. The
same student team has to follow up those communities for five consec-
utive phases which overall takes five long years. In all the phases, the
team has to prepare proposals and submit research reports. And finally,
based on their findings the team makes interventions and later evalu-
ates the impacts of the intervention. For this community-based research
endeavour to run properly, a team leader, rapporteur and logistic has to
be nominated for each phase. The team leader’s and rapporteur’s func-
tional roles are usually assigned to the boys in the team. However, the
logistics’ role, whose function to cater food to the team, is by default
pushed to the girls.
Even at this level at higher education system, assigning this role to
females has the power to instil and perpetuate the concept that females
serve society in the traditional and historical way only. This situation
always strikes a wonder in me and a wish for the day where female-lim-
iting attitudes are reduced to nothing but zero. Not only does it restrain
women from being a team leader or a rapporteur in this specific project,
but also restrains women from inspiring and moving beyond the tradi-
tional way in the wider world. This wonder and contemplation gave me
the courage to compete and assume the team leader role for three of the
five phases of the team training program. My success in this program as a
leader prepared me for my next level of independent research e xperience.
During my second year dermatology residency program in Addis
Ababa University, I proposed to conduct the biggest research project
for the department. The project aimed to examine over 100,000 patient
records to determine epidemiology of skin diseases in a hospital called
All African Leprosy and Tuberculosis Rehabilitation Training Center
(ALERT). At that time, it was not a curricular requirement for derma-
tology residents to conduct research. However, my earlier experiences at
Jimma University helped me to see a gap that could be addressed by
the project I proposed. My proposal was so ambitious that many people
around me thought it was not achievable and deemed to fail. Despite
the setbacks, I took the initiative to be the first person in conducting
Foreword
vii
a mega project of this scale. Writing the proposal took three months
because I could not get research leave. Along the way, I realised that the
bureaucratic processes were not compatible to females from the working
class because almost all the positions were occupied and decisions are
made by men alone. My initial proposal was to finalise the data entry
in four months but surprisingly all the work took years. I struggled a
lot, knocked on many doors—from professional associations to phar-
maceutical companies—to get funding, and finally, I was able to get a
small amount of funding to assist me with data processing and analysis.
Through these processes, I often felt my efforts were in vain but I did
not want to give up. The feeling that big enterprise research can also
be run by females kept me going. Not only did I learn a lot from my
struggle to achieve my goal but good things also happened at the end. I
inspired the department and my colleagues that pursuing independent
research track is achievable and transcending.
These two and other academic experiences in my life lead me to des-
tine myself to bring up my femaleness while demonstrating that women
can be independent and achieve in academia. Today, I am walking the
path of being an independent woman and researcher. I have come far
from a background that stifles females’ liberty in life. My aim is to con-
tinue to walk this path and to produce high-quality research, and thus
inspire generations of girls, women and physicians in the areas of sci-
ence, environmental protection and education.
All of the women who have contributed to this book have faced their
own challenges doing research in Africa. Doing research is an experi-
ence that changes us as women: this book has provided the contributors
an opportunity to describe those challenges in a way that will be help-
ful to other researchers. Doing research changes us, helps us grow, and
develop as independent women and as members of families and com-
munities, whether at home, in Africa or abroad. As the editors write in
the Introduction, ‘the gender of the researcher is not a neutral construct
as the socially constructed roles, behaviours, activities, and attributes for
women and men in any society are never absent’. The editors go on to
say that by reflecting on being a female researching in Africa we hope
that other researchers will take their gender into account while doing
viii
Foreword
research. This is just one of the lessons that can be learnt from this
book as being a female researcher in Africa is different from just being a
researcher in Africa.
Jimma, Ethiopia Tirsit Retta Woldeyohanes, M.D.

Assistant Professor in Dermatovenereology
Jimma University
Acknowledgements
RJ The idea for this book came after a meeting between Ruth
Jackson and Tirsit Retta Woldeyohanes (Assistant Professor of
Dermatovenerology, Jimma University, Ethiopia). Tirsit’s story—told
in a direct and straightforward way—about her efforts to find research
funding for a project about patterns of skin diseases—was also a story
about how the research context can be taken for granted by Western
researchers. At the time, Tirsit had not been able to receive any research
funding and her story of persistence and determination really stayed
with me as she was still at the stage of knocking on doors and being
knocked back. ‘I am still struggling to get what I want. I don’t want to
give up so that research in this world is for men only’, she said. So for
Tirsit and the many other female researchers (and friends) in Ethiopia I
have met along the way, this book is for you. Thanks to all the contrib-
utors and my co-editor Max Kelly for their patience in seeing this book
through to publication. On a personal note, I accompanied my parents
to Ethiopia for the first time when I was six years of age and lived there
most of my childhood. After a long time away, I returned to do my doc-
toral research and subsequently have returned many times, mostly to do
research but also once, at a very difficult point of my life, to take time
ix
x
Acknowledgements
out from the rest of the world for two months. I am grateful for the
opportunity because living in Ethiopia has taught me how to live and
how to be fully present to whoever and whatever is going on around
me. But in acknowledging the female researchers I have met along the
way, this is also for my sons, Jo and Jack, and my friend Allan Charles
Branch.
MK Acknowledgement as always to Ian, Rianna, Jess and Jacqui.
Thanks also to Ruth Jackson for her patience and good humour in the
process of editing a book, and the contributors who were so enthusiastic
about a collection that in many cases provided the space to reflect on
the research process more so than the research outcomes. No research
is possible without the time, energy and patience of the many people
that have participated in many ways in my research over the years, in
particular to those who contribute so much to any research but are
often nameless, the research assistants, interpreters, and cultural guides
who have taught me so much, and helped me understand how to ask
questions.
Contents
1 Women Researching in Africa: The Impact of Gender 1

Ruth Jackson and Max Kelly
Part I Gender and Identity as a Female Researcher in Africa
2 ‘Gone Native?’: Reflections of a Feminist Tightrope

Walker’s Research on ‘Land Grabbing’ and the
Dilemmas of ‘Fieldworking’ While Parenting 27
Rama Salla Dieng
3 Identity and Experience in Malawi: Challenges and

Observations 51
Joanna Woods
4 Navigating Gender Performance: Ethics and Culture in

Researching Family Care for Cancer Patients in Ghana 69
Deborah Atobrah
xi
xii
Contents
5 When in Rome…: Navigating Decolonial Research as a

Diasporic Black Woman 93
Lioba Hirsch
6 Reflections on the Dilemmas of Feminist Fieldwork in

Africa 109
Tanya Lyons
Part II Relationships with ‘Others’ as a Female Researcher

in Africa
7 Researching the Rural: A Mzungu Loose in Africa 131

Max Kelly
8 Women and Anthropologists in West Africa:

Comparing Two Research Experiences 153
Ester Botta Somparé and Mara Vitale
9 Constant Questioning On-and-Off the Page: Race,

Decolonial Ethics and Women Researching in Africa 171
Amber Murrey
10 Lessons Learned on Research Methods and Researcher

Stance in Africa 193
Jody McBrien
Part III Methodological Challenges for Female Researchers

in Africa
11 Challenges and Opportunities of Doing Fieldwork

as a Woman on Women in Guinea 217
Carole Ammann
Contents
xiii
12 On Walking Alone and Walking with Others: Framing

Research Activities by Time and Distance in Kafa Zone,
Ethiopia 235
Ruth Jackson
13 Gender and Positionality: Opportunities, Challenges,

and Ethical Dilemmas in Ghana and Sierra Leone 257
Vanessa van den Boogaard
14 Historiography of African Market Women 277

Mutiat Titilope Oladejo
15 Women Researching Africa: Linking Experience to

Practice 299
Max Kelly and Ruth Jackson
Index 313
Notes on Contributors
Carole Ammann is a Postdoctoral Researcher at the Institute of

Geography at the University of Bern, Switzerland. Carole is a social
anthropologist and holds a Ph.D. from the University of Basel. She is
interested in questions of femininity and masculinity, political partic-
ipation, transformation of the state and urbanity in West Africa and
France. Currently, she is doing an institutional ethnography of a Swiss
hospital, researching questions of migration, employment and social dif-
ferences.
Deborah Atobrah is a Research Fellow in Medical Anthropology at
the Institute of African Studies, University of Ghana, Accra, Ghana.
Her research and teaching interests are in the cultures of chronic disease
experiences in Ghana, adolescent reproductive health, gender and quali-
tative methods in researching vulnerable participants.
Rama Salla Dieng is a Senegalese doctoral researcher in International
Development at SOAS, University of London and a feminist. Her
research focuses on the contemporary land rush and implications for
agrarian change and food security. Rama is also an editorial associate
of the Agrarian South Journal of Political Economy. Rama worked in
xv
xvi
the charity sector in France, at the UNDP Mauritius and as a research

assistant and then research fellow at the African Institute for Economic
Development and Planning in Senegal. Rama holds an M.Sc. Research
in International Development from SOAS, and degrees in Politics from
Sciences Po Bordeaux, France.
Lioba Hirsch is a Ph.D. candidate at University College London
(UCL). Her research interests lie in developing a critical approach
towards infection prevention and control and the management of medi-
cal emergencies in postcolonial Africa. She is currently working towards
a Ph.D. on the Ebola response in Sierra Leone. She also has a keen
interest in decolonial research methods.
Ruth Jackson holds a Ph.D. in International Development Studies
from Deakin University (Australia). Her early research interests were
international development, maternal health and how the goal of reduc-
ing maternal mortality fits into Ethiopia’s development agenda. This led
to her current research that focuses on the intersection between women
who live near the montane rainforest in Kafa Zone, southwest Ethiopia
and food production for one of the Ethiopian Orthodox feasts.
Max Kelly is a Senior Lecturer in International and Community
Development Studies at Deakin University, Australia. Her main
research areas are development policy and practice, with particular
emphasis on social development, livelihoods, food security, agricul-
ture, community participation and community engagement. Her recent
research focuses on animal welfare in development, impact assessment,
political economy, civil society in post-conflict settings and farmer
groups. She has researched, consulted and volunteered with a wide
range of organisations, including international NGOs, multilateral
organisations, and government departments in Malawi, Uganda, Timor
Leste, Bangladesh, Pakistan, Papua New Guinea, Solomon Islands and
Vanuatu.
Tanya Lyons is a Research Fellow at the Centre for Africa Studies
University of the Free State—South Africa; the Editor of the
Australasian Review of African Studies (since 2009); the Past-President
of the African Studies Association of Australasia and the Pacific
xvii
(2012–2017); and Senior Lecturer in International Relations at Flinders

University, where she specialises in teaching African Politics and
International Relations.
Jody McBrien is a Professor at the University of South Florida in the
College of Liberal Arts and Social Sciences. She teaches undergradu-
ate and graduate courses in comparative education, sociological aspects
of education, and international human rights. Her primary research
involves comparative and international work on strategies to inte-
grate resettled refugee youth in formal and non-formal academic set-
tings. Jody has carried out this work in North America, New Zealand,
Australia, Uganda, and Japan. She is currently editing a book on edu-
cational policies and practices of English-speaking refugee resettlement
countries.
Amber Murrey is a political geographer specialising in decolonial poli-
tics, environmental justice, Pan-African thought, resistance studies, and
social change. She is the editor of ‘A Certain Amount of Madness’: The
Life, Politics and Legacy of Thomas Sankara (2018). Amber teaches in the
Department of Sociology at The American University in Cairo, Egypt.
Mutiat Titilope Oladejo is a Lecturer in the Department of History,
University of Ibadan, Nigeria. She is a Postdoctoral fellow of the
American Council of Learned Societies African Humanities Program
(ACLS-AHP). She teaches American and Japanese History and her
research interests are in women and gender studies, education and
development studies.
Ester Botta Somparé is an Italian anthropologist who has been living
and working in Guinea for ten years. She is a lecturer and researcher at
the University Kofi Annan de Guinée, where she directs the Master of
Social Science and Development. After discussing a Ph.D. thesis at the
EHESS of Paris on school and family education in a Fulani Guinean
society, she is currently dealing with research related to the sociology
and anthropology of education in Guinea.
xviii
Vanessa van den Boogaard is a Ph.D. candidate in Political Science

at the University of Toronto, Canada. Her research interests include
the political economy of development, taxation, informal institutions,
and state and nation building. She has led qualitative, mixed methods,
and experimental research projects in Sierra Leone, the Democratic
Republic of the Congo, Ghana and Somalia.
Mara Vitale is a Ph.D. at EHESS (Paris) and researcher at ULB-
Cooperations (Brussels). Her research focuses on Sufi Islam in Burkina
Faso with special attention to the development of the Tijaniyya broth-
erhood, as well as the different expressions of the charismatic power of
Muslim leader in this country.
Joanna Woods is a Lecturer in the English Department at Chancellor
College, University of Malawi. Her main research interests are
in Malawian contemporary literature, taking an interdisciplinary
approach. Joanna is currently working to engage the space between the-
ory and praxis in Malawi.
Abbreviations
ABW Advocacy By Writing

CBO Community-Based Organisation
CNN Cable News Network
EEA Emic Evaluation Approach
FOMWAN Federal of Muslim Women’s Associations in Nigeria
GAD Gender and Development
HDI Human Development Index
HSN Historical Society of Nigeria
IDP Internally Displaced People
ISH Ibadan School of History
KBTH Korle Bu Teaching Hospital
LRA Lord’s Resistance Army
MBA Master of Business Administration
MDG Millennium Development Goal
NCW National Commission for Women
NGO Non-government organisation
OECD Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development
PWD Public Works Department
RA Research Assistant
UN United Nations
UNDP United Nations Development Programme
xix
xx
Abbreviations
UNESCO United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural

Organization
WAD Women and Development
WHO World Health Organization
WID Women in Development
WORDOC Women’s Research and Documentation Centre
ZNLWVA Zimbabwe National Liberation War Veterans Association
1
Women Researching in Africa:
The Impact of Gender
Ruth Jackson and Max Kelly
Introduction
Researching ‘gender’ through a wide variety of disciplinary lenses
is ubiquitous. Equally, there are vast numbers of books on research
methodology, many of which engage with the positionality of the
author/researcher ‘in Africa’ or elsewhere. Yet, there are still few
opportunities in academic writing for ‘critical self-reflection on one’s
biases, theoretical predispositions, preferences…and of the inquirer’s
place in the setting, context, or social phenomenon ’ (Schwandt 1997 in
Kleinsasser 2000, p. 155, emphasis added). By asking the women in
this volume who have all conducted research in Africa to reflect about
how their gender impacted on their research experiences or on how
R. Jackson (*) · M. Kelly 
Deakin University, Geelong, VIC, Australia
e-mail: r.jackson@deakin.edu.au
M. Kelly
e-mail: max.kelly@deakin.edu.au
© The Author(s) 2019 1
R. Jackson and M. Kelly (eds.), Women Researching in Africa,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-94502-6_1
2
R. Jackson and M. Kelly
their research impacted on them as a woman, we have deliberately

provided them an opportunity to create a new text making ‘new con-
nections between the personal and the theoretical’ (p. 157). In doing
so, many of the contributors have produced new and often unex-
pected findings outside their disciplinary boundaries. Each author was
asked to consider their place or position as a woman in the research
process, and to write a subjective interpretation of their experiences;
we hope their stories challenge and inform other researchers in Africa
(both women and men) to consider how their gendered experiences
are part of the research process.
This book is not a ‘how to do research manual.’ There are a vari-
ety of these, which will complement this title, in that they provide
grounding in research methods and fieldwork. Examples include Doing
Development Research (Desai and Potter 2006) which aims to provide a
user-friendly introduction to the process of development research from
the conceptualisation of the work to its write-up and dissemination
and Doing Fieldwork: Ethnographic Methods for Research in Developing
Countries and Beyond (Fife 2005), to feminist research examples such
as Feminist Methods in Social Research (Reinharz and Davidman 1992),
Doing Feminist Research (Roberts 1981), or The Women, Gender and
Development Reader which provides a critical gender-perspective for
students and practitioners ‘in order to represent the lives of women of
many different regions’ (Visvanathan et al. 2011, p. xii). For anyone
planning research in Africa, Emotional and Ethical Challenges for Field
Research in Africa; The Story Behind the Findings (Ansoms et al. 2012)
is a good introduction to ‘ethical challenges and emotional pitfalls’ that
you, the researcher, could be ‘confronted with before, during and after
the field experience’ (Thomson et al. 2012, p. 1).
Doing Development Research (Desai and Potter 2006) is a useful
book for first-time researchers, as it provides a starting point on plan-
ning and logistical issues, collecting data and writing research reports.
Intended for those wanting to do research in developing countries, only
one chapter ‘Women, Men and Fieldwork: Gender Relations and Power
Structures’ (Momsen 2006), focuses on building gender issues into
the project design. Suggesting techniques such as separate discus-
sions with men and women and creating a gendered seasonal calendar,
1 Women Researching in Africa: The Impact of Gender
3
Momsen mentions that it may take time for the researcher to realise
that they inhabit a particular space in the local community depending
on whether they are male or female, and that power relations between
the researcher and the researched should be analysed in terms of their
identity, power and access to information. In the same volume, one
other reference refers to gender noting that:
Gender also plays a part in interviews within the domestic realm. Male
researchers should be wary of trying to arrange interviews with women
at home as this may be frowned upon and could have unwanted reper-
cussions on the researcher and/or the female interviewee. (Willis 2006,
pp. 148–149)
In conceptualising research, Fife (2005) notes the importance of

challenging idealistic notions of objectivity by explaining that it can
become another word for ‘decontextualization and a lack of transpar-
ency about the purpose of one’s research—a position that is unaccept-
able for ethically informed ethnographic research’ (Fife 2005, p. 51).
As there is no ‘neutral writing’, the concept of ‘objectivity and objective
writing styles’ is more about ‘a theoretical position’, so the researcher
should ask themselves: ‘what kind of a social world do I want to con-
struct for my reader and how much reflexivity do I want in that world?
Reflexivity, in this sense, refers to both the personal and professional
position of the researcher him or herself and the effects that this posi-
tioning may have had on the scholarly research and resulting writing
product’ (Fife 2005, p. 149). The need to challenge prior conceptual-
isations of research forms the basis for this volume, where the notion
of an objective, neutral and essentially male, or at best sexless invisible
being is no longer accepted.
Feminist Methods in Social Research

As critics of the way social science research was done in the past,
early feminist researchers called for a different approach to research
methods and methodology by taking the position of the researcher
4
into account (Oakley 1981), and by attempting to define the femi-

nist perspective not as a research method, but a way of doing research
that thinks about the relationship between the researcher and those
being researched with the goal of creating social change (Reinharz
and Davidman 1992). Others question whether giving those who
previously did not have a voice actually brings about social change.
Discussions about reflexivity are central to feminist methodology, so
they should not just focus on individual researchers and subjects, nor
on imposing feminist interpretative frameworks as this can create a
‘dilemma when feminist political commitments clash with our sub-
jects’ worldviews, forcing us to reconcile our perspectives with those
of respondents who do not share our understanding and valuation of
rights, opportunities, liberation and constraints, but whose views we
have a responsibility to interpret and represent accurately and fairly’
(Avishai et al. 2013, p. 395). Although this volume is not only con-
cerned with feminist research, the relationship of feminist research
and feminist principles to life more generally form a solid backdrop to
the contributions.
Research in Africa
Our stories about the day-to-day process of ‘doing research’ in Africa
do not necessarily have a linear beginning, middle and end: storytelling
about research is a way of showing how we participate in and are ‘inter-
dependent with material conditions of a living life-world’ (Jorgensen
et al. 2013, p. 49). However, as editors, our request was that the authors
think about Africa and their experiences of doing research—in the
same way that would apply to any other place—knowing that the word
‘Africa’ conjures up clichés, preconceptions, attitudes and ideas that we
want to challenge. And although the practice of collecting narratives as
‘important forms of action and representation’ has become a central fea-
ture of qualitative research, we concur that these narratives should ‘focus
on the social and cultural context’ and be ‘analytic, not celebratory’
(Atkinson and Delamont 2007, p. 196).
5
In an earlier version of her paper for this volume and elsewhere,

Mutiat Oladejo (2014), describes how scholarly writing about African
history has been problematised in many ways—much of it as a response
to challenge the colonial and European perceptions of Africa. For
example, Hugh Trevor-Roper, Oxford University Professor of Modern
History, gave a series of lectures in October 1963 where he presented
Africa as a place that had no history to teach—it was only the history of
Europeans in Africa—the rest is largely darkness—and darkness is not a
subject for history:
[Trevor-Roper] was sure that there was such a thing as ‘civilization’, the
opposite of barbarism, and that its strengths and weaknesses, its move-
ments forwards or backwards, were the historian’s proper subject…
[African history] is worth studying, for the inclusion of African history
in syllabuses of the early 1960s, there was no historical light to be drawn
from studies of ‘the unrewarding gyrations of barbarous tribes […] whose
chief function in history’ – like the function of Afro-Asian or of Anglo-
Saxon history to writers of the Enlightenment – ‘is to show the present
an image of the past from which, by its history, it has escaped’…‘Serene’
historians and happy thinkers in the happy years before 1914 [ ] could
look back on the continuous progress, since the seventeenth century, of
“reason”, toleration, and humanity, and see the constant improvement
of society as the effect of the constant progress of liberal ideas’. (Worden
2015, p. 25)
Hountondji (2009, p. 121) also argues that the long intellection tra-
dition of studying Africa is part of an overall project of knowledge accu-
mulation initiated and controlled by the West. So, if studying Africa
is an objective rather than a subjective, then African anthropology, for
example, means the anthropology or sociology of Africa, that is, an
anthropological or sociological discourse on Africa, and not an anthro-
pological or sociological tradition developed by Africans in Africa.
Further, even if we publish in Africa, academic journals are more likely
to be read ‘outside Africa than in Africa’ … ‘in this sense our scientific
activity is extraverted, i.e. externally oriented, intended to meet the
6
theoretical needs of our Western counterparts and answer the questions

they pose’ (Hountondji 2009, p. 128, emphasis in original).
There is, of course, a great deal of research about research in
Africa. For example, in the field of medical research (Egharevba
and Atkinson 2016; Geissler and Molyneux 2011; Graboyes 2015),
Africa is described as a laboratory for research and scientific knowl-
edge about African agriculture, health and societies (Tilley 2011).
National and international research funding in Africa generally
focuses on ‘policy relevant’ research and ‘solving practical problems
that exacerbate human suffering and, especially, poverty’ so much
so that the research is donor-driven, often resulting in quick ‘in and
out’ studies that ‘privilege quantitative data collection methods’ with
very little research on issues such as ‘gender itself ’ (Ntata and Biruk
2015, p. 12).
The challenges of doing research about gender, feminism, and wom-
en’s studies in Africa (Bennett and Pereira 2013; Mama 2007, 2011;
Cornwall et al. 2007) for some mean questioning the ‘well circulated
notions of “powerless African women” or “vulnerable women living
in the shackles of patriarchal societies”, and arguing for better ways
to study the mundane and ‘how gender is lived every day’ (Ntata and
Biruk 2015, p. 9). Clearly, ‘gender’ and other words such as ‘empower-
ment’ and ‘feminism’ need to be considered.
The title of this book, Women Researching in Africa: The impact of
gender, speaks to a gendered study on research in Africa as the prac-
tical issues and opportunities, risks, rewards and access for women as
researchers can be different from that for men—sometimes only enough
for us to think about and plan our research accordingly—and other
times as a methodological consideration for researching, addressing
and overcoming gender-sensitive issues. The resulting volume speaks
to notions of representation, engagement, respect, identity and a com-
mitment to explore multifaceted aspects of the gender of the researcher.
Our aim is to contribute to a contemporary discourse on researching in
the African context, both reflexively and also as a contribution to future
research by women in Africa.
7
The three broad themes we grouped the chapters in this book are
(1) gender and identity as a female researcher in Africa; (2) relationships
with ‘others,’ and (3) methodological challenges for female researchers
in Africa. Of course, not all the chapters fit neatly into each theme but
as we reflect on our often contradictory experiences in a predominantly
male-dominated world in Africa, this book has enabled us to look at
ourselves rather than overlooking ‘elements of the research process that
can sully our findings or cause problems in the field’ (McBrien, this
volume).
Gender and Identity as a Female Researcher

in Africa
By considering our gender as researchers, we acknowledge that the out-
comes of our research may have been influenced or even sharpened our
focus on gender issues throughout the research process. Gender may not
have been an underlying theme of our research, but by being reflexive
about the process, we can re-explore our research experiences and re-
examine things we may have overlooked at the time. Through this pro-
cess of reflection, we are re-creating our identities as researchers, and we
hope, encouraging other researchers to reflect on how the ways in which
their life experiences influence their research, and how their research
influences their life experiences.
In Chapter 2, Rama Salla Dieng returned ‘home’ to do research only
to find that it was easier to establish rapport with local women because
she was a married woman and a mother who supposedly shared com-
mon womanly interests related to child-rearing, cooking and household
chores, rather being a ‘foreign’ researcher. As mothers have a special
place in Senegalese society, Dieng found that women are not expected
to question power relations, state and company land deals, let alone the
gender of power.
Joanna Woods explores the relationship between female identity
and experience in the field in Malawi in Chapter 3. Her chapter draws
attention to the use of different research approaches and aspects of the
8
researcher’s female identity that enables access to various spaces of inter-

action. As well as looking at the ways in which identity constructs the
experience of research, Woods explores the implications of the experi-
ence on her female identity that took her outside her comfort zone as
self, female and researcher. She argues that she could ‘navigate between
female and male spaces depending on the facet of my identity that was
being highlighted at the given time, often by those perceiving me. Be it
my femininity, my ethnicity, my age, identity proved itself to be effec-
tively multifaceted, and in the field it became obvious that such dynam-
ics were fluid.’
Deborah Atobrah (Chapter 4) takes this insight a step further by
researching gender perspectives in ‘neutral’ disciplines such as health,
and even more so by focusing on gender and health in African soci-
eties. In Ghana, the ideal woman is not only a loving and faithful
wife and mother, morally upright and responsible for all the domestic
work in the home, she must also be subservient, patient and compas-
sionate. So what considerations does the feminist researcher make as
to choosing between performing or condoning normative gender ide-
als or pursuing her feminist morals in the conduct of her work? While
reflexivity implies an appraisal and reckoning of the various strands of
the researcher’s identity and how those strands possibly influence the
research, Atobrah argues that it ought to be reinforced by positional-
ity, which guides the ethnographer to mitigate and reduce the effects
of her persona and biases on the research process and outcomes. Her
patient-centred ethnography required her to uphold a blend of criti-
cal resources including care, emotions, time, friendship, patience,
attention and altruism—qualities which resonate with femininity
expectations, and to respect normative gender cultures and household
structures and act within these frameworks: ‘I was also to empathise
and show consideration for my participants, making their welfare my
utmost goal. I was not to act in any way that would generate house-
hold conflict or dissatisfaction in them.’ As her research participants
began to talk to her about their intimate lives, their worries, fears, frus-
trations and hope, Atobrah became close to them ‘like a sister,’ thus
turning ‘the ethnographer into a critical instrument in the research pro-
cess and outcome.’
9
For Lioba Hirsch in Chapter 5, being a black African woman from

Togo but conducting research in Zambia, did not guarantee her access
as a researcher, as she had no family to protect her reputation or whose
name would grant her access, nor did she know the local language.
Shortly after arriving, she was sharing lunch with a group of older
women one of whom turned to her and addressed her in Tonga, but
Hirsch politely, yet self-consciously responded in English that she could
not speak Tonga. Finding herself dismissed with ‘When in Rome, do
as the Romans…,’ this oft-repeated statement led Hirsch to reflect on
the gender and age dynamics at play as she was scolded for not per-
forming adequately: ‘At stake here was not only language, but ingrained
knowledge of home and tradition. In many societies, it is the woman
who safeguards and transmits knowledge and norms. Not only did I not
speak the local language, I proved unable to transmit it to future genera-
tions while at the same time displaying that it had not been transmitted
to me.’
In Chapter 6, Lyons reflects on the dilemmas of feminist fieldwork
in Africa by grappling with the identity politics of ‘who can speak for
whom’; of being a white, Western, middle-class, educated, female
researcher examining women’s issues in Africa. She argues that it is
essential to listen to the voices of women enabling them to be heard
within history, thus questioning if any ‘woman’ researching in/on Africa
has ‘the emancipatory potential to challenge the dominant colonial and
postcolonial discourses that have determined historical texts.’
Relationships with ‘Others’
By asking the authors in this volume to demonstrate research reflexiv-
ity, we asked them to critically reflect on their personal experiences as
female researchers conducting research in Africa. We wanted reflec-
tions on their biases, predispositions and preferences; and acknowl-
edgement of their place in the research setting or context as a way to
critically examine their research process to provide ‘deeper, richer mean-
ings about personal, theoretical, ethical and epistemological aspects of
the research question’ (Kleinsasser 2000, p. 155). Thinking about our
10
relationships, how we position ourselves, and how we begin to under-

stand others remains a constant question of ‘self and other: how do we
know what we know, how do we assume to speak for others, and who
is the audience being addressed?’ (Armstrong 2008). The researcher can
produce a reflexive account of the social world by invoking and criti-
cising dominant representations of culture (e.g. Keesing and Strathern
1998; Kleinman 1995; Tsing 1993), or gender, power and place (e.g.
Bell et al. 2013; Bennett and Pereira 2013; Chant 2010). For those of
us from outside Africa, we look for ways to translate analytical concepts
based on our own understandings, to compare them with our own cul-
ture and to make well-founded inferences about our conclusions: there
is no real solution to avoiding bias, as all we can do is to concentrate on
what people say and ‘to be as representative as possible in acknowledg-
ing their voices’ (Jackson 2010, p. 81).
Max Kelly’s contribution in Chapter 7 explores the intersection
of culture, gender, identity and positionality from doing research as a
white woman in Malawi. She critically examines the notion of posi-
tionality in relation to academic research and takes the notion of sub-
jectivity which is embedded in debates on qualitative research and the
complex interrelationships between the researcher and the researched.
Kelly’s research experiences in Malawi on food production, sustainabil-
ity and agricultural and rural development are used as the backdrop to
explore the theoretical and practical implications of the gendered iden-
tity of the researcher.
As female anthropologists conducting research in West Africa, Ester
Botta Somparé and Mara Vitale have brought their research experiences
together in Chapter 8. Somparé worked on education in Guinean pas-
toral society and Vitale researched religious authorities in Burkina Faso.
Both found that being women strongly influenced their field research
and methodological choices. Although they expected their gender to
be a disadvantage at first, it turned out to be an opportunity, as they
shaped relationships with the people they met and their research par-
ticipants. Their research subjects, experiences and methodological
choices are very different but they both experienced a strong mistrust
and lack of comprehension of their purposes as women and as Western
anthropologists at the beginning of their fieldwork. As they argue, their
11
progressive participation in the daily life of African women challenged

their Western identity and exposed them to an increasing demand of
further integration or that they conform to existing social and religious
norms. Both resisted this ‘cultural’ pressure by trying to present them-
selves and their research as sincerely and authentically as possible.
Drawing from emerging scholarship in feminist political geogra-
phy, Amber Murrey draws from her experiences working, teaching
and researching in Cameroon, Ethiopia and Egypt in Chapter 9. She
argues that the concept of ‘women researching in Africa’ itself needs
to be deconstructed through three interconnected arguments: first, the
experiences of ‘women researching in Africa’ contains a possible dual-
ism with an implicit separation between Africa as a place where research
takes place and other places where processes of knowledge creation,
circulation and home-making occur; second, by exposing the frictions
in this couched implication and examining the need for scholars to do
more than (‘merely’) research in Africa; and thirdly, by arguing for more
attention to the functions of race in research on Africa as part of a larger
project of women doing research differently.
Having spent over 15 years travelling to South Africa, Ghana,
Mozambique and Uganda, Jody McBrien considers notions of priv-
ilege, mindful research and ethics as a North American white female
researcher in Chapter 10. As she explains, the ‘tool’ of qualitative
research is unique every time as is the researcher herself. Training to
reduce the role of personal background and bias cannot ignore the fact
that one’s personality and interactions with others plays a part in par-
ticipants’ behaviours and responses, thus affecting the results. Ethics
and trust are crucial when working within communities that have
experienced war. In her chapter, McBrien reflects on her work with
the Lira community in Uganda by asking: What are the challenges for
a privileged White woman conducting research in a war-torn African
community? What are some of the obstacles dealing with Western
research review boards within a Ugandan post-war cultural con-
text? Is researcher distance appropriate in this research? Can closeness
be ethical? In what ways? How is gender a factor? In answering these
questions, she reflects how the women she has met have become co-
researchers and friends.
12
Methodological Challenges for Female

Researchers in Africa
Why did we only want stories by women? At a time when the gender of
the researcher should not matter, our experience, however, is that it still
does, even though our working conditions and institutional or organisa-
tional commitments leave us little time or ‘direction in terms of how to
actually think through the meaning of ‘doing research’ in our contexts’
(Bennett 2008, p. 4) (Box 1).
Box 1 Does gender matter?

Rea Tschopp (DMV, Ph.D., Research group leader, One-Health East Africa
Group and Swiss TPHI), works with humans, domestic animals or wild-
life, with rural farmers, academics or other professionals, but she is the
only woman in Ethiopia who handles wildlife and particularly large and
‘dangerous’ wildlife such as elephants and lions particularly if the work
involves darting, guns and physical work. Over the past 15 years, she has
dealt with doubting looks, shrugs, smirks, lack of trust and misogynistic
comments by male colleagues and researchers. Only when the work is
done, do the barriers crumble a little and will people trust her because she
goes through the same tough times as the rest of the team (e.g. walking
days in the field, running, climbing trees, crossing rivers, transporting lions
over long distances, being charged by elephants and so on). After this, the
working relationships change for the better and invaluable friendships
and bonding comes from these experiences. However, Tschopp has found
that the academic and professional world, on the other hand, was and is
often less kind. It is a competitive world for everybody where the ‘gender
factor’ is a constant companion to her career path and to that of female
Ethiopian colleagues. Women are interrupted, ignored, their opinions and
ideas diminished or dismissed while the very same ideas recycled by a male
colleague find their ways to the audience with cheers and bravos. It has
been something to learn to live with, and find ways to channel in a posi-
tive way.
Whatever the method used to collect data, the contributors to

this volume have been through various processes to identify a topic,
find background information, design a research project and develop
research questions, gain ethics approval, collect and analyse data, and
13
to interpret and report their findings. As all researchers are faced with
methodological challenges, our focus here has mainly been on reflexiv-
ity about our gender as researchers. This led many of us to consider the
impact of their research on themselves and their research participants,
and how these interactions shaped their data collection and interpreta-
tions. Many of the authors were surprised when they went to the field
that some of their ethical and methodological challenges came about
because of their gender (Box 2). For some, it leads to them asking new
research questions and generating better data and analyses.
Box 2 Dealing with intimate relationships in the field

Sayuri Yoshida (Associate Professor, Nanzan University) is a cultural
anthropologist who researches the Manjo, one of the socially discrimi-
nated minority groups in Ethiopia. For Yoshida, anthropologists who try to
leave behind their own culture and become ‘one of the locals,’ there are
plenty of primers on how to do fieldwork, but far less information about
how to deal with failure, conflict, stress, and other troubles that may
arise. In particular, there are no ‘instructions’ about how to avoid ‘trou-
ble’ with the opposite sex, especially if a (male) research assistant becomes
part manager and bodyguard. Yoshida always stays with a host fam-
ily when she is doing research. If these people are around her age, they
can become host brothers and sisters, can share their culture and way of
life, protect her from trouble and become close friends to quarrel over a
joke, laugh at each other, and so on. Yoshida has heard countless rumours
about her relationship with male assistants and has even countered gossip
from one of their wives. So there is always tension between getting close
to people as a natural part of doing research and being expected to ‘keep
an objective point of view.’ She argues that if researchers become too inti-
mate or even involved in romantic affairs while conducting research, it
might lead to a loss of objectivity or even give the impression of someone
‘who allows him/herself to be led by their emotions with humaneness.’
But where and how does the researcher find samples (or people) to
interview as ‘you cannot study everyone everywhere doing everything’
(Miles and Huberman 1994, p. 27; see also Liamputtong and Ezzy
2005). Is ‘the field’ simply ‘out there?’ and ‘what does it mean to enter
the field’ (Chughtai and Myers 2017, p. 797) to begin a research pro-
ject? Much of the literature focuses on the role of gatekeepers and
14
meeting potential informants. Peticca-Harris et al. (2016, p. 379)

describe this process as being ‘fraught with difficulty and uncertainty’
much like a ‘dynamic game of hopscotch that requires flexibility and
balance.’ Clearly, gaining access to the field—wherever the field is—is a
prerequisite before data collection can begin, and gaining access requires
much more than administrative processes as
access to a field site is not the same as gaining entrance into the field.
Whereas ‘access’ involves gaining permission to conduct research in a par-
ticular field setting, entrance is a rather engaged practice of what you see
(and how you are seen) and what you do (and are asked or allowed to do)
when you arrive there after gaining access. (Chughtai and Myers 2017,
p. 811, emphasis in original)
Carole Ammann found gaining access to interview women a major

challenge. Conducting research in Kankan, Guinea, she found that
being a female researcher did not automatically give her accessibility to
the women she wanted to interview so she adapted her methodological
approach by spending much of her time sitting with women at the mar-
ket and observing what went on (Chapter 11). Further, by living in a
woman-headed household, she gained valuable insights by taking part
in the family routines. She extended this approach by regularly visit-
ing female informants at home and sitting with them while they were
cooking or doing other household tasks and going to cafés, markets,
hairdressing salons and attending social events such as baptism or mar-
riages which are important sphere for women’s encounters. So, rather
than conducting interviews and group discussions, she focused on infor-
mal conversations and naturally occurring talk. No doubt, Ammann’s
research would have been quite different if she was male. Her encounter
with a male low-level state employee illustrates an occasion when she
became aware of her gender. Discussing issues such as politics irritated
him to the point where he wanted to teach her a lesson on ‘proper’ local
gender norms. Arguing that flexibility and adaptation are key for eth-
nographic research, Amman pleads for more contributions in which all
researchers reflect on how their gendered presence impacts on their data
collection or their research more generally.
15
In Chapter 12, Ruth Jackson explains how she returned to Ethiopia

after a long absence to conduct research about maternal health and how
the goal of reducing maternal mortality fits into Ethiopia’s develop-
ment agenda. Although her qualitative research involved ethnography
using semi-structured interviews and participant observation, much of
her time was spent walking to interviews and to visit women in their
homes. Trying to make sense of what it meant for women to go to rural
health facilities to give birth when they normally gave birth at home,
she reflects on how walking was taken for granted to be the main form
of moving from one place to another and that it is the ‘walking woman’
who creates a link between everyday activities and social interaction in
rural and semi-urban Kafa Zone. These reflections enabled her to find
a new awareness about herself and how walking can change or emanci-
pate a person from space and time.
Vanessa van den Boogaard (Chapter 13) argues that her research
experiences in Ghana and Sierra Leone forced her to consider the
implications of position and power dynamics as they are insufficiently
addressed in current methodological literature. She considered the
implications of staying passive as the dynamics between researcher and
research participant reinforces inequality and a gender hierarchy. Can
research participants give informed consent if they are powerless because
of their position and/or gender identity?
Why (Else) Should We Care About Gender

in Africa?
Although a discussion on gender equality and the empowerment of
women in Africa is not the purpose of this book, it is a standalone
Sustainable Development Goal following on from Millennium
Development Goals (MDGs). As the World Development Report 2012:
Gender Equality and Development (World Bank 2012) and other doc-
uments such as Africa Human Development Report 2016: Accelerating
Gender Equality and Women’s Empowerment in Africa (United Nations
Development Programme (UNDP) 2016; see also World Bank 2014),
argue, ‘gender equality is a core development objective in its own
16
right’ (World Bank 2012, p. xiii). The links between gender equal-
ity and development—increases in gender attainment in OECD
countries account for about 50% of economic growth (Organisation
for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) 2015), espe-
cially in economic growth, higher incomes and improved service
delivery—‘both essential elements of broad-based economic develop-
ment—contribute to greater gender equality’ (World Bank 2012, p.
46). For example, improvements in women’s health status, adding a dec-
ade to life expectancy and declining fertility rates have helped to reduce
the burdens associated with childbirth and childrearing (Grown et al.
2005).
MDG 3’s focus on gender equality and women’s empowerment—
measured by closing the gap in education; increasing women’s access to
wage employment in the non-agricultural sector; and, political partici-
pation by women—had mixed results in sub-Saharan Africa. The target
to eliminate gender disparity in primary and secondary education was
not achieved in any sub-Saharan Africa country (OECD Development
Centre 2016), even though the investment in education, especially
for girls, is recognised as one of the most effective ways of promot-
ing economic growth and sustainable development (United Nations
Development Programme (UNDP) 2016).
Girls in Africa are less likely to attend school than boys (UNESCO
Institute for Statistics (UIS) and UNICEF 2015; UNDP 2015, 2016).
And despite the major expansion of higher education over the past 20
years, women’s access to and their performance in higher education
remain deeply inequitable as African universities tend to be overwhelm-
ingly male-dominated gendered organisations or spaces often reproduc-
ing or reconstructing the same gendered social and cultural processes
as in the broader society (Dunne 2007; Forum of African Women
Educationists (FAWE) 2015; Johnson 2014; Mama 2011; Morley 2010;
Skjortnes and Zachariassen 2010). Of course, diversity across Africa
‘has a significant influence on gender stereotyping, socialisation, family
and work relationships, and the status of women in different countries’
(Nkomo and Ngambi 2009, p. 60), but female academics are less likely
to influence decision making in higher education and are less likely to
have official or unofficial networks of support.
17
Even as more women enter the paid workforce and as female work-
place participation is seen as an economic good, income losses due to
gender gaps in the labour market are substantial in sub-Saharan Africa
(Grépin and Klugman 2013; OECD Development Centre 2016;
UNDP 2016; World Bank 2012). Women’s employment opportunities
have tended to be in informal sectors where they are more likely to be in
poorly paid roles: women’s ability to take up paid employment is often
constrained by their ‘reproductive’ roles, that is, the expectation that
even if in paid work, women still continue to bear responsibility for the
domestic and caring tasks of house and family (Chant 2009).
As researchers, even if we are not overly concerned about research-
ing the domestic and caring tasks of house and family, the women we
meet, interview and observe may be expected to shoulder an increased
burden of paid work, while men’s workload is reduced or unchanged.
For some women—and indeed, some of the contributors to this vol-
ume—it has been a challenge to step outside the norms of a society that
privileges boys and promotes the virtue of females who stay at home.
For African women who do step outside the norms, there are significant
economic and workplace disparities that continue to be the norm rather
than the exception, and female academics are more likely to juggle fam-
ily responsibilities than their male colleagues.
Empowerment is a highly contested term (Chant 2008), especially
when interventions are measured by increasing economic opportunities,
labour force participation, closing the gap in education and political par-
ticipation by women. Many of the authors in this volume write about
large gender gaps and the ‘continuing problem of gender inequality fac-
ing the women and girls of the Africa region’ (UNDP 2016, p. 12). For
example, Somparé and Vitale’s chapter in this volume focuses on socie-
ties characterised by a strong and highly visible separation between the
sexes. Somparé focused on the social inferiority of women, their inter-
nalised mechanisms of submission and their difficult path to education
she felt compelled to express the needs and desires of unheeded social
actors, excluded from public expression. Vitale took a different path
highlighting the prominence, creativity and even the power of some of
the women she met, thus contributing to debunk some widely shared
opinions about women’s submission and irrelevance in Africa.
18
As a historian, Mutiat Titilope Oladejo (Chapter 14) has spent a

lot of time thinking about African women and how women challenge
patriarchy and its constraints. Her chapter describes her experiences as
the only female history student at the University of Ibadan. Oladejo
argues that the task of a female historian writing women into history
in Africa is to provide alternatives to masculine-centred writings that
dominated the knowledge repositories. She deliberately asks ques-
tions such as: What constitutes women’s power? When do women
really exercise their power? Being a female historian looking at African
market women and her growing interest in women’s studies beyond
the confines of historical research, led her to undertake a Professional
Masters of Business Administration. Expanding her understanding
of women’s development, Oladejo argues that writing for women’s
empowerment has expanded her research on the historiography of
women.
Vanessa van den Boogaard’s research in Ghana and Sierra Leone did
not have an explicit gender component but her interviews with female
market traders and male government authorities reinforced ‘[t]he norms
of the situation of the research interview did not override or displace
those of a gender stratified society’ (Arendell 1997, p. 363). Travelling
and working alone in northern Ghana, van den Boogaard experienced
ingrained gendered power dynamics and beliefs regarding women’s
reproductive obligations, and the social desirability of children that all
contribute to ‘pervasive gendered inequities and norms regarding the
subordination of women’ that ‘give Ghanaian men disproportionately
more power than women’ (Crissman et al. 2012, p. 201). And Jackson’s
research about maternal health and reducing maternal mortality in
Ethiopia considers some of the links between maternal health and gen-
der. However, although not discussed in her chapter, her later research
discusses how the word ‘gender’ (read ‘women’)’ is ‘misunderstood in
Ethiopia with the result that plans, policies and programmes remain
deficient of any ground-breaking ‘gender’ (women’s) concerns’ (Biseswar
2008, p. 425). For example, issues affecting women such as maternal
health/maternal mortality are trapped in the Women in Development
(WID) approach as the government focuses on ‘women’s traditional
19
role as care providers and as health care seekers,’ and using ‘a culturally
acceptable approach to facilitate health services access through women
health providers to every household’ (Federal Democratic Republic
of Ethiopia Ministry of Health 2013, p. 27). Achievements such as
increasing women’s access to antenatal care and skilled delivery at birth
are lauded nationally and internationally, but when empowerment
is understood to be empowering women ‘to participate more fully in
Ethiopia’s development’ (Maes et al. 2015, p. 470), especially in terms
of reducing maternal and newborn mortality, this reinforces current
gender norms (Jackson et al. 2016; Jackson and Hailemariam 2016;
Jackson and Kilsby 2015).
Conclusion
The response to contributions to this book from women who have con-
ducted research in Africa—from Nigeria, Ethiopia, Cameroon, Ghana,
Guinea, Malawi, Uganda and other countries—was from women from
a range of disciplines who each brought their own story, reflections and
analysis to the key questions. We started with no assumptions of the
problems or research strategies of the contributors and yet we find there
are more similarities than differences in their experiences. As the authors
explore their lived experiences as women who have conducted research
in Africa, both African and others, we find that all of us were given new
opportunities that we would not have found elsewhere and that we all
had to deal with new challenges and experiences we would not have had
in other places. Of course, it is taken for granted that there will be new
challenges and experiences conducting fieldwork anywhere but here we
use the opportunities, challenges and experiences in doing research in
Africa as the ‘backdrop,’ as the authors were asked to weave stories and
reflections from their research by focusing firmly on being a woman
doing research in Africa. We hope these research stories and reflections
about our gendered experiences of doing research in Africa, challenges
other researchers in Africa (both women and men), to consider how
their gendered experiences are part of the research process.
20
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Part I
Gender and Identity as a Female
Researcher in Africa
2
‘Gone Native?’: Reflections of a
Feminist Tightrope Walker’s Research
on ‘Land Grabbing’ and the Dilemmas
of ‘Fieldworking’ While Parenting
Rama Salla Dieng
Introduction: Setting the Scene and Context

This chapter is a retrospective account of the great adventure of
PhDoing while Parenting which started after the researcher’s Masters to
Ph.D. upgrade for doctoral research on the Contemporary Land Rush
and Contradictions of Agrarian Change in Senegal. My research pro-
ject belongs to the much fluid, borderless and cross-disciplinary disci-
pline of International Development. Despite being affiliated to both
the departments of Development Studies and Economics, I was mostly
associated with the first, a discipline that emerged in the post-war era of
decolonisation. Though influenced by a myriad of other social sciences,
Development Studies, originally a discourse from the West, is inter-
ested in studying how to bring about social change through combining
long-term strategies with short-term interventions. And Development,
R. S. Dieng (*) 
Department of Development Studies, SOAS,
University of London, London, UK
e-mail: rama_dieng@soas.ac.uk
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-94502-6_2
28
R. S. Dieng
engendered as a colonial enterprise from the West to the Rest, has

inherited a colonial legacy based on aspirations to modernity and pro-
gress, even though much is being done to ‘decolonise’ Development
Studies through transforming ‘how we know’ about ‘others,’ how we
disseminate what we know and how we also teach and train students
in International Development (Mohanty 1991; Aidoo 1992; Tuhiwai-
Smith 1999; Kothari 2005; Rutazibwa 2017; Cornwall 2017; Ndlovu-
Gatsheni 2014, 2017; Sarr 2016; Mbembe 2015).
Situated in this discipline, my research is also an enquiry about a
middle ground methodology that would be decolonial enough while
allowing me to unveil the gender of power. I was constantly navigat-
ing between the less political charge of ‘land rush’ to be able to get
access to the main research partners and respondents, and the more
engaged notion of ‘land grabbing’ defined by the International Land
Coalition (ILC) as a transaction that: (i) violates human rights, par-
ticularly the equal rights of women; (ii) is not based on free, prior and
informed consent of the affected land users; (iii) is not based on a thor-
ough assessment, or disregard for social, economic and environmen-
tal impacts, including the way they are gendered; (iv) is not based on
transparent contracts that specify clear and binding commitments about
activities, employment and benefit sharing; and (v) is not based on
effective democratic planning, independent oversight and meaningful
participation1 (ILC 2011). Therefore, I expected critical agrarian polit-
ical economy perspectives to allow me to examine the following critical
questions (Bernstein 2010, p. 22; White et al. 2012, p. 621):
Who owns what?

Who does what?
Who gets what?
What do they do with it? And
What do they do to one another?
I was also interested in the gender of power: most of the popu-

lation affected by these land deals are women and young popula-
tions (Tsikata 2009; Koopman and Faye 2012; Kachingwe 2012;
2 ‘Gone Native?’: Reflections of a Feminist Tightrope …
29
Mbilinyi 2017; Behrman et al. 2012; Tsikata and Yaro 2014; Doss
et al. 2014; Martiniello 2015; Hall et al. 2015; van den Broeck and
Maertens 2017).
Based on the existing literature, I chose to focus on three case studies:
1. A case concerning a small-sized farm involving European and African

capital to feature a case of North-South investment involving global
value and investment chains which had one operation site involving
six villages;
2. A case concerning a large-size/scale agricultural project involving
European capital and which had three different sites and involved
12 villages;
3. A case involving Asian capital to highlight South-South investment.
This project has one project under operation involving five villages
and another one that was aborted during the negotiations.
To me, this comparative logic holds the potential to uncover the

contrasts and contradictions of agrarian change in the context of the
land rush. Firstly, such an approach would allow me to have a holistic
grasp of the multidimensional drivers of the post-2008 land rush as
well as the differentiated and gendered outcomes of the selected land
deals after seven to ten years of their starting their operations, and
implications for agrarian change. This contrastive approach was key
to proving the irrelevance of the main binaries replete in the current
land grab literature: large vs small; foreign vs domestic; winners vs los-
ers, etc.; and unsegregated and gender-less categories such as ‘the peas-
ants’; ‘the local population’ ‘the investors’ (White et al. 2012; Moyo
et al. 2012; Allan et al. 2013; Oya 2013; Cotula 2013; Kaag and
Zoomers 2014; Edelman et al. 2015; Gilfoy 2015). Finally, the three
cases would provide me with a practical picture of the multiplicity
of actors/social groups linked to each project such as the state’s, reli-
gious and traditional leaders’ role in each scenario and the interactions
between them and with the ‘beneficiaries’ to appreciate the dynamics
at play.
30
R. S. Dieng
Situating Myself: Bringing My Research Persona

Front-Stage
Every research carries with it a politics. And every researcher whether
they practice reflexivity or not, self-awareness or not, is talking from
various locations and standpoints that do matter. Therefore, I disclose a
few things about myself first.
I am the second born Senegalese daughter of a polygynous Muslim father.

After my A-levels in Senegal,
I did all my higher education up to Masters degree in France, then
postgraduate degrees in the UK. Back in Senegal, my family nick name
is ‘tubaab ’ meaning a foreigner of white skin, because I have always
known what I wanted and stood for it, and very ironically such charac-
ters are wrongly related to ‘whiteness’ in my patriarchal and gerontoc-
ratic society.
I am a married feminist with a 16-month old toddler, born during my
first year of Ph.D. She, my husband and I live in the UK.
The use of Goffman’s metaphor in this article allows me to make

sense of fieldwork as dramaturgy. I acknowledge some criticism of The
Presentation of Self in Everyday Life as sexist, racist and elitist, but use
aspects of his dramaturgical analysis that are a rich contribution to
social sciences literature after considering some important review of this
work—and its author (West 1996; Deegan 2014). For Goffman, when
an individual is in face-to-face interaction with others, she is on a ‘social
stage that presents things that are make-believe; presumably life presents
things that are and sometimes not well rehearsed’ (1959, Preface). On the
one hand, this stage has a ‘front’ on which people’s performances hap-
pen and they try (sincerely or cynically) to present the self frontstage in
such a way as to control the impressions they have on other people for
the benefit of an audience or themselves. In the front, the ‘expressions’
that the fieldworker decides ‘to give’ and those she decides ‘to give off’
matter in creating the desired ‘impressions’ based on their situated iden-
tity, as well as ‘manner’ (how the fieldworker acts ), and ‘appearance’ (how
they appear with their ascribed identity, how they dress, etc.) Manner and
appearance are the ‘other items of expressive equipment, the items that
31
we most intimately identify with the performer himself and that we natu-
rally expect will follow the performer wherever he goes’ (Goffman 1959).
The same way the fieldworker is attempting to manage impressions
to be able to meet her research objectives, others engaged in the research
are also trying to identify ‘sign-vehicles’ that would provide them with
additional information on the fieldworker, notwithstanding her per-
formance. On the other hand, ‘backstage’ would be that second region
where the fieldworker is truly herself and is not playing a role or acting
as she is certain not to encounter audience intrusion there (the third
region is off-stage). The concept of team refers to performances that are
given by more than one performer in case of the presence of research
assistants, for instance (Goffman 1959). From a research methods per-
spective, this metaphor is relevant, as it highlights that if the fieldworker
truly wants to understand the subjects of her research, she needs to
bring them backstage through engaging in either total or partial immer-
sion, and/or participant observation to bring their true feelings and
nature to the front because backstage, there is no performance.
Re-positioning the Researcher vis-à-vis the

Researched: The Backstage of Building a
Non-exploitative and Decolonial Research
Methodology
As Amina Mama puts it, ‘When we are conducting research in our
local contexts, we are situated with epistemic advantages, as well as
challenges and demands’ (Mama 2011, p. 14). One of my main chal-
lenges was that I was returning to Senegal to undertake fieldwork. I
anticipated a few pros: I would benefit from some level of cultural dis-
guise that would increase my insider position as I spoke the main local
language, had some networks that would reveal to be helpful, and
was travelling with a baby. I reckoned retrospectively this would con-
tribute to make me appear less threatening, thus increasing respond-
ents’ feelings of safety and increasing my research freedom. From the
research design phase, I was aware of the ‘double consciousness’ and ‘the
32
R. S. Dieng
outsiders within me’ due to my multiple positionality as a Senegalese

studying the Senegalese society, yet being a feminist scholar living in the
UK, therefore inhabiting two seemingly incompatible worlds (Collins
2004; Zavella and Hsiung in Wolf 1996). Being a woman interviewing
mostly women, I could also possibly gain access to the male milieu in a
way ‘local’ women could not access, thanks to my researcher status and
thanks to being at times assigned a ‘functional’ or ‘honorary’ male role,
even though most previous studies point out to white women research-
ers acquiring such a status due to the authority and privilege conferred
through race, gender and Western culture (Golde 1970; Warren 1988).
This is also well illustrated by Crehan the only ‘first world’ contributor
in Panini (1991). She reported not having to face some issues indige-
nous women researchers faced while she was conducting research in
Zambia as she was assigned a ‘functional male’ role; however, she was
denied that role when conducting research in Britain amongst her own
people (Crehan in Panini 1991).
I was also aware of a few cons: ‘status inconsistency’ or ‘discrep-
ant roles’ (Goffman 1959): I look much younger than my age and
was travelling alone with a young child in a still very traditional and
patriarchal region, I was sometimes pressured to use the anthropolog-
ical technique of (partial) immersion to conform to some patriarchal
norms and dress codes, and had to gain entry through male intro-
duction. Being defined first and foremost as a daughter, a wife and
a mother, were not the main identity markers that define me in my
non-fieldwork feminist life in the UK. In addition, sharing a common
language, nationality, and sometimes ethnic background with the sub-
jects of my research was binding at times, even though class differences
sometimes prevailed as my subjects were mostly working poor women
and youth.
Having to navigate between my different roles and ethnographic
positionalities due to my age, gender, class, education, urban origin and
foreign base, I asked myself if I did ‘go native’ even before the begin-
ning of the research? Being an insider helped me to have a more bal-
anced approach to the social groups I was researching, yet I could not
help feeling very close to my research subjects. And it took me a long
time to realise that I was ‘fieldworking’ more than ‘returning home.’
33
I asked myself several times if I did go native even prior to the field-
work. Therefore, prior to travelling, I had tried to unlearn all that
seemed familiar in trying to be ‘scientific’ whilst once in the field,
I had to unlearn all the scientific and fancy theories I had read prior
to fieldwork, and stop the ‘mental making sense’, use of intellectual
vocabulary that was not part of the everyday reality of the researched.
This reminded me of my double-consciousness and the importance of
learning to immerse and being comfortable with the nagging feeling
of discomfort that reminded me that I was maybe as much an outsider
I was an insider. I was very conscious during my Ph.D. upgrade that
I might be viewed as an outsider because I am from an urban mid-
dle-class background not from the rural region that was going to be my
‘field.’ Additionally, being a young married female researcher educated
in European universities and a new mother would also affect my inter-
actions with my interviewees as land, in rural Senegal, was the business
of middle-aged or old ‘big men’ with patriarchal, traditional or religious
power. I was also very conscious of the difficulties associated with the
reaction of dominant classes to a research that focuses on their interac-
tion with ‘subordinate’ classes (Breman 1985; Wolf 1996). Nonetheless,
I was hoping I would be able to counter the possible consequences of
the above using my personal knowledge of the country, the fact I spoke
(and even wrote) the main language local language Wolof very well, but
also through using my networks and acquaintances to access the tar-
geted respondents in selected areas.
To address those growing concerns, I took the time to reflect on my
own standpoints, situatedness and practised reflexivity on my own posi-
tionality as these were critical vis-à-vis my fluid and multiple identities,
hence the impossibility of trying to apply ‘universal research methods’
(Franks 2002, p. 38). Partiality, therefore, and situated knowledges and
not universality shaped my positionality and locationality which was
relational and ever-changing (Wolf 1996, p. 14). This revealed to be
crucial, especially regarding the many choices I made throughout the
Ph.D. adventure.
Central to my reflection was how my standpoints and various loca-
tions shaped my positionality as a researcher vis-à-vis the researched.
First, being from the very country I was researching, the very concept
34
R. S. Dieng
of ‘fieldwork’ was a battlefield evoking empire and colonialism in my

reality of young female citizen of a former French Colony. Similar to
Ifi Amadiume’s (1997) perplexity about ‘having to explore an African
culture through a methodology and theory from Europe’, I could not
help but reckon the ‘dirtiness’ of research originating as Tuhiwai Smith
puts it: ‘This collective memory of imperialism has been perpetuated
through the ways in which knowledge about indigenous peoples was
collected, classified and then represented in various ways back to the
West, and then, through the eyes of the West, back to those who have
been colonized’ (Smith 1999, p. 1). Further illustrating the ‘dirtiness’
of research and its motives, Ndlovu-Gatsheni (2017) hyphenates it to
‘underscore the fact that ‘re-searching involves the activity of undress-
ing other people to see them naked…putting them under a magnifying
glass to peep into their private lives, secrets, taboos, thinking, and their
sacred worlds.’ Research was an even more discomforting enterprise
as ‘the others’ I had to re-search were so familiar. What then would
it mean for me to undertake research from privileged locations (in a
UK university), to be then written in a language other than my own
(English), and other than that of ‘the metropole’ (French)? How was I
going to invent a methodology that would allow us to speak the same
language, not one relating the knower to the to-be-known? How about
framing a non-exploitative research methodology that would allow me
approach these ‘others’ as other my-selves whilst also exposing myself
to their scrutiny. Was it just enough to acknowledge the degree of
ambivalence involved ‘when one writes from the perspective of one’s
own people, and when one has a responsibility toward the whole coun-
try’? This is a dilemma captured by Jok Madut Jok a South Sudanese
scholar, while he was researching war and slavery in his own country
(Jok 2001, Preface ix).
In addition, the personal has always been very political for me. My
interest in the topic of land grabbing is inspired by the experience of
my mother who lost her land in Senegal due to a large-scale infrastruc-
ture development project in 1996 and recovered it only 21 years after,
in 2017. Because of this personal history, I was not aiming for neutrality
or cold objectivity. Rather, I was aiming at using my and my mother’s
experiences as a strength rather than a liability and as the basis of my
35
feminist objectivity. This was the sum of our and my subjects’ view-
points influenced by our various locationalities and positionalities. This
is particularly crucial as land is a very political topic due to its ‘embed-
dedness’ in social, economic, political and cultural facets of everyday
human life to paraphrase Polanyi (2001). My research also seeks to
address a flaw by most research considering the main actors as gender-
less, a-sexual, atomised beings by using feminist and class analysis to
understand power dynamics.
Furthermore, I wanted to overcome the tension between ‘qual-
itative hardness’ and ‘rigorous softness’ while trying to get social rela-
tions right (Mayoux 2001; Harriss 2002). To do so, I privileged partial
immersion and participant observation, dialogue and reciprocity and
collected personally primary data, especially qualitative. Qualitative
methods included: life and oral histories, personal narratives and
focus group, semi-structured interviews, conversations, fieldwork dia-
ries, etc. Quantitative methods involved questionnaires administered
by a research assistant, to purposefully sampled respondents, quanti-
tative-based surveys to analyse intra- and inter-household dynamics
in the selected villages, and secondary data analysis. It must be noted
that I was initially against surveys as I thought they were anti-feminist
by seeking to categorise, objectify and quantify human beings instead
of the qualitative methods seen as more ‘relevant to the realities and
experiences of Africans’ (Adomako-Ampofo et al. 2008, p. 9). I under-
stood afterwards that it was relevant for a feminist to use a quantita-
tive method, and what mattered were the questions asked and how they
are asked (Frank 2002, p. 46). Yet, after several readings and conversa-
tions with my supervisor, I became convinced that it could be an asset
if mixed with the necessary amount of preliminary immersion/partic-
ipant observation, especially as the social universe was to be better
understood.
Finally, I was hoping that participant observation and immersion
would also transform my consciousness as a fieldworker through the pro-
cess of immersing myself in the world on my co-researchers’ then distanc-
ing myself both geographically than emotionally after my return in the
UK to start data analysis. Equally important, I vowed to try in as much
as possible to reflect all voices and in the end, to share the outcome of my
36
R. S. Dieng
research with all parties, even though I was very conscious of the critiques
towards ‘giving voice’ and ‘consciousness raising’ (Mies 1982, 1983;
Spivak 1988). I was expecting such ‘an integrated methodology would
help disseminate information in different ways for different audiences
to ensure, as far as possible, beneficial outcomes for the participants’
(Mayoux 2001, p. 123). I am also aware that such an approach is not,
and cannot be, a ‘co-production of knowledge’ by reckoning the power
dynamics at play (Abu-Lughod 1993; Behar 1993; Wolf 1996).
Negotiating Access: Pre-fieldwork Rehearsals

and Logistics for the Field Performance
My research is multi-site and multi-locational. It focuses on cases of
land acquisitions by three different companies in the region historically
known as the Waalo. Before the fieldwork itself, I reached out to the
first company in the weeks of my M.Phil. upgrade through the Embassy
of the country of origin of the investor who knew me well since I
obtained a scholarship from them. After weeks of email and Skype
conversations about the purposes of my research with the Senegalese
Assistant to the Company Director, I was able to meet with this key
contact and a political leader of the area where the company is located
as they were visiting the mother-company based in the UK. I went to
meet them with my husband, and I can appreciate retrospectively that
this made them perceive me as a ‘respectable woman,’ even though I
could sense the disapprobation of the political leader of my wearing a
dress that was not hiding my pregnancy. But he was quick to forget as
we handed them victuals we brought to break the fast with them (it was
Ramadan and my husband was fasting). They promised us we would
be welcome in the village and that we could stay with a self-contained
studio the company would gladly provide to support my research. I
politely refused after consulting my supervisor as I did not want to jeop-
ardise my chances of establishing rapport with the villagers and com-
pany workers. I was conscious where I lived, who I spent my free time
with, who spoke on my behalf, would possibly influence the data col-
lected. Hence, my characterising this process of trying to find balance
37
‘being a tightrope walker’ giving or giving off/‘veiling’ some facets of my

personality to construct my research persona.
After a six-month-maternity break, I resumed contacting the compa-
nies; the plan was that I would go to Senegal for my doctoral field from
April to July, return to London from mid-July to the end of September
so that my child and my husband could spend time together during the
academic holidays, and then finish my field research from October to
December of the following term. The prospect of this fieldwork made
me anxious as I was leaving for areas of rural Senegal I had never lived
myself before, let alone with a baby. But I did go.
In Dakar, the capital city, where both my and part of my husband’s
family lived, they celebrated the first meeting with my child. I was also
able to conduct a few interviews with some academics and government
officials. Then we travelled to Waalo for the ‘fieldwork’—without a car,
or a research assistant, somewhat mentally ready, for the scoping study
followed by the first three months of research. This first phase taught
me lessons for the three months of the second stage of the fieldwork for
which I was better prepared.
Getting On-Stage: Experiences

From My Three ‘Fields’
For the first two cases, my baby and I stayed in each village twice and
for the final case, I met the director of the Asian company on the last
week of my first stay and agreed to conduct fieldwork with them dur-
ing my second stay. Despite agreeing on the dates, the same director
stopped answering my calls and told me by email I was no longer wel-
come on their farms. I nonetheless decided to spend three weeks in the
villages their farms were located (or planned to be located).
In the first village, thanks to the introduction by the Assistant
of the Director to the chief of the village where the company was
located, we lived with a polygamous family of about twenty members
(wives and their children lived together). This ‘setting’ was a village
made of three big families living in big concessions not far from one
another. The very day we arrived, everyone in the village was aware of
38
R. S. Dieng
our presence and staying at the chief of village’s house facilitated my

interactions with the rest of the village. At first, the wives of the Chief
of the village were suspicious towards me, then they became my allies
and I discovered the first one was even a feminist ranting about how
women of the village did not have the possibility to take part in con-
versations regarding land!
At first, I tried to hire a local young woman to help look after my
child while I conducted my interviews but soon decided to have her
with me. This was not only due to some hygiene issues in the field:
other women were questioning my need for help, being a ‘lone woman
who spent her day having conversations with other people’. Even
though my daily life was more complicated as I was suddenly respon-
sible for all the caretaking for my child whilst preparing/conducting
the research alone. I started adapting to my child’s sleeping times while
working from Monday to Saturday as per the schedule of most agricul-
tural exploitations in Senegal. I would conduct interviews in the com-
pany when somebody offered me a drive to the farm (it was extremely
hot then: around 45 degrees), or walk with my child on my back early
in early morning. I would work from 8 a.m. to 1 p.m., then from 5
p.m. to 8 p.m. The rest of the time, I would stay at the chief of village
house and discuss with whoever visited him.
For the research in the second company, I lived in a village in Saint-
Louis with a cousin and her two children whom I met for the first
time. I was able to have a letter of affiliation to the local university and
therefore had access to their crèche where I registered my child. Because
of the Ramadan hours, I had to miss the company shuttle. My child
would stay there from 8 a.m. to 2 p.m. as I wanted her not to be totally
disoriented if she stayed full-time, and my cousin, who worked at the
university too, would collect her and we would all meet home at 3 p.m.
There was no crèche on Saturdays, so I had to take my child with me to
the office. The first two weeks of my stay there were tiring. My cousin
took care of her house herself and had two boys in their 20s. Being a
woman, this meant and I had to help in household chores despite being
with my young child. When I realised this was not sustainable, I hired
a help for my aunt to be able to spend the other half of the day with
my child.
39
But both these stays were first facilitated by my parents who did not
physically accompany me but who did call each of the families that we
were going to stay with. For them, it was a question of ‘attesting’ of my
respectability as I was travelling unaccompanied by my husband. Such
processes are well described by Berik (cited in Wolf 1996) and Abu-
Lughod (1999) who narrates how her father insisted to accompany
her to the field to make her first contact, and how she had to travel to
the field with both her father and her husband the second time (Abu-
Lughod 1993). The letter of my supervisor in French and English I had
on me all the time, did help, but I think to a lesser extent than the calls
from my parents since these village chiefs had many questions about
why I was travelling alone with a baby.
Multiple Role-Performance: The Dilemmas

of Navigating Through My Different Research
Identities According to the Setting While Trying
to Get Backstage
Dilemmas on the field is a topic that has been well researched (Wolf
1996; Davis and Craven 2016). There are a few dilemmas I encoun-
tered while on the field. The first one is relating to the independence
of my research while wanting a minimum of comfort for my child. As
mentioned above, it was a difficult choice to decide to live in the com-
munity leader’s house with very limited solar electricity—this meant
there would be no fan in very hot weather—rather than in the self-con-
tained air-conditioned studio the company proposed to me. The quali-
fied workers of the company who lived in the farm—mostly originating
from urban areas—could not understand my choice and even doubted
my living in the UK. But I do not regret it. The director of the first
company did take it personally however and asked me to stay in the
studio during the second round which I refused. In addition, while I
agree with Cramer et al., that research independence is never total and
that the meaning of full research independence is yet to be defined
(Cramer et al. 2015), there is some level and autonomy and free will
40
R. S. Dieng
in decision-making without which, the research outcomes are somehow

compromised. This was especially a crucial concern during my first stay
when I depended entirely on the company for my mobility. The vil-
lage of research was very enclaved and no public transportation. This
gave the company room to decide where I could go and at the same
time, have all the information about my whereabouts and interlocutors.
This experience led me to the decision of having a car during my sec-
ond stay. Moreover, all three company leaders did insist on having my
timetable as well as the list of people I would be talking to, which I
refused to disclose to them as I had to guarantee some level of confi-
dentiality for, and anonymity to my respondants. Regarding the sam-
pling, I worked with the list of employees provided by the employers,
which was quicker and cheaper for my student budget. I also some-
times conducted interviews on the place of work but the main issue was
the office I was allocated was not far from the assistant of the director’s
and he would come in unexpectedly anytime I invited in a new inter-
viewee to ‘welcome’ her. After some time, I started conducting inter-
views in the village or in the office when I knew he was absent. After a
week of me not showing up in the office, he started visiting me where
I lived. He even contacted a cousin of mine—his childhood friend I
found out—who called me later to advise me to regard the director’s
assistant as my older brother and that I should ‘run everything’ by him.
I refused after understanding that ‘running everything’ by him meant
providing full accounts of my interviews and findings before complet-
ing the fieldwork. In the second company, issues relating to independ-
ent research also manifested when the director asked me whether I
would be interested in writing a paper commissioned by the company
to respond to the claims of negative outcomes by another NGO I knew
well. I declined the offer. In the third company, it manifested with the
company refusing me access during fieldwork after understanding they
would not be able to control my planning and research questions.
‘Manner’ and ‘appearance’ which form what Goffman calls the ‘per-
sonal front’ also mattered. In other words, I needed to ‘demonstrate
respectability’ and modesty by adhering to local norms, adapting to
formal and most importantly informal rules and expectations, dress-
ing in a certain way as this would prove to be decisive for my research
41
outcomes. As for the way I conducted myself around men, I was obvi-
ously ‘tested’ at several occasions, and my behaviour must have proved I
was a ‘respectable’ woman. Furthermore, it was critical not to show any
‘sign-vehicle’ related to wealth or that I was ‘from the UK’. Therefore,
deciding to have a car was a difficult choice even though my father lent
it to me since I was too poor to rent one, I could not help having people
thinking I was rich with a driver and such a car! But this was necessary
as I had not driven for over ten years despite having a license. I had the
same dilemma with using my child’s stroller in the heat to go and return
to the village as opposed to having her on my back. But after two days
of being called tubaab, I decided to change my working hours (going
earlier and returning earlier) to avoid the sun and have her on my back
as local women did, and as I often did myself while in London…even
though my interviewees did not believe me. While I could turn a deaf
ear as in my own family where my siblings will not call me anything but
tubaab because I refused to do anything simply because ‘I was a woman’,
I could not afford the consequences of being called tubaab in the field.
Relating to manner and appearance, was the choice of my team, and
that of the research assistant (Goffman 1959; Deane and Stevano 2016).
I chose to go to the field in ‘family’ to counter a few things and to try
and bring my research subjects ‘backstage’ for them to be their true
selves around us. Whilst I did not have any other choice than to go with
my-still-breastfeeding baby, I chose to go with my older sister (married,
with a Masters degree) that I trained for the tablet surveys before the
field as my research assistant during the second round of research. I was
making sure to have someone reliable, tactful, the same gender as most
of the interviewees to mitigate power asymmetries, and who would not
raise any suspicion while my child would be confident around her. This
is also the very reason I also chose to travel with my uncle as our driver,
but also because he was fluent in Moor and some Pulaar (needed in
some villages), but he also represented the ‘patriarchal figure of author-
ity’ for my sister and I in that unfamiliar terrain. Yet, I would later face
an undesirable consequence of him acting as our ‘pater familias’ in the
field. He was authoritatively introducing the purpose of my research in
every village since our guests would naturally talk to him, but he would
use very leading terms and he did not take it well when I discussed it
42
R. S. Dieng
with him, so I did the introductions myself. Also, whilst both my sister
and I were working, we would gently ask him to take care of my child
which he did enthusiastically at the beginning but soon started mak-
ing comments. And one day, he came to announce me he had to travel
to another city the same day for an unknown period; taken aback and
surprised to be stood up in such a way in the middle of the research, I
responded to him he did not need to come back. Then I discussed with
the chief of village in the middle of the night and he was able to recom-
mend a reliable young man. Both my sister, my child and I had a great
relationship with him, but we had to pretend he was a cousin because
too many questions were asked. When my husband joined in the final
weeks, most people became very surprised that he would take care of my
child when I conducted my interviews, or when they saw him sharing
the chores as he did in London. Twice, I surprised women talking about
that in the house we were living after they saw him sweeping the room
we were allocated while I was giving a bath to our child. Conscious they
perceived that as abnormal, I proposed to him to switch roles much to
his disappointment as I believe he loved shocking other men around.
Another dilemma for me was what I perceived as role discrepancies
in Goffman’s metaphor: being torn between whether to accept being
assigned a ‘functional male’ role in the various ‘fronts’ and the privileges
attached to it: accepting to be in male-only spaces where other women
around me could not to advance my research agenda or remain solidary
with the other women by not accepting more than they could access
themselves? This dilemma manifested itself at three occasions in two dif-
ferent villages. In the first village, I was once asked by the first wife of
the village leader to attend a key meeting with ‘development partners’.
As soon as she saw the 4 × 4, she started looking actively for me and
told me: Laggal topp ci bala ñu leen di naxati, ‘Go with them before they
are trumped (again)’! This was an important meeting I heard of a lot
of despite not being able to have any more details through my discrete
inquiry. Therefore, I hesitated but did eventually accept to attend given
the risk this woman had taken to tell her husband to wait for me in
front of the very important male ‘development partners’! Accepting to
go was showing solidarity to her and not creating a tension. The second
time I felt such a dilemma was at the occasion of a union meeting held
43
in the case involving the Asian company attended by almost 150 peo-
ple out of which only six were women, including my sister and me. At
one point, the union leaders proposed that I take the floor. I declined
the opportunity but did subtly ask a few attendants including all the
women if we could have a short discussion after the meeting, which we
were able to have. The last occasion was regarding meals: I contributed
financially as was done by other foreign workers to share the familial
meals: this was called bindu bool in Wolof. I was only preparing my
child’s meal as she just started ‘soft’ solid food then. At first, they started
preparing a separate dish for me, but I insisted sitting around the bowl
like everyone in the house. But I noticed they refused to do so for the
dinner and I discovered quickly they would have rice or millet porridge
every evening and would buy a meal for me from a local woman who
had a gargotte, a small restaurant. After finding out, I increased my con-
tribution and started inviting the younger children to share my meal.
Their father forbid them to come to my room.
Equally critical for me was whether I loop my supervisor in
everything or not: to what extent should I cut the rope while on the
fields? During the first month of research, I was very formal, writing
emails to arrange for meetings and copying him in every email, consult-
ing him on any unexpected situation. I am happy he was very respon-
sive when I was away and it did help a lot; he even proposed to endorse
any request he knew would not be easily accepted by the company to
say it was his advice. But at some point, he did point out I did not need
to copy him in every communication. This made me realise I was in fact
avoiding taking full responsibility by copying him: it was comforting
to have an n + 1 to report to. But with staying more in the field, came
greater confidence and I learned I needed to own my research and take
full responsibility.
The question of ‘distance’ with the researched was also a central one.
How much distance was enough? I found myself going to ceremonies I
would be invited to as it was a great way to understand the setting bet-
ter. When my child was sick at some point, I even conducted interviews
at the local hospital, and discussed with other mothers. This allowed
us to go ‘backstage’. I also realised that some people would come and
talk to me because they believed I could voice their desiderata to the
44
R. S. Dieng
director of the company (mainly expectations of salary rise or their sat-

isfaction with their job), whilst others would come to complain about
the bad working conditions or the terms of the land deals because they
believe I was working for a union despite my reminding them several
times the goals of the research and my identity. There were several levels
involved: interactions with the workers in the ‘office’ or in the fields, in
the villages or at the company, with officials, etc. And for each of the
‘fronts’ of interaction, I had to have a suitable conduct and play the role
that I was expected to. After one meeting with village leaders my hus-
band attended, he commented he could not recognise me and that if I
wanted in fact, I could get on well with some of the sexist and patriar-
chal people we knew and who bothered me a lot!
The final dilemma is about feeling torn between the ‘voice’ option
or keeping silent, when I saw children in my host family falling sick
and not being taken to hospital because of lack of means, proposing
them the medicines I brought for my child, seeing many young women
and men I got to know leave school in order to work for the farm in
order to support their family, hearing them bravery respond: ‘this is my
choice’ when they were silently crying, seeing the waste behind every-
one’s house no one would take care of… so many things I decided I
could not remain silent or passive as a feminist researcher and all these
points will be noted in my write-up.
The Final Curtain? Thoughts on Researching

‘The Others’ and Finding Yourself
Being a woman and a mother influenced my research in several ways. As
a married Senegalese woman with a child, I was accepted more easily by
‘the others’ and it was easier for me to establish rapport with the local
women as we supposedly shared common womanly interest regarding
child-rearing, cooking and household chores. Therefore, I chose not
to disclose that I was a feminist except to some individuals such as the
Assistant to the Director who asked me my husband’s name when we
first met and then insisted on calling me by that name even when I
made it clear to him that I had kept my maiden name.
45
Being in the field also influenced my ways of being a human being,

not just a woman as I understood the importance of bringing people
backstage, even though this was a long, arduous and fragile task. The
experience has radically transformed both my child and me, I think. I
went home to research ‘the others’ for a Ph.D. in a different country,
but I am glad to have found another part of myself in the process. That
part that would never talk about her father’s own polygamy, get angry
every time she was called tubaab by her siblings despite knowing there
was nothing to be done about it but kept challenging them and talking
back, that part that was still trying to find her own voice as a mother
and her own identity as a researcher ‘from another language.’
Waalo a made me understand that these people, the ‘objects’ of my
so-finely-worked-out research proposal defended during an upgrade at
my London university, were in fact the experts of their own lives and
I, as any researcher in this situation, had to first learn to unlearn finely
crafted theories from elsewhere, to listen to them, to let them tell them-
selves, and just to be. Sometimes, also the pain of telling myself that I
am a parasite choosing to give or give off and seeking to ‘study’ people
who are not ‘others’ but other selves, so close yet so distant!
In the field, I became more conscious that ‘positivist objective’ was
something I was never trying to be in fact, and what I aimed at was
‘feminist objectivity’. Neither was I trying to tell a single and defini-
tive truth but amplifying these voices and lives by letting them touch
me and being in turn authentic to them, hence to myself. Carrying my
research, yet answering honestly to theirs, about my life, about why I
travelled alone with a baby so young, but where was his father? And
that cry of heart that came back often, ‘But do not forget us! When will
you become a doctor, Rama!’ But, how would I be able to? I realised
that I was at best an observant and a patient scribe, but my were not the
objects of this research, but its subjects!
To conclude, I agree with Amina Mama: ‘An activist research ethic
demands that we not only defy the academic canon by not maintaining
distance, but go a great deal further, to actively relate to and engage with
our ‘research subjects’ and explore ways of joining them and supporting
their struggles’ (Mama 2011, p. 14). Therefore, after writing up my thesis,
I intend to disseminate my findings widely, but first with those who took
46
R. S. Dieng
part in it, and to craft recommendations into policy briefs for relevant
policy officials to act on things such as the salary in the agricultural sector
that have not changed since independence, the same as the national land
law dating from 1962! This is the least I could do to pay my tribute to the
previous generations of Senegalese feminists before me and for those who
are yet to come: Talking back while standing on the shoulders of giants!
Note
1. International Land Coalition (ILC) Tirana Declaration. Available at
http://www.landcoalition.org/sites/default/files/documents/resources/
tiranadeclaration.pdf. Accessed 29 March 2017.
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Ghana. Feminist Economics 20: 202–226. https://doi.org/10.1080/1354570
1.2013.866261.
Tuhiwai-Smith, L. 1999. Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous
Peoples. London and New York: Zed Books Ltd.; Dunedin: University of
Otago Press.
Van den Broeck, G., and M. Maertens. 2017. Does Off-Farm Wage
Employment Make Women in Rural Senegal Happy? Feminist Economics.
https://doi.org/10.1080/13545701.2017.1338834.
Warren, Carol A.B. 1988. Gender Issues in Field Research. Newbury Park, CA:
Sage.
West, Candace. 2016. Goffman in Feminist Perspective. Sociological
Perspectives 39 (3): 353–369.
White, B., S.M. Borras Jr., R. Hall, I. Scoones, and W. Wolford. 2012. The New
Enclosures: Critical Perspectives on Corporate Land Deals. Journal of Peasant
Studies 39: 619–647. https://doi.org/10.1080/03066150.2012.691879.
Wolf, D. (ed.). 1996. Feminist Dilemmas in Fieldwork. Colorado: Westview
Press.
3
Identity and Experience in Malawi:
Challenges and Observations
Joanna Woods
Introduction
There are certain assumptions that shape the status of the researcher
as related to the recipient of research: the researcher–recipient rela-
tionship. This is particularly true in view of research that focuses on an
underprivileged group, and when the researcher is western and regarded
therefore as ‘other’ or outsider by the recipient community. However,
such status is far from being the only factor to consider when that
researcher is also female. Tensions manifest, especially if the female
researcher is conducting studies in which immersing herself in commu-
nity life is fundamentally the best route to obtaining qualitative data.
For example, tension may arise with regards to navigating questions
such as: does she maintain her position as ‘other,’ as western then, as
perhaps feminist, or at the least a fruit/product of fairly egalitarian soci-
etal values, and thus challenge stereotype and the norms of typical sex-
ism in the society she is conducting research in, or does she primarily
J. Woods (*) 
Chancellor College, University of Malawi, Zomba, Malawi
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-94502-6_3
52
J. Woods
bow to societal norms in her host country in order to observe and doc-
ument complex realities. She is subsequently faced with: which option
would result in more accurate analysis; which option would be best for
her?
As Gurney (1985) suggests, qualitative research and the related train-
ing on methodology often assumes that the fieldworker is ‘Anyman’
(p. 42), and in doing so, gender and the differences of such between the
field-researcher and the recipient of research is bypassed. In this chap-
ter, I aim to unpack the relationship between gender and research, par-
ticularly regarding that aspect of identity and the experience in the field
through observations and challenges faced by the female researcher in
Malawi. I mean to meditate only on a singular experience; my inten-
tion is to explore how my identity as a white female in her twenties
shaped my experience while conducting research in the field in south-
ern, rural Malawi in the first instance, and subsequently through expli-
cating encounters I had in 2016 in another part of southern Malawi,
this time peri-urban. Within such exploration, I will document how
my gender similarly impacted on the research process itself. In order to
carry out this task, I will, on the one hand, show how I accessed the
female space in communities in Malawi through weight assigned by my
female identity and, on the other hand, how I obtained access to male
spaces through what manifested as accommodating my ethnicity. I will
also discuss my age, and my unmarried status as these, at times, revealed
themselves as complicating factors of identity in the research process.
Starting with the methodological framing, this chapter draws on my
experience in a one-month cross-disciplinary field trip in the southern
region of Malawi, through the lens of ‘fitting in,’ I started my ethno-
graphic research in May 2010, when I embarked on a literary research
project as part of my degree at the School of Oriental and African
Studies, University of London. My interest in Malawi sprung from
a project I had been involved in in 2006, where I assisted in a school
and was immersed in the surrounding community for a year. I subse-
quently travelled the length of the country, engaging in oral stories in
public spaces, such as in market places and on minibuses. I will talk in
this chapter of encounters with families and the various spaces of data
collection—female and male spaces. Thereafter, in the section entitled
3 Identity and experience in Malawi …
53
‘Sticking Out’, I refer to time in 2016 when I was researching in a com-

munity in Blantyre focusing on telling the story of the community’s
children. In doing so, I was again engaged in various spaces; the inter-
sections between home and school for the children brought about con-
tact with parents, guardians and participatory caregivers in the children’s
lives. My identity as a female, with view to the aspect of motherhood
specifically, that is the capability to reproduce, was an aspect which
came to light during this research period and is an aspect I will look at
in the chapter.
Methodological Framework
Scholarship in a number of fields, including gender and literary stud-
ies, has criticised the scrutinising gaze that has disallowed females
immersed in research and denied them the right to represent their real-
ities in accordance with what they know or choose to know (among
them, Butler 1999 [1990]; De Beauvoir 1953 [1949]; Showalter 1979).
Anthropology is no different.
The female researcher’s experience in the field cannot escape being
perceived, gazed at. Experience, like notions of identity, is rarely linear
for either male or female, but what complicates the female’s experience
is the need to acknowledge that the gendered identity is seen as individ-
ual at the same time as being married to power relations and principles
of the external setting—a setting that unquestionably involves the male
gaze, traditions, and social expectations, and thus encompasses moral
obligation. This chimes well with Elena Ferrante (2016) as she sug-
gests that, for the female, ‘even the most intimate individual concerns,
those most extraneous to the public sphere, are influenced by politics’
(p. 331).
While the idea that we may better understand ourselves through
understanding others has a long history (Collins and Gallinat 2010,
p. 1), such scholarship about the ethnographic ‘self ’ has then largely
been constructed by male researchers. For instance, regarding the ‘self ’
and ‘other’ in ethnography, Malinowski contextualised that the pur-
suit was ‘to realise his vision of his world’ (1961 [1922], in Collins
54
J. Woods
and Gallinat, p. 2). ‘His vision’ has in turn impacted upon the female
researching. The female is entering ‘a world where the dominant para-
digm is that of the masculine experience’ (Okely and Callaway 1992,
p. 12). It is from this that we must realise the construction of life expe-
rience as different depending on gender, and that that has implications
for theorising about and living the self.
It is further argued that the split between private and public self is
gender specific; scholars have analysed how men and women each
acquire an alternative sense of self. Chodorow (1978) suggests that
‘“feminine” identity is marked by more flexible, permeable ego bounda-
ries than those for a “masculine” identity’ (cited in Okely and Callaway,
1992, p. 12). It is suggested that the narratives of the self involved in
field research differ: the female presents as more interpersonal while the
male performs individualistic tendencies in the field (Smith 1987, in
Okely and Callaway 1992, p. 12).
Discerned from such literature based on reflexivity as a necessary fac-
tor of research in the field, the chapter shows how discourse by females
on the female in the field could more explicitly reveal the nuance of
gendered identity and experiences and provide a way through which to
conceive of the necessary intermingling of those concepts. While reflex-
ivity has received a hard-press, seen as negative or ‘unscientific,’ it is a
familiar field of research (e.g. Ghose 1998; Stanley 1990), and arguably
it can provide a more ‘coherent and illuminating description of the per-
spective on a situation’ (Ward-Schofield, 1993, p. 202). In Jay Ruby’s
collection entitled A Crack in the Mirror (1982) there is indication as to
the inevitable notion of reflexivity/subjectivity in the researcher’s experi-
ence; his account makes clear that at the core of ethnographic account
lies the self of the researcher.
However, Collins and Gallinat (2010) still suggest that experiential
writing has taken ‘a back seat as the form and content of ethnography
as a methodology are interrogated’ (p. 6). Arguably, gendered expe-
rience in the field has been pushed even further to the back, despite
what Rosalie Wax (1979) denotes: ‘in fieldwork basic aspects of per-
sonal identity become salient; they drastically affect the process of
field research’ (p. 509). While Abu-Lughod, in Writing Women’s Worlds
(1993), gives ethnographic account that writes experience, and thus
55
subjectivity, into the academic text successfully; and, the account Dona
and Dorothy Davis (1996, in Collins and Gallinat 2010, p. 5) give,
exemplifies specific personal experience of being identical twins, gender
is rarely denoted as part of that experience. Hoffman’s (1980) account
is another instance, describing her research experience and problems
encountered but hardly mentioning her gender as a component.
Such extraction of gender from the ethnographic account may be for
a number of reasons. One, as suggested by Gurney (1985), may indeed
be that gender issues were of minimal relevance to a piece of research
(p. 44). However, as Haraway (1988) expounds, if the focus were to
shift and the female was written into the experience the outcome would
surely, at the least, provide an extra layer to scholarship about the field.
Drawing on Erving Goffman’s The Presentation of Everyday Life
(1956) in which it is stated that the researcher’s personality: read self,
and impressions made in the field impact on success or failure of the
data gathering process, and extending what Collins and Gallinat (2010)
regard to be using the ‘self as a resource’ (p. 14), this chapter aims to
delimit these concomitants of academic anthropology into the female
experience in Africa.
Fitting In?
Steering my month-long ethnographically inclined literary research pro-
ject in 2010 challenged some of the preconceptions I had about what it
meant to be a researcher. I was faced with engaging with what Sultana
(2007) calls a ‘contextual, relational, embodied, and politicalized’ pro-
cess (p. 383) due to my identity as female. Such challenges continued
but altered in 2016 in view of the fact that the location and context in
which I was researching changed, if still in the same country. As a gen-
eral point, however, with respects to both field trips my status—simply
as ‘researcher’—seemed to cause some eyebrow raising; not necessarily
suspicion but enquiry nonetheless. This was especially so in 2010: my
lack of affiliation with either a non-government organisation (NGO),
charity or hospital appeared to be cause for query by those I came in
contact with. Why was I interested in stories in Malawi? Did I work for
56
J. Woods
the mission hospital in Mulanje? What organisation was I with? Why

wasn’t I with an NGO? Was I involved in a church then? In order to
cope with such inquiry—which on occasion became quite a lengthy
procedure—I would sometimes avoid questions by entering into a dis-
cussion about the hospital or NGOs mentioned during the inquiry.
While ‘researcher’ was met with seeming confusion, it felt more accept-
able to be linked to an organisation that proclaimed to ‘help’ and, thus,
for me to be seen as ‘helping.’ It had been similar in 2006: whenever I
mentioned that I worked in a school, the response was almost always:
‘oh, thank you for being a teacher to our children.’ As a consequence,
I discovered that there was a sense that it was enough to have an organ-
isation/institution behind you, especially so if that organisation was
somehow linked to humanitarian aid, but to be without that was gener-
ally viewed as lacking authenticity (Macdonald 1997; Theodossopoulos
2013; Rogeija and Spreizer 2017; Gupta and Ferguson 1997).
In the southern areas of Mulanje and Zomba in 2010, I had tasked
myself with exploring storytelling in Malawi. I set out to essentially deter-
mine if literature informed people’s lives, and if so in what kinds of ways,
and how and where such occurred. This investigation was as supporting
research to an independent project I was conducting for my undergrad-
uate degree in African Studies. The methodology to ascertain these ele-
ments varied from informal conversations among employees at the school
I had previously been engaged in in 2006, and families in a specific area;
looking into some life narratives; and, conducting in-depth interviews.
The research required me to straddle the home space, which was
essentially female, and an external male space to observe various areas
in which literature might manifest or weave itself into. The demarcation
of gendered space was quite clear from the outset. While Rush (2012)
suggests that the male character of certain spatial settings can be invis-
ible to a novice, it seemed overtly clear. Places were set from around
4 pm onwards: the women resided in the kitchen much of the time, for
instance, in preparation of the evening meal, and their male counter-
parts would sit under the shade of a tree after coming from work, until
the women served the food.
In view of such gendered space, I would spend time with the women
in the female space. My female identity was the frontrunner and the
57
aspect of my identity that was being utilised in such occasion, of course.

But then, factors such as my age, my unmarried status and my ethnic-
ity contributed to the designation of the tasks I was given to do within
that space, and indeed how I was treated during the research process.
Cleaning bowls and utensils was a starting point; I moved up the ranks
as the women realised that, despite my untrained demeanour, I was
more than able to do a good job at that. Thereafter, I was given certain
foods to prepare. It is an assumption in the field in Malawi that western
girls do not know how to clean, cook and look after themselves; that a
single female has not yet been through ‘training’ on how to look after a
husband.
On the other hand, while space designation seemed obvious, being
quite naïve at the time, what was invisible to me was the expectation
that I should oscillate from the kitchen, the female space, to the male
space when the men started eating. After a number of times being told
that I should now go and eat with the men, I realised that it was more
of an expectation than I had originally assumed. I had thought that
I would remain with the women and eat as and when they did, sepa-
rately from the men, seeing as I, too, am female. This was not the case
all the time, there were times when in families every member would
sit together. But, as ‘visitor’ and for some ‘research meetings’ the sep-
aration was apparent and such treatment gave me the sense of being
somehow privileged, somehow being (fe)male. That is, that it seemed
to me that I was seemingly seen as more male with respects to how the
men accepted me into their space as opposed to how they resisted the
female recipients from joining them in the male space. Thus, my expe-
rience in the field highlighted to me the complexity of the relationship
between the female researcher and recipients in Malawi, because despite
some of the acceptance/feeling of privilege surrounding the male space,
just like Soyer (2013) remarks, there were still challenges fitting-in at
all while said space was ultimately and characteristically male (Soyer in
Pante 2014, p. 69).
As I stayed longer, and indeed when I returned to the field, I became
sensitive to how the gendered hierarchy effected and affected my status
as researcher and thus impacted upon research material.
58
J. Woods
Interesting to note, in male spaces, I had to forego my more feminist

identity much of the time. On occasion in 2010, I would be accompa-
nied by a male assistant who helped with translation in the field. As an
old colleague of mine, it was a safe working relationship. Yet, in conver-
sation—often introductory conversations—with recipients of research,
it was the case that time and again my status as a young, single woman
would come up. This proved itself to be, as Swim and Cohen (1997)
suggest, a form of covert sexism. As a type of sexism that is seemingly
unnoticed due to it being imbedded in ‘cultural and societal norms’
(p. 103), covert sexist comments were simply absorbed in conversation
and the day would carry on. Due to the patriarchal social being, this
could, and would, however, occur in predominantly male spaces and
within mixed gender spaces.
Additionally, travelling in the field lent itself as a space in which I was
at the receiving end of sexist jokes, insinuation and harassment. As part
of the research process it would be worth mentioning that I used public
transport to get around in Malawi more often than not and that at such
times I also experienced the counter to covert sexism: overt sexism (Swim
and Cohen 1997). The time surrounding the actual journey tended to
be made up of long hours either waiting in bus depots, and/or on the
road but stationary, between destinations. A typical discussion between
minibus conductors ensued:
A: odi umamukonda mzungu wa nkaziyu? [Do you like the white
K
girl?]
B: Inde. Indikumufuna. Adzandikwatila. [Yes. I want her. She will
marry me.]
A: Alibe chibwenzi? [Is she single?]
B: Eya alibe. Adzandikwatila. [She is single. She will marry me.]
A: Kodi ndi waku America? [Is she American?]
B: Kaya America. Kaya Mangalande. Sizikundikhudza. Ndikufuna
thupi lake. [America. England. It doesn’t matter. I want her body.]
To feign incomprehension was much easier, and safer at times, than

the alternative, which could I knew, result in hostility. There is a par-
ticular incidental occasion which sticks in my mind and effectively
59
highlights the extent to which such instance could occur: I was travel-
ling with a friend to a neighbouring town in 2010 when we stopped
to pick up more passengers. A man leaned in and asked me how much
my friend was: how much he could buy her for. As we drove off, he
remarked that he would follow us and find us because he wanted to
marry her. In order to overcome such experience, I took seriously
ideas about western females covering up when travelling (for instance,
Goffman 1989; Okely 2007) and generally being in Africa as an
attempt to fit in or at least not draw unwanted attention to myself; to
desexualise myself. Fitting in using like ways of dressing in Malawi also
had its complications, however, as I will show later in the chapter.
It was certainly within the female space that there was more sem-
blance of fitting in in 2010. My status as a female seemed to surpass the
other aspects of my identity as opposed to when I was with the male
recipients of my research. The women came to call me ‘Donna’ (‘young
girl’) rather than mzungu (‘white person’), for example, a term which
was seemingly more endearing, and sometimes I was called ‘sister’ rather
than ‘ma’dam’. Being friendly was conducive to the attempt to fit in,
of course. But, becoming friends with other females in the field was at
once harder and then easier than it was with their male counterparts.
There was the tendency for the women not to accept me as one of them
due to my status as ‘other’—either as western, or as ‘researcher’—in
the first place, largely due to the assumptions I have mentioned above.
Infiltrating the female space was sometimes met with unfriendliness
then. But, on the most part, it was only a matter of time and such issues
would be alleviated, and once a friendship grew a ‘safe’, space was cre-
ated, which was conducive to the women feeling that they could trust
talking/gossiping and simply being around me. On the other hand,
building trust and rapport proved much easier in the first place with
male recipients. It was thereafter, in this case, that the scenario became
complex. As Judith Okely (1992) suggests, ‘fieldwork practice is always
concerned with relationships’ and the researcher must ‘form long-term
links with others across the cultural divide, however problematic’ (p. 2).
As I found, for such process to be successful, it requires a kind of decon-
struction of the self: a hyper-awareness, which thereafter influences
self-perception of identity and/or formation of the self. If overlooked,
60
J. Woods
limitations of qualitative research surface as the process becomes wildly

generalised in discourse.
Although important for the gathering of data then, I sometimes
felt the need to protect myself by casting clear boundaries between
myself and male recipients, creating structured distinction between
simply ‘getting along’ and then being ‘friends’ because being friends
would, more often than not, mean more than just being friends. As
Pante (2014) suggests ‘“Getting along” has its advantages’ (p. 78), but
recipient attempts to develop relationships with me outside of the con-
text of field work became problematic at times, reflecting Okely and
Callaway (1992) again above. This was not confined to one age group
either: insinuation navigated itself from the younger male recipient to
the older married recipient alike. Sexual comments would generally be
directed my way while conducting research and, on occasion, probing
with suggestive text messages continued after the day’s work. Again as
Pante (2014) suggests, a close working relationship with male recipi-
ents gave me access to narratives which were essential to the research,
yet the closeness made me at times ‘vulnerable to sexual advances’ (p.
78). Such predicament needed careful navigation. It was obvious that
I was walking a tightrope at times: the need not to upset/offend was
paramount while the need to protect myself was ever more imperative.
Moreover, I consider the push to forge relationship with me (that is,
being more than just friends) as failure on the part of the male recip-
ients in the research field to acknowledge my status as professional. In
hindsight I realise that the breaking down of continued contact with
the recipients I speak of was largely as a consequence of the unwanted
attention and behaviour I encountered and my being sexually
objectified.
Sticking Out
To extend the thought I ended on in the previous section, something
I encountered while engaged in work in the field in 2010 and in 2016
was that men, and often the more rural I was the worse this situation
was, became quite standoffish as they seemed to disapprove of my status
61
as ‘researcher’; of me, as a female, questioning them. This was exagger-

ated when I was alone in the field; when I did not have a male assistant
with me. Sultana (2007) says that such instance is due to the men feel-
ing threatened by a female showing power and the show of disapproval
is about the unease they subsequently feel when the gendered hierar-
chy shifts. In respects to this, Gurney (1985) equally states that ‘female
researchers must work especially hard to achieve an impression combin-
ing the attribute of being nonthreatening with that of being a credible,
competent professional’ (p. 43). When I was with a male assistant(s)
in 2016, I found that the male recipients would near ignore me, only
interacting with me by means of being polite: during greetings. The way
the recipient regarded me could be identified with respects to the way I
was referred to: usually in the third person. More often than not, espe-
cially if we were visiting an area for the first time, and/or if we were not
regularly seen to be visiting the area, I would be referred to as mzungu
or ‘ma’dam’. My status as ‘other’ was overtly emphasised in such a situa-
tion, and I discovered that the way I was being perceived influenced the
way I conducted research. It left me feeling at best uneasy, shaping my
experience in the field and manifesting in the way I self-perceive to this
day.
It is interesting to note here that the women I encountered in more
peri-urban areas in 2016 would warm to me immediately if I was
wearing dress made from zitenje (printed cloth from various parts of
Africa). At such times, I would receive high fives and enthusiastic hugs
and shouts of mwatchena, mwatchena: ‘beautiful.’ This highlighted
to me that showing outward identification with them as females in a
Malawian context, arguably in more of a Malawian way, set me up with
routes through which to interact more fully. However, as an immedi-
ate comparison to this, the acceptance by females in view of my seem-
ing attractive reflected counterintuitively with male recipients. I seemed
to become further sexualised in such circumstances, and thus ever less
professional. Thereafter, the women would openly ask questions like ‘are
you married?’ ‘Have you go a boyfriend?’ ‘Why not?’ Answering that I
was focused on my career/work and that I had not yet met anyone was
clearly uncanny, mostly unaccepted, and cause for a lot of banter about
me.
62
J. Woods
In essence, as a female researcher in a male space, I found that my

femininity played out as paradoxical. Downplaying my femininity ena-
bled the status of ‘researcher’ to surface, and ultimately, the title ‘pro-
fessional’ maintained some authenticity. My femininity was necessary
to repress in the male space: I felt it far more appropriate and safer to
emphasise my identity in the professional capacity with male recipi-
ents. However, through maintaining such, aspects of the research pro-
cess were hindered. I found that exploiting my femininity in the female
space, on the other hand, as the example above shows, was advan-
tageous to some women accepting me, and thus was catalyst to the
research; data collection.
An interesting addition to my essential inability to fit in, as being
‘other,’ emanated in 2016 when I was specifically engaged with groups
of mothers, their children, and various care-givers. I have so far men-
tioned that my status as a single female was cause for discussion and
enquiry, but in the latter research trip in Malawi, presumably as tied
to my increased age, my status as child-less was a prominent issue dis-
cussed and/or acted out by recipients in the research field. Very basi-
cally, as female, I was seen as being a potential mother. Questions would
start: ‘How many children do you have? or ‘Where are you children?’
rather than ‘Do you have any children?’ In hindsight, I wish I had in
some cases taken such questions to task and delivered a better argument
to the recipients questioning me as a way of explicating that women can
be more and do more than simply reproduce—this, I wish I had been
able to deliver in the presence of men too. But, being sensitive to the
cultural structures, and for maintaining access and rapport in the field
I allowed myself to tolerate the questioning, othering myself in some
instances; to endure uncomfortable scenarios in order to obtain data.
Interaction with children in the field often enabled a breaking down
of barriers with their parents and/or care-givers. Play encouraged a
bonding that was quite apparently useful to the gathering of data, as it
allowed for interaction on the very basic level of child need. Such spaces
were more often than not female spaces, and so once again my female
identity was exaggerated. Women delighted in the attention the chil-
dren gave me, or in some cases, the terror children found themselves
in upon seeing me. This engagement through the child gave a quality
63
to the data collection; to the rapport I was able to build with women in
those spaces, rapport which would otherwise have taken a lot longer to
establish. As a note, when the male assistant was with me on such occa-
sions, there seemed an air of tension among the female carers: child care
being for women only I supposed.
Related to this insight, I found that meanings associated with females
in the cultural and societal setting I was engaged in were multiple. And
that those meanings had impact on the researcher status I attempted
to maintain. With such in mind, I navigated around the notion that
Donna Haraway (1988) calls ‘situated knowledge.’ Maintaining situa-
tional perspective, I was able to interrogate knowledge true to its sit-
uation. Without such matrimony of theory and practice, Haraway
suggests the end result is that information ‘is used to signify a leap […]
into a conquering gaze from nowhere’ (1988, p. 581). I learned that it
is far better to inhabit an objectivity which is of ‘limited location and
situated knowledge’ (p. 583). I was never going to fit fully in the female
space nor the male space in Malawi, but what was fundamental to the
research process was to understand the importance of empathising; it
was imperative to be ‘able to join with another’ in whatever way pos-
sible, to obtain ‘partial connection’ (Haraway 1988, p. 586), in order
to be conducive to data results. This I found to mean to simultane-
ously hold on to and put on hold my own feelings about being female,
about being feminist, and to observe from a perspective as neutralised as
possible.
However, it was important for me to constantly reflect upon the
limitations of my positionality as a young western female researcher, as
‘other’ or outsider. Being reflexive about the tensions, problems faced,
and ambiguities of field research is paramount to working through
fieldwork (Sultana 2007, p. 377). I had to constantly remind myself
that being a female in a male space I was always to be marginalised,
yet as a western feminist I was instantly and acutely aware of the mar-
ginal position I seemed to assume, and as a result I sustained constant
critique of it. As well as highlighting my identity as female and what
that means to me, this field research also enabled me to interact with
the idea about me being ‘other’ and how that limited my access and/or
was advantageous to the research I collected in Malawi. With motivation
64
J. Woods
to create a ‘better accounts of the world’ (Haraway 1988, p. 590), the

research experience certainly stimulated me to rethink my comprehen-
sion about the female researcher in the field and the researcher–recipient
relationship.
Conclusions
While there is scholarship on how researchers should be sensitive
towards female recipients in the research field, research on the sensitiv-
ities surrounding female researchers themselves and their experiences,
and/or the obstacles and challenges they have to circumvent in the field
work process regards identity, is far less prevalent.
Negotiating my female identity in the social and cultural structures
in Malawi proved a trying task at times, yet it also proved to be a nec-
essary part of the research process. The personal-political, and the male
gaze, alluded to earlier in the chapter is still very much apparent within
the research process. But, meaningful data came of a negotiation of
the gendered self; understanding the impact it had on me as a female
researcher in Malawi, on the one hand, informed my experience in the
field and, on the other hand, informed the way the research was con-
ducted and eventually what results came of such research.
My field research highlighted a number of important factors that
contribute to rethinking women researching in Africa more generally.
Firstly, that I could navigate between female and male spaces depending
on the facet of my identity that was being highlighted at the given time,
often by those perceiving me. Be it my femininity, my ethnicity, my age,
identity proved itself to be effectively multifaceted, and in the field it
became obvious that such dynamics were fluid. Secondly, while such
fluidity allowed me access to various spaces, the nature of my identity
time and again caused tensions in the field work process. Drawing effec-
tively on Chodorow’s (1978) notion of permeable feminine identity,
on the one hand, as a young female I was viewed as being non-threat-
ening which in turn enabled me to access some rather personal aspects
of recipient’s lives. On the other hand, however, it became obvious
to me the longer I invested time and research in Malawi that due to
who I was, opportunities were sometimes closed to me. As much as it
65
is important to show how I positioned myself in the field as a young

western female researcher, it is also important to highlight as I have in
this chapter that I faced some issues during the fieldwork process with
regard to socio-cultural attitudes and norms in Malawi.
Fundamentally, taking myself outside of my comfort zone in both
instances challenged me, firstly as a person: the ‘self ’, secondly as a
female, and thirdly as a researcher. The encounters I had with sexism
along the way indeed enriched me and my knowledge about gender and
gendered hierarchies; certainly contributing to the making of me as a
candid feminist.
Along with identifying and drawing on my personal experience in
this chapter, some of the limitations of qualitative research in the field
have been highlighted. In view of this, it is hoped that such contribu-
tion opens up discussion about the navigation of female researchers and
their important input into field work studies; more female observations
in the field would re-energise research emanating certain studies. But,
along with Haraway’s (1988) important conception of situating knowl-
edge, for the female researcher, adaptability is imperative. A female
researcher must go to the field with the awareness of their status as a
woman; understanding the challenges around female researcher adapt-
ability is the first step to achieving results.
To end, of course, I note that ‘I should never be able to come to a
conclusion,’ I should only be able to offer an opinion upon experience
(Woolf 1929, p. 12).
References
Abu-Lughod, L. 1993. Writing Women’s Worlds: Bedouin Stories. Berkeley:
Butler, J. 1999 [1990]. Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity.
New York: Routledge.
Chodorow, N. 1978. The Reproduction of Mothering. Berkeley: University of
California Press.
Collins, P., and A. Gallinat (eds). 2010. The Ethnographic Self as Resource:
An Introduction. In Writing Memory and Experience into Ethnography, 1–24.
New York: Berghahn Books.
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De Beauvoir, S. 1953 [1949]. The Second Sex, ed. and trans. H.M. Parshley.
London: Librairie Gallimard and Jonathan Cape.
Ferrante, E. 2016. Frantumaglia—A Writers Journey. New York: Europa.
Ghose, I. 1998. The Power of the Female Gaze. Women Travelers in Colonial
India. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Goffman, E. 1956. The Presentation of Everyday Life. Edinburgh: University of
Edinburgh.
Goffman, E. 1989. On Fieldwork. Journal of Contemporary Ethnography 18 (2):
123–132.
Gupta, A., and J. Ferguson. 1997. Anthropological Locations: Boundaries and
Grounds of a Field Science. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Gurney, J. 1985. Not One of the Guys: The Female Researcher in a Male-
Dominated Setting. Qualitative Sociology 8 (1): 42–62.
Haraway, D. 1988. Situated Knowledges: The Science Question in Feminism
and the Privilege of Partial Perspective. Feminist Studies 14 (3): 575–599.
Hoffman, J.E. 1980. Problems of Access in the Study of Social Elites and
Boards of Directors. In Fieldwork Experience: Qualitative Approaches to
Social Research, ed. W.B. Shaffir, R.A. Stebbins, and A. Turowetz. New York:
St. Martin’s Press.
Macdonald, S. 1997. A People’s Story Heritage, Identity and Authenticity. In
Touring Cultures, ed. C. Rojek and J. Urry, 155–175. London and New
York: Routledge.
Okely, J. 2007. Fieldwork Embodied. The Sociological Review. 55: 65–79.
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Pante, B.L. 2014. Female Researchers in a Masculine Space: Managing
Discomforts and Negotiating Positionalities. Philippine Sociological Review
62: 65–88.
Rogeija, N., and A.J. Spreizer. 2017. Fish on the Move: Fishing Between
Discourses and Borders in the Northern Adriatic. Cham: Springer.
Ruby, J.A. (ed.). 1982. Crack in the Mirror: Reflexive Perspectives in
Anthropology. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.
Rush, L. 2012. An Autoethnography of Fuencarral 43: Women in Masculine
Public Space. The Journal for Undergraduate Ethnography 2 (1): 1–13.
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About Women, ed. Mary Jacobus. London: Croom Helm.
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Feminist Sociology. London: Routledge.
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Sultana, D. 2007. Reflexivity, Positionality and Participatory Ethics:

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Sexism: A Comparison Between the Attitudes Toward Women and Modern
Sexism Scales. Psychology of Women Quarterly 27 (1): 103–118.
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Anthropological Dilemmas. Anthropology Quarterly 86 (2): 337–360.
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4
Navigating Gender Performance: Ethics
and Culture in Researching Family Care
for Cancer Patients in Ghana
Deborah Atobrah
Introduction
In 2005, having been a post-graduate Research Assistant for three years,
I conceived a research idea to do an ethnographic study on family care
for patients diagnosed of cancer and other chronic non-communicable
diseases. This became my doctoral research, entitled Care for the chron-
ically sick within Ga families: A study of modern innovations and tradi-
tional practices. The main goal of the study was to examine how the
chronically sick were cared for within Ga families, with respect to rapid
changes in Ghanaian family cultures of survival and care. The context
of the study was constructed around the increasing incidence of chronic
non-communicable diseases in Ghana and the marginal interest of the
formal health sector in chronic non-communicable diseases at the time
(Agyei-Mensah and de-Graft Aikins 2010; Atobrah 2009). Although
there was a high spate of globalisation, there were almost no institutions
D. Atobrah (*) 
Institute of African Studies, University of Ghana, Accra, Ghana
e-mail: datobrah@ug.edu.gh
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-94502-6_4
70
D. Atobrah
in Ghana to provide non-medical care for chronically ill patients

(Atobrah 2009). The family remained the main repository of such care
despite notable changes in family traditions of care and survival in gen-
eral. Engaging the theories of symbolic interactionism, social construc-
tion of reality and the sociology of emotions as analytical frameworks,
my overarching goal was to investigate, through ethnography, how fam-
ilies conceptualised, innovated, rationalised and managed care for the
chronically sick, analysing changes in Ga family cultures of care for the
chronically sick.
I cannot forget a comment I got when I presented my doctoral pro-
posal at a symposium on Care for the Terminally Sick and Dying at the
University of Ghana, which I paraphrase thus; ‘if you plan to study
care for cancer patients, then I assure you that as you do this study,
you are surely going to need care and counselling yourself. You will be
distressed by what you see, hear and experience, so beware and pre-
pare.’ Did I get anxious, perplexed and gripped with fear on hearing
this? No, I did not. I remained excited about my proposed project,
trusting my meagre experience from previous ethnographic research
on family and community care for children orphaned by HIV/AIDS
in Ghana’s most HIV/AIDS-prevalent community, and later study on
family care for terminal AIDS patients at the Fevers Unit at Korle Bu
Teaching Hospital (KBTH), Ghana’s biggest teaching hospital (Antwi
and Atobrah 2009; Atobrah 2016). Indeed, the long-term interac-
tions with research participants in my new study had a number of
new methodological imperatives, particularly in relation to gender, eth-
ical concerns in researching patients, and cultural sensitivity to chronic
illness.
In this chapter, I demonstrate how feminist research principles, sen-
sitivity to gender relations and gender performance, are cross-cutting
and integral in the use of patient-centred methods (ethics) and cul-
ture in my ethnographic study of cancer patients in Accra. I do so by
describing how I both confronted and utilised gender performance
and expectations by patients and their families during the data col-
lection process. I further engage the realities of dealing with my own
gender sensitivity as I confront masculinity and femininity reactions
by patients and their families while being culturally sensitive at the
4 Navigating Gender Performance: Ethics and Culture …
71
same time. I argue that in highly gendered societies like Africa, gen-
der performativity grants females unique opportunities in doing eth-
nographic field research because of gender stereotypes that favourably
allow them to connect more intensely with respondents and to partic-
ipate more effectively in their realities. I illustrate the dilemmas of the
feminist female researcher’s need to manage gender expectations by the
community as well as fulfil her feminist research ethics. I propose that
feminine characteristics and ethical requirements for studying patients
(patient-centred methods) resonate with feminists’ research principles
of egalitarianism, respect and reciprocity between the researcher and
the researched.
The Study
The auto ethnographic data presented in this chapter is derived from
a larger ethnographic study of twenty-four Ga people diagnosed with
serious diseases,1 members of their families, and networks of caregivers
(Atobrah 2009). Fieldwork was conducted over a ten-month period in
2007. Because ethnographers studying patients require longer, persis-
tent and somewhat intimate contact with the research participants and
in the research environment (Wright and Flemons 2002), each patient
was visited at least twelve times. This chapter focuses on eight cases of
Ga women diagnosed of cancer; four with breast cancer, one with both
ovarian and breast cancers, two with cervical cancer and one with endo-
metrium cancer. Personal in-depth interviews and the collection of nar-
ratives were conducted in conversational style with respondents, mostly
in their homes. As I built rapport with respondents, telephone conver-
sations also became a source of data for the study. The criteria I set for
recruiting patients at the KBTH, being the primary research partici-
pants, included Ga patients between the ages of twenty-five years and
sixty years, diagnosed of cancer and be willing for their family mem-
bers to be interviewed. With the guidance of health personnel, confused
patients and patients with blurred mental capacity were excluded from
the study. An eligible patient must be in a position of needing care and
72
D. Atobrah
assistance in the performance of basic chores, or the prognosis should

point to their needing such care soon, within the fieldwork period.
Patients were selected from different socio-economic backgrounds, and
must be willing for their family members to be included in the study.
Femaleness, a Bi-dimensional Resource

in Ethnography
Unlike positivist methodologies, ethnographic research emphasises the
experiential, contextual, interpersonal interactions and attentiveness
to the realms of everyday realities of people’s lives and cultures (Geertz
1973; Goffman 1989; Clifford 1988; Marcus and Cushman 1982). In
the same vein, the rapport between the ethnographer and her research
participants and environment, the search for meaning, the observa-
tions of feelings, actions and inactions and the long conversations on
private matters all turn the ethnographer into a critical instrument in
the research process and outcome (Guba and Lincoln 1981; Goode
and Hatt 1952). Ideally, the ethnographic research process is acclaimed
for counteracting the limitations of positivist methodologies by guar-
anteeing mutual respect, egalitarianism and reciprocity between the
researcher and the researched (Geertz 1973). While the tenets of eth-
nography believably resonate with female attributes and the feminist
principles of egalitarianism, reciprocity, friendship, empathy, connection
and fairness, there have been mixed connotations to the connections
between ethnography, the female researcher, and feminism (Oakley
1981; Du Bois 1983; Mies 1983; Reinharz 1983).
On the one hand, female attributes of care, altruism, patience,
respect, cultural emersion and friendship, being products of women’s
higher inclination to link morality to responsibility, relationship and the
ability to maintain social ties, are seen as critical resource to fruitful eth-
nographic process and outcome (Gilligan 1982; Haraway 2003; Lincoln
and Denzin 2003). Alternatively, some have argued that these feminine
endowments and so-called subjective and emotional tendencies disable
females from carrying out ‘pure’ and ‘scientific’ ethnographies (Marcus
and Cushman 1982; Dwyer 1979).
73
Visweswaren (2003), for instance, laments how the works of several

pioneer women anthropologists (for example, Zora Neale Hurston, Ella
Deloria, Jean Briggs, Elizabeth Fernea, Elenore Smith Bowen, Manda
Cesara, and Marjorie Shostak) have had their writings relegated to the
margins of anthropological literature, being described as ‘popularised
accounts’, ‘confessional field literature’ and fiction. The denigration
of their works as ‘inadequate science’, further devalued because they
are imbued with vivid descriptions of attachments, socialising, bonding
and passionate fusion with their research environments (Marcus and
Cushman 1982; Dwyer 1979). Indeed, these astute female ethnogra-
phers seem to have been penalised for engaging their ‘subjective’ female
resources in an enterprise that is meant to be ‘scientific’ and ‘objective.’
The credentials of some of them have been further hurt by pettily tag-
ging them as wives who accompanied their ‘professional’ anthropologist
husbands to the field (Dwyer 1979).
No wonder mainstream ethnography fell into the ‘scientific’ trap by
assuming masculine resemblances and ideals, faultily viewing research
participants as ‘subjects,’ to be studied, interrogated, scrutinised, eval-
uated, examined and reported on (Du Bois 1983; Clifford 1988).
Such hierarchical research relationships which positions the researcher
as the bearer of superior knowledge, wielding power over his subjects,
is fiercely resented by feminist scholars (Oakley 1981; Du Bois 1983;
Mies 1983; Reinharz 1983).
Another basis of critique from feminists’ perspectives is power rela-
tions, and the potential exploitation and betrayal embedded in the
ethnographic process of close and extended interactions between the
ethnographer and research participants (Oakley 1981; Klein 1983). At
some point, it was feared that the two fields had developed in paral-
lel paths, and the need for dialogue on their intersection had become
imminent (Becker 1987; Gordon 1991).
Stacey (1988), who initially promoted the compatibility of ethnogra-
phy with feminism, later found some contradictions between the two,
thereby calling for increased discussion between feminism and ethnog-
raphy to explore how their intersection might be synergised to maxim-
ise the application of feminist possibilities. Stacey perceives that both
the ethnographic process and its product contravene feminist standards
74
D. Atobrah
‘precisely because ethnographic research depends upon human relation-

ship, engagement, and attachment, it places research subjects at grave
risk of manipulation and betrayal by the ethnographer…’ (1988, pp.
22–23). For Stacey, the ethnographic process gives huge powers to the
ethnographer to exploit and exert undue power over her research partic-
ipants, elements that contradict feminism. She therefore proposes that
ethnography is inimical to feminism, and a fully feminist ethnography
is not possible. In a rejoinder, Wheatley (1994) considers Stacey’s con-
cerns as ethical and epistemological flaws with ethnography in general,
which need to be addressed irrespective of whether it is employed by
feminists or not (Wheatley 1994).
It is striking that the debates on ethnography for women and by
women are dominated by perspectives of feminists from the global
north, with hasty generalisations of feminist research tenets across time
and space. African realities and the experiences of the female researcher
in Africa do not seem to be captured in this debate, hence the relevance
of this book. Whereas the controversies raised on the compatibility
between ethnography and feminist research are compelling, I wish to
register my difficulty in accepting the stance in totality, a position I will
show by my own ethnographic field experience of researching cancer
patients in Ghana.
First, Stacey (and others who share in her position) seem(s) not to
view the contextual underpinnings of ethnography, which would imply
flexibility of research design, being crafted to suit particular contexts, cul-
tures and everyday reality and humanness of people with shared iden-
tity or belonging to an identified community (Clifford 1988; Wheatley
1994). Community culture and dynamics should matter to the ethnog-
rapher. The diversity and multiplicity of the culture of the ‘field/commu-
nity’ make Stacey’s generalisation problematic, in that while earth-wide
theories may be needful, both ethnographers and feminists need the
ability to ‘translate knowledges among very different and power-differen-
tiated communities’ (Haraway 2003, p. 25). Differences in the cultural
contexts certainly shape the ethnographic process and the requirement
placed on the ethnographer with respect to the power she holds, and the
kind and extent of participation that she is ‘allowed’ or expected to make
in the field. Stacey fails to acknowledge the powerful force of culture and
75
community in either warding off or facilitating exploitation. Culture and

community may further dictate the power sharing dynamics between the
ethnographer and the research participants. For instance, ethnography
of gender relations among medical professionals in a hospital, or among
university teachers, would hardly make room for exploitation of research
participants. Even in studying vulnerable participants, effective gatekeep-
ing and group assertiveness could accord the research participants a great
deal of power to the extent of dictating aspects of the research process.
When I did ethnography of children orphaned by AIDS in Ghana’s epi-
centre of HIV infection, the power wielded by community leaders and
members, and the traditional protection received by the so-called vulner-
able people was inconceivable. All the affected households belonged to
an association, superintended by the queen mothers of the community.
Permission had to be sought from the queen mothers, most of whom
had no formal education and were poor. They interrogated every planned
research application in the community and made decisions whether the
study would result in exploitation of participants or not before grant-
ing permission. No AIDS-affected household would participate in a
study without the approval of the queen mothers. The unschooled, poor
and overwhelmed queen mothers required periodic oral reports from
researchers in the community, and there was very little room for exploita-
tion. The queen mothers and community members asserted themselves
to exercise enough power to the point of urging me to remove the word
‘AIDS orphan’ from the title of my initial publications for fear of the
community being stigmatised, which I obliged, albeit unwillingly (see
Atobrah 2016).
Second, Stacey assumes that a homogenous ethnographic process,
which suggests a unitary research ethic, could also be contested. The
research topic may dictate its own ethical requirements which could
make the ethnographic process compatible with feminist principles.
Ethnography on sick people has elaborate ethical requirements (also
referred to as patient-centred methods of research) which ensures that
the well-being of patients is of paramount importance in the data col-
lection process, above the aims of the study, and seeks to eliminate all
possible risks inherent in the process. It also hinges on the principle
of sensitivity, tactfulness, decorum, love and respect for patients, and
76
D. Atobrah
employs reciprocity as an important ethical cornerstone of the study

(Wright and Flemons 2002). Patient-centred methods protects patients
from abuse by requiring the researcher to uphold a fair blend of critical
resources including care, emotions, time, friendship, patience, attention,
and altruism (Overcash 2004; Pope 2005), qualities which resonate
with femininity expectations.
In the rest of the chapter, I discuss the gender context within which
the female ethnographer navigates as a performer and an epistemologist,
and demonstrate how I realised this during my research with female
cancer patients in Ghana.
Performances of Cultures of Femininity

and Masculinity in Ghanaian Society
In this era of fast globalisation where many fields have become uncon-
ventional being driven by rapidity, efficiency, convenience and the
overreliance on technology, ethnographers may be tempted to avoid
the traditional field approaches of active participation and role perfor-
mance in the lives and issues being studied. Conquergood (2003) cites
Malinowski as admonishing the ethnographer to often ‘join in him-
self in what is going on. He can take part in the natives’ games, he can
follow them on their visits and walks, sit down and listen and share in
their conversations’ (1922, p. 2). Conquergood elaborates how cultural
immersion and active participation are
the obligatory rite-of-passage for all ethnographers doing fieldwork…

requires getting one’s body immersed in the field for a period of time suf-
ficient to enable one to participate inside that culture. Ethnography is
an embodied practice; it is an intensely sensuous way of knowing. The
embodied researcher is the instrument. (2003, p. 353)
Ethnography therefore goes beyond an intellectual function. It

obliges its practitioners to bodily experience culture (Clifford 1988),
emphasises the corporeal nature of fieldwork (Goffman 1989), and
incorporates ‘social drama’ or cultural performance (Turner 1975).
77
Because gender is the most salient category for classifying societies in

Africa,2 the female researcher ought to appreciate the gender dynamics
over time in order to know how to perform effectively. As Conquergood
(2003) elaborates on rethinking ethnography, performance-centeredness
of research ought to be situated in time, place, and history. A cursory
description of the Ga gender cultures within historical and contempora-
neously is in order.
The patrilineal Ga people are the indigenes of Accra, the capital of
Ghana. Anthropological accounts accord them relatively high gen-
der parity, as Ga women are famous for their autonomy, assertiveness,
wealth and influence (Pellow 2008; Robertson 1984; Oppong 2006;
Kilson 1974; Azu 1974). Traditionally, Ga women and men lived in
sex-segregated households, and women continued to live with their
matrikin even after marriage. Children lived with their mothers on the
female compound until they attained puberty, when boys moved to live
with their fathers. Such arrangements made marriage bonds weak and
strengthened lineage ties. Many aspects of Ga social and family arrange-
ments, including caring for dependent members such as the aged, the
chronically sick, infants and the disabled, were sex segregated. Women
and children did all the instrumental care of cleaning, meal preparation,
and all care activities in the personal domain. Men, on the other hand,
provided whatever material provisions were needed for care. Over the
decades, gender relations and women’s status among the Ga have trans-
formed very significantly due to political interventions, economic pol-
icies, demographic factors and acculturation (see Odamtten 2012 and
Robertson 1984). Contemporaneously, there is a drastic recession of Ga
women’s economic fortunes, social influence and power, and autonomy,
which have culminated in deepening gender hierarchies (Odamtten
2012; Atobrah 2009). Families are more nuclearised now, and conju-
gal units live together, making marriage bonds stronger than before, yet
rendering women’s statuses precarious. Generally, normative Ghanaian
gender ascriptions are marked by stark femininity and masculinity idea-
tions, attributes that feminists challenge.
The ideal woman is not only a loving and faithful wife and mother,
but also a ‘supplementary’ provider who submits to and respects her
husband. She is morally upright, modestly dressed, and demure. She
78
D. Atobrah
must take care of her home and all others by being a good cook and
making sure that all domestic work is done. She must be subservient,
patient, and compassionate. Alternatively, hegemonic masculinity is
associated with success in the economic and social spheres, characterised
by the ability to provide resources, protection, defence and safety for
family, particularly female members (Adomako Ampofo and Boateng
2007; Lindsay 2005; Meischer 2007).
Real men are expected to exude masculine virtues of bravery, bold-
ness and power and strength and the ability to endure physical and
emotional pain, distress, agony and grief. They are exempted from
housework, exude phallic competency through high fertility, having
multiple sexual partners, and bearing sexual and reproductive rights
over the bodies of their partners. These normative practices are enforced
and policed by the family, community, and society at large, to ensure
conformity (Kwansa 2012; Atobrah and Adomako Ampofo 2016).
The critical questions here are: how do constructions of femininity
and masculinity impose expectations and roles on the female researcher
and exact compliance to such norms? What considerations does the
feminist researcher make in choosing between performing or condoning
normative gender ideals or pursuing her feminist morals in the conduct
of her work?
Positionality in the Field Research

(Where I Stand)
As an ethnographer, critical reflexivity enables me to determine my iden-
tity and how such identity is likely to create biases that could dilute the
‘pureness’ of the research to ensure that its outcome is as ‘scientific’ as
possible (Berger 2015). While reflexivity implies an appraisal and reck-
oning of the various strands of the researcher’s identity and how those
strands possibly influence the research, it ought to be reinforced by
positionality, which guides the ethnographer to mitigate and reduce
the effects of her persona and biases on the research process and out-
come (Berger 2015; Ahmed et al. 2011). Positionality creates in the
79
ethnographer, an awareness and sensitivity to the potential effects of her

biases, and to position herself in ways that such effects are mitigated or
minimised. While the researcher may bear several intersecting identities,
being a female researcher within the cultural operatives of Africa, and
how the researcher’s femaleness marks the ethnographic research process
and outcome are critical.
As a typical Ghanaian female, I grew up not questioning why women
did almost all the domestic and reproductive roles. My mother ‘effec-
tively’ juggled formal work, petty trading and raising six children, and
so I never felt the status quo needed to be challenged. Being the first of
six children, by the time I got to university I had become accustomed
to helping my mother look after the home and taking care of everyone
in our household. By my early twenties, I had become very conscious of
gender inequities and injustices in the Ghanaian society and decided to
take a post-graduate course in gender. For me, doing housework was,
however, not one of the biggest gender issues as I still cook and clean
a lot with my three teenage children, with frequent help from relatives
or paid helpers. My own husband does very little housework, typical
of Ghanaian men. My greatest concern rests with structural patriar-
chal systems and various acts of violence and abuses perpetrated against
women. Before commencing this research, my sensibilities and sensitiv-
ity to gender issues and women’s secondary status in Ghanaian society
had deepened, and as a feminist, I find myself challenging normative
gender stereotypes and biases whenever I need to. Sometimes, such reac-
tions happen almost spontaneously, and I joke to people that I am a
traditional Ga woman, empowered and independent.
But as a researcher, would I be reacting to household arrangements
that are inimical to the well-being of women participating in my
research? More so as they are patients, diagnosed with a cancer, the
dreadful and ‘unmentionable’ disease, which is shrouded in immense
secrecy, anxiety and fear. Or would I tap from my feminine resources
to fill gaps created by normative gender relations as I conduct the study.
Cancer diagnosis evokes much consideration, empathy and tenderness
which made me very determined to adhere to the patient-centred meth-
ods I had outlined for the study.
80
D. Atobrah
So in the field, I was an instrument, with my own conceptual bag-

gage of feminist ideals, but I was to respect normative gender cultures
and household structures and act within these frameworks. I was also
to empathise and show consideration for my participants, making their
welfare my utmost goal. I was not to act in any way that would gen-
erate household conflict or dissatisfaction in them. Would I then react
to, question or say anything that suggests to patients that some pre-
vailing household gender relations and arrangements are inimical to
their well-being? And how do I ensure that I do not create dissatisfac-
tion in research participants on normative gender roles. I illustrate how
I enforced my positionality in three areas: performance of housework,
practical care and emotional care.
Doing Housework
The continuous interactions with patients and their families created an

opportunity for me to perform gender roles with patients by assisting
them with housework and other feminine activities. Female patients’
encumbrances with doing housework was pivotal in the entire research
process and experience. Until patients became critically ill, they were
entirely responsible for household work. Married patients received no
support from their husbands in doing housework, to the extent that
even during the illness, none of their husbands cooked or did the laun-
dry, even their own. Clara’s case below is a classical illustration:
Clara, who had had a mastectomy about two years earlier, was exhausted
by the demands of housework in addition to her formal work as a secre-
tary. She had not disclosed her illness to her children, including her eld-
est daughter, an eighteen-year-old university student who was away from
home most of the time. She thus had to act ‘normal’ and continue to do
most of the household tasks. On Saturdays she did the laundry, by hand,
for the entire family—her husband, the two younger children, and her-
self. Her husband was very fussy about his meals and seldom ate food pre-
pared outside the home, and so she continued, with some help from her
children, to prepare all the household meal early in the morning before
going to work. If she was too ill to cook, she had to arrange for help from
81
her sister, although her sister was not always available. Clara once said of
her husband, ‘His head is hard [he is mean]. He does not have mercy on
me at all.’
As visits were often impromptu to enable me to observe patients’ care

situation as naturally as possible, thereby reducing Hawthorne effects, I
often met patients doing one chore or another. As a Ghanaian woman, it
was very normal for me to ‘help’ participants with housework on my vis-
its. We chat as we chopped okro or kontomire, or peeled cassava for fufu.
If a patient was doing laundry, which is often done by hand, I offered to
hang the cloths on the line during my visit. I did grocery shopping for
one patient because it was stressful for her to walk in the sun and her
husband would not do it. Such acts helped me to build rapport with
patients and to connect with them and their families. Working with
them and ‘conversing’ about my research also helped to save time for
both participants and myself, as we did both activities simultaneously.
By offering to help, I got deeper insights into the household politics and
conflicts and the lived experiences of participants, being somehow con-
sidered a member of their family, so people acted natural in my presence.
Again, the intimacy I built through helping with housework helped
to get valid and accurate research data. Traditionally Ghanaians say
‘no one points to his father’s house with his left hand’ which implies
that people ought not to say anything disparaging about their kin. It
was thus remarkable that patients regularly concealed family members’
lack of care and negligence. The continuous interaction and socialising
with them through helping them with their daily chores on each visit
also made observations and interviews more truthful and frank, gaining
insights into their lived experiences.
Korkor’s husband, Atsu, a taxi driver, never gave her a ride to the hospital;
she had to go on her own even for chemotherapy infusions. When asked
about this, she said, ‘he does not take me to the hospital because he has
to leave the house very early in the morning for work.’ It was observed,
however, that Korkor herself left for the hospital as early as 5:30 a.m. to
avoid standing in long queues, and she was only making an excuse for her
husband. Later in the relationship, it became obvious that she was very
upset about her husband’s negligence.
82
D. Atobrah
By the third or fourth interview, however, about four weeks into the
study, many women apparently felt relaxed enough to talk about these
matters, frequently introducing a veiled or not-so-veiled complaint with
a remark such as ‘I have not told anyone about this’ or ‘I feel shy to say
it, but it is the truth.’
Practical Care
Participating in various care activities for patients is ethical and expected

of women in Ghanaian society. As patients got sicker, female family
members bore primary responsibilities for care. It was also common
for female friends, neighbours and church members to share in caring,
and so could the female researcher. The communality, cooperation and
solidarity of care are deeply embedded in the oral traditions of the Ga
people (see Atobrah 2013). Even if I had not outlined to do partici-
pant observations, cultural gender expectations and the patient-centred
methods would have made it imminent for me to engage in practical
care for patients. As patients’ conditions deteriorated and they needed
support in the performance of basic activities, I had to fall on my
feminine resources to avail myself whenever the need arises. I helped
patients to take their medications, verified or confirmed their hospital
appointments, or verified information from their physician. Sometimes,
I did more physically intimate care such as helping patients to sit up
on their beds, helping them undress, and cleaning vomit. If I had an
appointment to see a patient on a routine hospital visit, I would usually
offer her a ride home.
Emotional Care
Right from disclosure of diagnosis through the main therapies pro-

vided in Ghana (radiotherapy and chemotherapy), cancer patients have
huge needs for emotional care to allay their anxieties, fears, suspicions
and pain. Caregivers need to give intense emotional support, particu-
larly to reassure patients that their diagnosis is not an automatic death
83
sentence. Studies have shown how in-depth interviews in conversational

style promote the psychological well-being of patients, as they give them
the opportunity to share their innermost feeling and needs freely to an
impartial listener, someone who is only devoted to listening to their life
stories and issues (Pennebaker and Seagal 1999; Pope 2005; Overcash
2004). The study showed a significant dissonance between family car-
egivers and patients in the prioritisation of care needs, especially as
patients’ health retrogressed (Atobrah 2009). Whiles patients listed their
emotional needs as topmost, family caregivers conceived practical care
such as cleaning a patient’s rooms and financial provision as topmost.
Dominant masculinity principles in Ghana bars men from express-
ing emotions and showing open affection, especially for their wives
(Adomako Ampofo and Boateng 2007). None of the husbands overtly
expressed fear, distress, anxiety, or worry. They also rarely talked much
to their sick wives, touched or encouraged them to allay their fears.
Instead, they seemed withdrawn, especially during the wives’ final days,
and eventually stopped sharing the marital bedroom, which made wives
feel betrayed and rejected at their direst moments.
At the same time, patients diagnosed of chronic diseases rarely utilise
the services of clinical psychologists or social workers, a service which
is incorporated in oncology in industrialised societies (Atobrah 2009).
There was, therefore, a huge emotional care gap in the lives of patients,
which provided me an opportunity to appropriate my feminine care
resource of listening, spending time with patients, holding and touch-
ing them, checking on them almost daily through phone calls, and
encouraging them. Patients talked to me about their intimate lives, their
worries, fears, frustrations and hope. I encouraged them, tried to cheer
them up and tried to get them relaxed. As we really got close and they
shared personal and intimate experiences and feelings with me, patients
said things to me like: ‘now you are like my sister, I could say you are even
more than a sister to me because we discuss many things I would not be
able to discuss with my sister.’ I always felt gratified by such comments. I
considered our research relationships very real and knew most patients
and their families acted as real as possible. Hawthorne effect had been
controlled.
84
D. Atobrah
Feminist Paradoxes, Personal Conflicts

and Tensions
As a woman and a feminist, many of the experiences and observations
I made on respondents who have been hit with one of the most ago-
nising and gloomy diseases, evoked my gender sensibilities. In a society
with little national and institutional support for patients with non-
communicable diseases, and patients depend almost entirely on families,
it is possible for them to become gullible and vulnerable to subtle forms
of abuse. Seeing cancer patients, whether at mid-stage or end-stage,
being laden with so much responsibility for housework was extremely
depressing for me. At best, they got their children and other relatives to
help but not their husbands. It upset me that husbands did not take up
any housework, even in these depressing situations. The patients already
had so much to worry about their illness and did not have to be bur-
dened the way they were. For the husbands, housework was not their
duty, housework was to be performed by their wives or some other per-
son. Because I had become close to the families, it was equally distress-
ing for me that I could not intervene to bring relief to my ‘sisters’ in any
structural way. I felt raising the issues would sensitise the women on the
matter and they could be affected psychologically. I also did not want
their husbands to feel I was ‘spoiling their wives.’ After all, dealing with
cancer was stressful enough for each of the households. In the isolated
instances when wives complained to me about their husbands’ unwill-
ingness to help with housework, I only admonished and told them not
to worry. I pretended I had no issues with their husbands’ negligence. I
was hypocritical, reflected double standards and an imposter.
Again, I found husbands’ failure to give affection and basic emo-
tional support to their sick wives incomprehensible, and unfathomable.
Although this negligence could be attributed to men’s socialisation, I
saw the husbands as inconsiderate, mean and lacking compassion. One
husband complained each time his wife had to go through a cycle of
chemotherapy thus; ‘so you are going to do this thing again and lose all
your hair…’ Another husband called his wife (who had breast cancer)
in the middle of the night and asked her to give him permission to
85
take a second wife because he claims whenever he had sex with her,
he felt the symptoms of chemotherapy. This man took his wife to the
hospital to enquire from doctors whether he would also suffer the side
effects of chemotherapy when they have sex. One wife complained of
her husband thus: ‘When I return from the hospital, he doesn’t even
ask me what the doctor said. Although he is not quarrelling with me,
it seems he does not want to see me, so the moment I am in the house,
he pretends he has to go to this place or that place.’ Some husbands
even suggested that the cancer might be the wife’s fault. One woman
said that when she was diagnosed with end-stage endometrial cancer,
her husband ignored and neglected her, accusing her of having con-
tracted the disease through an extramarital affair. Expectedly, I empa-
thised with the women a great deal, most of whom felt deeply rejected
and neglected by the men they love so much. This upset me intensely,
but I could not express my sentiments even to the wives who were the
victims. I faked ‘understanding,’ just to conform to normative Ghanaian
femininity behaviours, but was internally conflicted and continuously
worried that I could not address the issue with their husbands.
Another fact that created further tensions in me was patients’ femi-
ninity compliance to the hurtful effects of their husbands’ attitudes of
neglect and their enactments of masculinity. I was indeed troubled by
the compliance of wives and their seeming understanding and accom-
modating of their husbands’ behaviours. A number of them made
excuses, at least at first, for their husbands’ inability to do the house-
work or involve themselves in practical care. ‘He is a man, what can he
do?’ one woman said, ‘He does what he can, but you know our men,
they do not touch things with their hands.’ I wished they would chal-
lenge the status quo even so they could enjoy a little respite, but I dared
not incite any such reactions in them.
Furthermore, the process of performing gender and employ-
ing patient-centred method was physically and emotionally drain-
ing for me as patients got very attached to me. I got emotionally
involved in the pain, fears, deterioration and helplessness. I must have
been too empathetic and immersed in the issues of respondents and
their comfort albeit at my own expense. I myself got hypochondriac.
86
D. Atobrah
I had nightmares and shuddered as my ‘friends’’ conditions got worse.

I encountered the pain of death as I lost four patients during the study.
On one occasion, I was the first person to be called when the patient
died, at about 4.30 am. Her daughter called me on mobile phone and
said ‘your sister says she will not live with us again.’ We were both silent
on the phone, and then I cried a lot, minutes later. I went through brief
moments of grieving when death occurred, even when it was expected.
But I also had a great sense of relief in such deaths because it ended pain
and agony for the patients and their families. Such moments reminded
me of the caution I received at the beginning of my research to the
effect that I would need counselling myself. Looking back, I wish I had
taken this advice more seriously.
Discussion and Conclusion
This autoethnographic account illustrates that the conflation between
ethnography and feminist principles is indeed an interesting and complex
one. To some degree, the ethnographic process in Africa does conflict the
ideals of feminism but not in totality, only partially agreeing with Stacey’s
assertion of ethnography contradicting feminism (Stacey 1988).
When ethnography pays attention to culture and contextual issues,
and for that matter the differential gender relations in African societies,
there would be little room for conflict. As a performer, the female eth-
nographer acts in accordance with cultural tenets, and condones with
same. She does not undermine the gender arrangement by superimpos-
ing feminist standards on her respondents. She also does not ‘measure
another woman’s grain with her own bushel,’ but by embracing both
the etic and emic perspectives, generates epistemologies and ontol-
ogies from the realities of the researched. As Conquergood (2003, p.
353) puts it, ethnography is an ‘intensely sensuous way of knowing,’
not of imposing one’s ideals. Imbibing local gender cultures that con-
travene the universal goals of feminists may make the female researcher
seem like a betrayer, an imposter and a player of double standards to
her peers across the globe. Such could create feelings of conflicts and
guilt in her.
87
The female scholar could find huge opportunity in appropriating cul-

tural ascriptions of gender in her interactions with the research commu-
nity. Within the Ghanaian context, leveraging female endowments, which
often resonate with femininity ideations, positions the female researcher
advantageously for ethnography. Critical reflexivity and positionality must
also be applied to enable the researcher reckon the various strands of her
identity and how those components could potentially bias the research
process and outcome. In my own case, being an indigene and a female
did not only give me increased access to the lived experiences of partic-
ipants, but also required a particular kind of participation in the lives
of participants, an expectation which would not have been made of my
male colleagues. Hegemonic masculinity standards would have made it
awkward for a male to devote time and attention to patients, and ‘car-
ing’ about them the way I did (Atobrah and Adomako Ampofo 2016).
Shunting between identities and negotiating positions become necessary
for the success of the study. Contextly, it is important to identify the path-
ways, changes, dynamics and contemporary gender issues to enable the
strategic positioning of the researcher as a player of cultural roles, even if
those roles conflict with her feminist ideals. After all, the ethnographer
is unlikely to be an activist on the field output may be used for activism,
but the researcher is not an activist on the field. The local gender arrange-
ments which may not entirely reflect global feminist tenets of equality,
self-determination and egalitarianism may in themselves be inimical to
the well-being of females, a limitation may not be a function of the eth-
nographic process. It is detrimental for an already distressed female cancer
patient to be required to do so much housework, but such is a function of
gender expectations and not the ethnographic process.
An important submission of this chapter is that ethical requirements
of patient-centred methods, which put the interest of patients above
the interests of the research, mediate and work to dismantle hierarchies
in the research relationship and ward off the exploitation of patients
in the ethnographic process. Patient-centred methods utilises feminine
resources and are beneficial in studying female cancer patients, particu-
larly those in Africa, by supporting them and relieving them of their
physical and emotional burdens. It promotes reciprocity, care, empathy
and mutuality between the researcher and the researched.
88
D. Atobrah
Notes
1. Namely cancer, stoke, chronic diabetes and chronic renal disease.
2. Other categories which are important classifiers include seniority, ethnic-
ity and class.
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5
When in Rome…: Navigating Decolonial
Research as a Diasporic Black Woman
Lioba Hirsch
“Se wo were fi na wosankofa a yenkyi”– “It is not wrong to go back for what
you have forgotten”. (Akan Proverb)
Introduction
This chapter explores some of the lessons learnt; the implications, chal-
lenges and opportunities of researching Africa as a diasporic woman of
African descent, more specifically, a Black woman of white European
and Black African origin. I examine the subject-position that exists at
the intersection of being a diaspora-researcher as well as identifying both
as a woman and as a person of African descent. I argue that diasporic
women researchers of African descent occupy a geographical and social
position of ambiguity. According to Alfred (1995), our multi-layered
identity can be both local and diasporic and thus opens us up to higher
L. Hirsch (*) 
Department of Geography, University College London, London, UK
e-mail: lioba.hirsch.15@ucl.ac.uk
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-94502-6_5
94
L. Hirsch
degrees of familiarity by research participants and partners. As Smith

(2012, pp. 138–142) explains, this can, on the one hand, offer oppor-
tunities to gain unique perspectives and possibly conduct ‘insider
research.’ On the other hand, coupled with being a young woman, it
has also made me more vulnerable to unwanted advances or sexualis-
ation. The main lesson I learnt is one of differentiation. I learnt the dif-
ference between knowing and experiencing the world around me as a
woman and researcher of African descent, and that sometimes I would
have preferred to only know, a privilege that is afforded to some, but not
all of us. As such, I experienced something I already knew abstractly:
that gender is always lived in conjunction with ethnicity and/or indi-
geneity and that this has direct implications on one’s research and posi-
tion as a researcher. I also want to address the difficulties I experienced
in finding gender-sensitive solutions in existing decolonial approaches
to research methodologies. I argue that decolonial research methods’
strict colonised–colonising or insider–outsider binary predominantly
falls short of accommodating our diasporic, complicated and, at times,
messy positionalities. This binary is further complicated in the case of
diaspora-researchers when occupying the social and gendered position
of identifying as a woman of African descent, a subject position that
both complicates and challenges gendered and racial power dynamics
and hierarchies. My intention in this chapter is not to be prescriptive.
I aim to offer questions and reflections based on personal experiences
and challenges that I do not necessarily know the answers to.
A Few Words About Myself, the Diaspora

and Belonging
I identify as Black. Being Black does not simply refer to a racial cate-
gory, it signifies a wealth of political, social and gendered experiences
most often associated with and shared by people of African descent.
I also identify as being of African descent. When I refer to terms such
as ‘mixed-race’ or ‘coloured’, I do this to either reflect on their common
use in Southern Africa or because I was referred to as such by research
participants or colleagues.
5 When in Rome…: Navigating Decolonial …
95
The African diaspora has engaged with a return to our homelands

at least since Césaire’s (2001) Notebook of a Return to My Native Land
first published in French in 1939. These returns have taken poetic
forms, as is the case with Césaire’s writings and have been explored
in talks, novels and web series; our diaspora-ness has been analysed
and performed on streets and stages, at airports and in homes. Much
has been written about the African diaspora in Europe and in North
America, but fewer texts have so far imagined our return and the
position our ‘return’ places us in with regard to doing research. Nor
have we paid attention to how diasporic women imagine and experi-
ence their return home, the politics of our return being often more
important than its lived reality and socio-economic and gendered
implications. Being a woman of the African diaspora shapes my under-
standing of myself and—maybe more importantly—how other people
see me and perceive me when I return to the continent. My body car-
ries meaning, familiarity and the possibility of departure and return.
The work and research I conducted in Zambia did not take place
in a country to which I had any family connections. I worked for a
development agency on a project to strengthen civil society. Much of
my everyday was spent either teaching local partners how to devise
qualitative and quantitative methods and research tools or conducting
research with them, mostly on small infrastructure projects around
sanitation, lighting, public transport, and so on. All projects aimed
to include a gender-mainstreaming component, but this did not
account for the fact that I was a young female diasporic researcher,
working and often travelling alone with men my senior in both expe-
rience and age. I had never been to Zambia before nor had I ever
been to Southern Africa as a region. This had implications in terms
of language, ethnic and cultural belonging, the networks I could rely
on and the access I was granted. It also left me unprepared for the
specific racial and gendered dynamics that are part of the Zambian
everyday and that were reinforced by the presence of white settler
communities, Zambian and otherwise. The racial politics in Togo,
where my family is from, were subtler simply due to the fact that
practically no settlers remained after independence in 1960. Having
done an internship in Togo over a summer in my early twenties, I had
96
L. Hirsch
an inkling of the challenges and privileges that come with working ‘at
home’ and can only assume that these would also extend to the realm
of research. As is the case with local networks, my family’s name, their
economic position and social status changed the way in which I was
perceived and encountered and allowed me differential access to indi-
viduals and institutions. This was especially so since being a young
single African woman coming to live by yourself is still an anomaly
both in sub-Saharan Africa as much as in the norms imparted to me
by my African family. Going away to work by oneself is an experience
that is highly classed and comes with high financial and emotional
responsibilities. It also generally follows a South–North trajectory. In
Zambia, there was no family to protect my reputation or whose name
would grant me access or respect in any form. I was a young single
woman, not protected by the privileges of whiteness, nor by male
relatives.
This chapter will be composed of four short parts. In a first instance,
I briefly outline the approaches to decolonialising research and the
decolonial principles and methods I adopted and which I will discuss in
this chapter. The second and third parts of this chapter, which are each
introduced by short vignettes describing scenes of my time in Zambia,
showcase the tension between decolonial and patriarchal powers at play,
and my difficulties in navigating these. In the conclusion, I continue
my reflections on what it means to be a diasporic woman researcher and
offer concluding thoughts on what we can learn methodologically at the
intersection of gender and racial identity.
The experiences I describe and draw on in this chapter are my own
and they consequently only represent a very limited set of realities. They
represent a set of experiences—Black, woman, young, diasporic—that
have too often been marginalised and written out of academic work.
My experiences would undoubtedly have been different had I been
older, married, or a mother or were I to identify or be identified as
trans or queer. While I will draw on writings by Audre Lorde, a queer
Woman of Colour, I would still like to suggest that more research needs
to explore their subject positions and ensuing implications for research-
ing Africa and doing research in Africa or among people of African
descent.
97
Decolonising Research
Smith’s (2012) Decolonising Methodologies stands out as one of the main
works among a growing body of indigenous explorations of Western
research’s colonial and imperial pasts and the many ways in which these
are re-enacted and prevalent in mainstream research around the world.
This powerful persistence of political, cultural and social dynamics
inherited from the colonial period has been described in general terms
by Quijano (2000, 2007) as ‘coloniality of power’. Mignolo (2009) has
added to this concept by introducing the term ‘coloniality of knowl-
edge’, an idea in which knowledge production (i.e. research) is fully sit-
uated within and is a product of the colonial and racialised modernity
in which we live. Smith’s (2012) argument is that research and research
methodologies need to be decolonised to reveal both the ways in which
Western research was fully implicated in the colonial and imperial
enterprise and the mark this has left on communities—both colonised
and colonising. Decolonising knowledge thus involves the re-centring
of marginalised epistemologies and an attempt to avoid reproducing
colonial power dynamics. As Lorde (1984) famously put it:
What does it mean when the tools of a racist patriarchy are used to exam-
ine the fruits of that same patriarchy? It means that only the most narrow
[sic ] perimeters of change are possible and allowable. […] For the master’s
tools will never dismantle the master’s house. (pp. 110–112)
There is, however, in most decolonial methodologies, an absence

of focus on gendered realities. The researcher is often conceived with
regard to their positioning in relation to colonial rather than gendered
realities. This applies to both the society and environment they study, as
much as the identities they embody. The long-time disregard for racial
and colonial realities outside of postcolonial methodologies and research
has led to specialised literatures focusing on coloniality and colonial
modernity. The majority of writers of the decoloniality-modernity
working group are white-passing Men of Colour whose primary
engagement with gender has been abstract at best. It is this absence of
intersectional accounts, narratives and most importantly methods in
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L. Hirsch
combination with my experiences of conducting research in Southern

Africa, that I seek to explore in this chapter.
The aim of decolonial methods is to conduct research without repli-
cating or perpetuating colonial dynamics and to acknowledge and make
the coloniality of knowledge visible. Practically this means designing a
research project with a set of principles in mind. I discuss those which
I have found most appropriate in the design of past and current pro-
jects, but this is by no means an exhaustive list.
(Decolonial) Principles
The first principle is reflexivity. Reflecting upon the colonial undertones
of one’s positionality, research agenda and research process, especially if
done on a continuous basis, can uncover the pervasiveness of colonial
power dynamics in the societies we research and in ourselves. This is
the case for researchers belonging to the community they are research-
ing (insider research), researchers who do not belong to the community
they are researching (outsider research) (Smith 2012, pp. 138–142), or
members of the diaspora, like myself, who fall somewhere in-between.
With regard to indigenous research projects, Smith (2012, p. 186)
argues that a research project could only contribute to Kaupapa Maori
research if it was done in cooperation with indigenous researchers. No
similar ‘rules’ seem to have been established with regard to the decolo-
nial nature of research undertaken by members of the diaspora in their
research of Africa. As Ramon Grosfoguel (2007, p. 213) asserted, being
socially located on the oppressed side of power does not necessarily
mean that either the researcher or research subject conceives of herself
as epistemically subaltern, nor does it guarantee awareness of epistemic
coloniality. The same holds true for members of the diaspora ‘returning’
to Africa to do research. The idea of return alone presupposes notions
of geographical belonging, entitlement and connection, which in my
opinion need to be studied critically and cannot be taken for granted.
Cooperation and participation with local actors seem key. Participation
aims to involve the research participants in the different stages of con-
ducting research. This can not only count towards the development
99
of additional skills on both sides, it also establishes a form of ‘checks-

and-balances’ on the researcher. A research project that involves its par-
ticipants at all stages makes it more difficult for the coloniality inherent
in the research process to remain unchecked. It also works to ensure
that data do not get ‘lost in translation’ by affording the research par-
ticipant the opportunity to witness the process from the transmission of
data to the conceptualisation and writing stages.
Reciprocity, similar to reflexivity, is a pillar of decolonial research
practice, in that it aims to counteract the exploitative nature of research.
Research participants, especially in formerly colonised regions of the
world, should be compensated for their knowledge and acknowledged
as the original owner. Smith (2012, p. 15) makes the difference between
‘sharing knowledge’, ‘reporting back’ and the mere sharing of informa-
tion. Sharing knowledge involves research participants in the research
process and recognises the research subject as equal partner worthy of
consideration and a discussant of one’s work rather than a simple source
of information. Reciprocity also involves a research subject’s freedom
to ‘act back, to challenge, humiliate, console, enjoy, empathise with,
exclude, or ignore’ a researcher’s intrusions into their lives and spaces
(Alberti et al. 2015, p. 902).
Humility is the last methodological principle I want to discuss here.
Smith (2012, p. 140) writes in relation to insider research:
Insider research has to be as ethical and respectful, as reflexive and crit-

ical, as outsider research. It also needs to be humble. It needs to be hum-
ble because the researcher belongs to the community, as a member with
a different set of roles and relationships, status and position. The outside
‘expert’ role has been and continues to be problematic for indigenous
communities. [emphasis added]
It is humility, more than participation, reflexivity and reciproc-

ity, that has proved challenging for me as a young woman of African
descent doing research. Although I would not characterise myself as an
insider in the Zambian context, I was still somewhat perceived as one,
and therefore think that this is one of the most important lessons and
one I actively tried to apply. Humility when encountering and engaging
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L. Hirsch
with local communities and individuals can become, in my opin-

ion, one of the most powerful decolonial research methods. This does
not necessarily extend to clothing and appearance, but first and fore-
most to how one handles social relationships with the community one
researches as well as the power relations inherent in the research process.
The researcher holds power because it is predominantly she who defines
and produces knowledge. At a conference on decolonising research in
Africa in London in 2016, the keynote speaker and French-Senegalese
anthropologist Dr. Hélene Neveu-Kringelbach said that when it comes
to research in sub-Saharan Africa, a female researcher’s most precious
possession is her reputation.1 This is in line with Smith’s (2012) identifi-
cation of credibility as one of the main factors that can lead to an indig-
enous research student’s success.
These principles were at the forefront of my planning and heav-
ily influenced what I wanted to do and how I wanted to conduct my
research. In terms of being Black and of African descent, adhering to
decolonial research principles seemed to be an imperative. At the same
time, being a woman did not feature heavily in the literature I read. In
this case, being a Black woman complicates the research encounter and
challenges the often-assumed power inherent in researchers engaging in
decolonial practice. It is as a woman doing research that I struggle with
humility, reciprocity and participation more than as a Black researcher.
It is as a Black woman that my first instinct would usually be to reject
the humility imperative. In the examples that follow, I struggle to nav-
igate between the decolonial urgency for humility and the personal
(and feminist) imperative of drawing boundaries and protecting myself
against transgressions that were clearly gendered.
When in Rome, Do as the Romans…

A week or so after my arrival I accompanied the regional coordinator on
a trip to a small town in Southern Zambia where we were to meet with
local civil society partners. During lunch, I sat surrounded by several local
participants. They (a small group of women in their fifties and sixties)
formed the District’s Women Association. Conversations around me turned
101
to local politics, donor agencies and the conditions of the local market. Being
new to the team and not speaking the local language, I listened for bits of
English and soaked in the atmosphere. One of the women turned to me and
addressed me in Tonga, one of the regionally spoken language. I politely, yet
self-consciously responded in English that I unfortunately did not have any
knowledge of Tonga yet, apart from perfunctory greetings. She looked at me
for a moment. ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans,’ she said dismissively,
before turning to the person next to her and not addressing me again for the
rest of our stay.
I have thought about this situation often over the past few years, as
I have about the saying ‘When in Rome…’. Interestingly, while this was
the first time I had heard this sentiment expressed thus, it was not the
last time I would encounter it while in Zambia. Several times, project
participants, local colleagues or brief acquaintances on the bus expressed
this conviction to me when I fell short of meeting expectations. Mostly
in exactly those words, sometimes in a less stylised manner. The use of
such an, in my impression, old-fashioned phrase, far away from its ety-
mological birth place seemed interesting to me in itself. Having spent
some time in the rural areas of Southern Africa, I came to learn that
certain English phrases are commonly used. The answer to the greeting
‘How are you?’ was almost always ‘Fine and how are you?’ The displeas-
ure associated with a lack of assimilation on my part was almost always
expressed through ‘When in Rome…’.
This encounter stayed with me, not because I disagreed with the idea
of having to learn Tonga, rather my unease came from being told in
such terms. Two things are worth reflecting on here: First, the research
participant’s decision to ‘act back, challenge and humiliate’ (Alberti
et al. 2015). The decolonial premise of being humble here was to accept
the criticism and not talk back or explain. To choose not to understand
everything and reverse expected power dynamics. Maybe the lesson is
that research is uncomfortable; that it means accepting that the gaze
works both ways. On the other hand, the gender and age dynamics at
play here are worth noting. I was being educated by an older woman
on what was expected of me, a young woman of African descent. More
clearly, I was being scolded for not being able to perform adequately.
At stake here was not only language, but ingrained knowledge of home
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L. Hirsch
and tradition. In many societies, it is the woman who safeguards and

transmits knowledge and norms. Not only did I not speak the local
language, I proved unable to transmit it to future generations while at
the same time displaying that it had not been transmitted to me. To
my knowledge, no men, diasporic or otherwise, were ever told to ‘do
as in Rome.’ However, neither were white women. Thus, in compari-
son to my male and white peers, what was different was not necessar-
ily the wish that we value and adapt to local customs, rather the degree
of expectation and familiarity with which those wishes were communi-
cated to me, by whom and in what context. Admonishment relies on
a recognised hierarchy, which I was part of by being a young, learning
woman of African descent as much as my interlocutor was by teaching
me. The hierarchy was upheld by both of us. Thus, my experience of
researching Africa as a young woman was made different by my ethnic-
ity. I knew of gendered roles, status and spaces abstractly, I experienced
them, felt them because my body could easily be placed in already
existing social orders, orders that I assumed, as an outsider I would be
observing. This implies a different form of privilege than if I had been
white. Not in the sense that my power was less or that I could exploit
it less, but my gendered presence fluctuated from being more local, not
local at all, and at other times not local enough (i.e. regarding my lack
of Tonga skills).
The fact that I somewhat regret the loss of this privilege and resented
being told off when others were not, is an indication of how much I too
am invested in colonial power dynamics and privileges and how at times
I relied on those privileges to make up for my lack of local knowledge
and gendered power. On the other hand, only through being a young
woman was I admonished and then forced to reflect on the ‘colonial
double bind’ that I was in: unable to reciprocate what Gill et al. (2012,
p. 11) refer to as ‘[the] inability at that moment to delink the English
language from the research process and reciprocate the code switch-
ing’ between research participant and researcher and forced to realise
my own ‘cognitive colonialism’ (ibid.). In this instance, although born
from discomfort, being Black and woman allowed me to experience an
instance of how gender and age work in society, that I might not have
glimpsed, fully understood or resented otherwise.
103
A different way of approaching the ‘diaspora-question’ would be

to ask whether I would have attracted judgement by local partners
and participants if I had been a white or white-passing woman, if it
had been absolutely clear to those around me that no part of me was
‘from there,’ in other words, Black African and consequently somewhat
local. The answer to this lies in more positive experiences in which my
‘African-ness’ was received altogether positively and in which it did
not so much matter that technically my origins on the continent were
roughly 6000 km away. On these occasions, my presence was viewed
as a success. Not only a personal success, but a communal one. The
conditions under which my father had left Africa were less important
than the fact that a part of him had now returned in the form of his
university-educated daughter who engaged in an activity that until very
recently had been the sole domain of white Europeans.
Zambian Women, Coloured Girls

Following a stakeholder meeting organised by one of our local civil society
group partners, during which I had to do a presentation on new ideas and
methods to be incorporated into local research, I received a sexually explicit
text message from one of our partners. He commented, among other things
on the shape of my legs and how these made him feel. ‘Girl, your legs are so
fine. I just can’t help myself,’ it said. He said that after seeing my legs at the
conference, I did not leave him a choice but to text me late in the evening
and let me know how he felt about them. Following this and several similar
incidents, I was told that in Zambia coloured girls – among whom I was
counted – have a reputation of being sexually adventurous and loose. This
was evidently meant to explain the sexual advances and overall familiarity
that many of our male participants and colleagues had expressed towards
me. I felt humiliated, and unfairly judged. I was a girl, not a woman, and
my body was loaded with expectations and concepts that had preceded my
arrival.
The difficulty I encountered in these situations is both a theoreti-
cal and a practical one. Decolonial research methods are based on a
high degree of reflexivity, participation and reciprocity. The researcher
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L. Hirsch
coming from the global North comes armed with the weight of colo-
niality and network privilege. In my case, the expectations in terms
of compliance with local standards came close to those demanded of
young Zambian women. Potentially because I was there alone, poten-
tially because I was clearly African, in any case I provoked more direct-
ness and honesty than my white female peers who at times seemed to
be equipped with a certain immunity. What was said quietly in local
languages behind their back was said to my face and via text in English.
The humility and participation, which are held up high in efforts to
decolonise research, seemed to make my position as a woman researcher
more vulnerable.
Appropriate dress codes are important and local customs and norms
should not be disregarded because they are different from my own or
do not fit my ‘liberal’ world view. My interest lies, again, rather in the
question whether the same liberty would have been taken to approach a
woman ‘less’ local in this way, a woman who seemed less familiar than
me, someone whose (white or male) body commanded more respect
and distance than mine? My gut feeling, and this was reinforced by
conversations with female colleagues, is that my blackness made my
female body ‘available’ in ways that theirs were not, which is not to
say that white women are exempt from sexualisation. My point is that
this sexualisation takes different forms and this difference in turn was
important for how we were seen as researchers, how seriously we were
taken and how effectively we could guard ourselves against unwanted
transgressions.
An important differentiation needs to be made with regard to
this second example on what in this instance was ‘culture’ and
what was patriarchy. In other words, was our conflict a cultural one
between me—culturally insensitive, young, diasporic woman and
him—middle-aged, local, man? Or was it a patriarchal one between
him—middle-aged, local, male and me—young, unattached female? Or
was patriarchy passed off as culture? In general, my approach would be
to defer to culture and bend to cultural norms, not however, to patri-
archal ones. It is this tension, between the desire not to perpetuate
power dynamics that are always tinged by the colonial and the desire
to be respected as a woman, which I think has not yet sufficiently been
105
discussed in decolonial ideas and methodologies. Thus, in decolo-

nial writings as so often in politics, women of African descent face the
choice between prioritising the fight against racism or the fight against
sexism. We are either one or the other, but seldom both and methods
have not taken our multi-layered identities (Alfred 1995) into account.
The solution lies, of course, in recognising, that these often go hand in
hand. Yet, living in predominantly white societies and doing research
in societies in which the colonialities of power and knowledge often go
unchallenged, I have frequently had to make a choice.
Faced with sexual harassment and confronted with embodying an
identity—that of a ‘coloured girl’ doing research became at times dif-
ficult and uncomfortable. Once again, Smith’s (2012) concept of
Insider/Outsider Research is of interest here. She writes of the need
for insider researchers to ‘define closure and have the skills to say “no”
or “continue”’ (p. 139). Saying no effectively requires authority, an
authority that is somewhat at odds with the aforementioned principle
of humility and which did not fit in with local norms. Humility still
appeals to me as a method and a principle, especially when wanting to
conduct research despite colonial structures. Yet, at the same time, to be
humble seemed to invite increased levels of sexualisation and the trans-
gression of bodily and emotional boundaries.
Final Reflections
The lived experience of doing research on Africa as a Black woman
reveals nuances of what we can learn about the intersection of gender
and race in postcolonial Africa. I draw several lessons from my experi-
ences. Firstly, we need to revise and refine decolonial methodologies so
that they eschew the assumption of a white, male researcher. Being or
passing as white alters the way in which one’s gender is perceived and
the power that is attributed to one’s position as researcher. Secondly, the
realisation that gender always intersects with other identities and posi-
tions and that the experience of this intersection differs from knowing
of it as much as it differs between social and ethnic identities. I learned
that while I might identify as a researcher first, a woman of African
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L. Hirsch
descent second, this distinction was not, and often could not, be made
by people I engaged with. This is not unique to an African context, but
it showcased the assumptions and hopes I had for conducting research
‘closer to home.’
I learnt that being a woman, local, somewhat local and not local at
all engenders context-specific social relations and power dynamics.
Increased familiarity can at times encourage small acts of resistance or
defiance and challenge the power dynamics at hand. It can, however,
also lead to the abuse of patriarchal powers and create real vulnerabili-
ties. Regular occurrences of sexualisation from project partners and par-
ticipants did, on the one hand, make me realise the privileged position
of ‘neutral’ researcher I had hoped to inhabit. Neutral in this case did
not refer to my wish of being ‘invisible’; it referred to my assumption
that, in a professional context, I would be treated like my white (male)
or married colleagues. In the end, it was not my lack of a partner, it was
my lack of a male partner in Zambia that opened me up, in conjunction
with my skin colour and my age, to sexual harassment and unwanted
familiarity by local and expatriate men.
I do not seek here to engage in a discourse of victimisation, a descrip-
tion of only the difficulties and challenges that come with doing
research in Africa as a young woman of African descent. Rather, I think
there is an acute need to encourage an exploration surrounding issues
of gender, race and coloniality in research and create awareness around
the fact that our positionality is unevenly imbued with power. This is
especially important if we want to open research up to more women
and People of Colour. I realised that this uneven power dynamic is also
due to the fact that men and women have always held different posi-
tions in imperial and colonial relations, their sexualities and desires
have been differently policed and valued (see, for instance, Stoler 1995,
2010). Our bodies carry these differences and affiliated expectations
into the present. This, more intimate side of colonial power, plays out
in research as much as in other (post-)colonial dimensions. Coloniality
persists in the small interactions between researcher and researched, in
perceptions, desires and the things we take for granted. The colonial cat-
egorisations of ‘Europeans’, ‘natives’ and those in between come to bear
on men and women’s bodies inside and outside the carefully designed
107
research encounter. Men’s position of authority is often less questioned

than women’s and humility is less expected. I would suggest that there
is an acute need for specialised methods that encourage reflexivity, but
also that protect young, single women against disproportionate sexual-
isation. At the same time, I would argue that an in-depth engagement
with how the past shapes present politics of intimacy and familiarity, of
distance and authority in the research encounter benefits all of us seek-
ing to conduct research in Africa and elsewhere. How we as researchers,
within and beyond the gender binary, are positioned in relation to phys-
ical and societal expectations and entitlements influences what we see
and experience.
I strongly believe that being both of Black African origin and a
woman changed the relationship I had with my project participants
and the way they saw and approached me. My skin colour in this case
was permeated with meaning not only in terms of being less foreign
than my white colleagues, my less-than-foreignness was at the same
time inflected with the duty of implicitly knowing and respecting
the local, an expectation less openly addressed to people of European
descent. These expectations were again different for women, and young
women in particular. Leaving West Africa more than 30 years ago, my
father took his language, knowledge and norms with him to Europe.
‘Returning’ today, I was expected to bring them back if not in their
original form, then in an ingrained knowledge of belonging and fitting
in. Being African and not being African all at once did not only make
me highly visible, it at times challenged the researcher position I wanted
to maintain and made me an object of enquiry, of contestation and of
ambiguity—an ambiguity that was waiting to be explored, claimed and
that opened me up to forms of familiarity I was not necessarily comfort-
able with or prepared for.
Note
1. ‘Doing fieldwork in Africa and beyond: Some personal reflections’,
Keynote Lecture by Dr. Neveu-Kringelbach at the annual University of
London Africa Research Students Network Conference, 25 May 2016.
108
L. Hirsch
References
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University Press.
Césaire, A. 2001. Notebook of a Return to My Native Land. Middletown, CT:
Wesleyan University Press.
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Research Practices: Moving Towards Decolonizing and Decolonial Praxis.
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211–223.
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Crossing Press.
Mignolo, W.D. 2009. Epistemic Disobedience, Independent Thought and
Decolonial Freedom. Theory, Culture and Society 26 (7–8): 159–181.
Quijano, A. 2000. Coloniality of Power and Eurocentrism in Latin America.
International Sociology 15 (2): 215–232.
Quijano, A. 2007. Coloniality and Modernity/Rationality. Cultural Studies
21 (2): 168–178.
Smith, L.T. 2012. Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous
Peoples. London  and New York: Dunedin; New York: Zed Books;
Dunedin: University of Otago Press; New York: Distributed in the USA by
St. Martin’s Press.
Stoler, A.L. 1995. Race and the Education of Desire—Foucault’s History of
Sexuality and the Colonial Order of Things. Durham and London: Duke
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in Colonial Rule: With a New Preface. Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London:
6
Reflections on the Dilemmas of Feminist
Fieldwork in Africa
Tanya Lyons
Introduction
Twenty years ago, Sylvester (1995, pp. 941–969) both inspired and
challenged me to ‘just go!’ to Africa, and into the field to conduct fem-
inist fieldwork, but warned me not indulge in ‘feminist tourism’ (1995,
p. 945). She outlined a strategy that I implemented, of ‘empathetic
The title for this chapter was inspired by Diane Wolf (1996), and this chapter is based upon
the prior publications of Tanya Lyons (1999a, b; 2004). An earlier version of this chapter was
also presented at the African Studies Association of Australasia and the Pacific (AFSAAP) 2016
Annual Conference—“Africa: Moving the Boundaries”, University of Western Australia, Perth,
5–7 December 2016.
T. Lyons (*) 
College of Business, Government and Law, Flinders University,
Bedford Park, SA, Australia
e-mail: Tanya.lyons@flinders.edu.au
T. Lyons 
Centre for Africa Studies, University of the Free State,
Bloemfontein, South Africa
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-94502-6_6
110
T. Lyons
co-operation’ for the Western feminist doing research about African

women (1995, pp. 941–976). This was based on Sylvester’s world-
travelling tips (1995, p. 957) derived from Alarcón (1990, p. 363),
inspired by Jaggar (1983, p. 386–387), who cites Lugones’ doubts
about white Anglo women researching women of colour:
…Before they can contribute to collective dialogue [white Anglo women]

need to know the ‘text,’ to have become familiar with an alternative way
of viewing the world … You need to learn to become unintrusive, unim-
portant, patient to the point of tears, while at the same time open to learning
any possible lessons. You will have to come to terms with the sense of alien-
ation, of not belonging, of having your world thoroughly disrupted, hav-
ing it criticized and scrutinized from the point of view of those who have
been harmed by it, having important concepts central to it dismissed,
being viewed with mistrust… [my emphasis].
Twenty years later, this chapter is a reflection upon my decisions,

choices and feminist justifications for choosing to go to Zimbabwe in the
mid-1990s to research the roles of women in the anti-colonial liberation
struggle and their subsequent experiences in the post-colonial African
state. The fieldwork undertaken was specifically conducted to achieve a
doctorate in philosophy (Ph.D.) through the Department of Politics at
the University of Adelaide, South Australia. While my motives were jus-
tified by the best of intentions, this fieldwork required me to critique my
own feminist credentials and objectives, and assess the strengths, weak-
ness and outcomes that this research ultimately produced.
Twenty years ago, ‘identity politics’ (Diaz-Diocaretz and Zavala
1985; see also Keith and Pile 1993), or the ‘politics of identity’ (Yuval-
Davis 1997, pp. 119–120; Peterson 1999) was relatively new in political
science, informed by feminism, postmodernism and postcolonialism—
all challenges to the mainstream theories—and required (among a num-
ber of politically correct theoretical acknowledgements) a declaration of
who you are or claim to be—using signifiers such as white/black, male/
female, first/third world and so on (Lal 1996). However, no matter how
I described myself (then or now), and despite my feminist world trav-
elling ethical guidelines in hand (Sylvester 1995, pp. 941–969), when
6 Reflections on the Dilemmas of Feminist Fieldwork in Africa
111
I finally got into the field—in Zimbabwe in 1996—Zimbabwean/

Australian author Sekai Nzenza-Shand (1997a, p. 171; 1997b) still crit-
icised me for being just another foreign, middle-class white girl choos-
ing to do fieldwork on women in Africa. Indeed, as Spivak has argued,
declaring your identity and position as a gesture ‘can never suffice’,
(1988, p. 271) and as Alcoff (1991–1992, pp. 5–32) warns, it is an easy
and frequent trap to just ‘speak for others’ without their consent (also
see Lal 1996, pp. 190–197).
Frustrated by my own inconvenient otherness and too far into my
Ph.D. research and field work to change topics and write about some-
thing more politically correct—such as issues facing female, white, mid-
dle-class university students studying in South Australia—I carried on
regardless! Yet, Nzenza did have a point. Why was I writing about the
plight of Zimbabwean women who had fought in their national strug-
gle for liberation? The answer lies in the question ‘why?’ and the refin-
ing of this question to find a niche angle to explore it.
On this question, I was influenced by Carol Bacchi’s1 hallway advice
regarding a simple but effective approach to research: that is, to find an
answer to the question—‘what is the problem?’ (Bacchi 1999; see also
Bletsas and Beasley 2012). War is the problem, and women appear to
suffer more and/or differently during wars, compared to men. Hence,
applying a feminist historiography to the issue, the researcher can eas-
ily explore and report on something that probably has not been stud-
ied in depth before, and thus make that original contribution to the
academy, which is required to achieve that academic recognition. Thus,
I could have been ‘the arrogant perceiver [who] does not countenance
the possibility that the Other is independent, indifferent. … coerc[ing]
the objects of his [or her] perception into satisfying the conditions his
[or her] perception imposes’ (Frye 1983, p. 67), thereby ‘discovering
it and bringing it back home through colonial and imperialist activi-
ties’ (Sylvester 1995, p. 947) to serve my own ends. I hope I was not.
I hope I have respected the women I interviewed, and their stories
and voices in their histories told through my research. For example,
when conducting the interviews I made an audio recording on cassette
tapes, while also taking notes. Then after I had transcribed the taped
112
T. Lyons
interviews, I returned this to each woman, with the accompanying

transcript, and invited them to review what they had said, how I had
written it up, and if they wanted anything changed. I always respected
their right not to include certain information. If I could not get their
final approval, then their interviews were not included in my final
research.
I wonder if any of my male counterparts at the university would
have worried about this issue, or if it was just something peculiar to
the feminist perspective subscribed to by female scholars in the 1990s?
Would the men have gone to an African country to interview women
on their experiences of war? The fact is, at that time, they did not (see
Youngs et al. 1999). Indeed, it has only been in more recent years that
some male academics have included a gendered lens in their examina-
tion of war (e.g. Cooper 2003; Lahai 2012; Dureismith 2012; Hills
2015), but it is obvious that women researchers led the academic bri-
gade in this challenging and important field of research (e.g. Addis
et al. 1994; Cock 1989, 1991; Cooke and Woollacott 1993; Enloe
1983; Nordstrum 1999; Pettman 1996; Presley 2003; Tetreault
1994) and we need to acknowledge their legacy, and/or our part in it
(Gurney 1985).
This chapter will therefore retrospectively reflect on my experiences
of conducting feminist fieldwork in Zimbabwe in the late 1990s and
will question the ethical position of doing such research and its endur-
ing legacies. In particular, this chapter examines the politics of ‘who can
speak for whom’ and why anyone researching in Africa has the eman-
cipatory potential to challenge the dominant colonial and postcolonial
discourses that have determined historical texts.
The Seven Dilemmas

I was young and naïve when I travelled from Australia to Zimbabwe
to research the issues facing women and war in Africa 20 years ago.
Nonetheless, I was concerned enough to want to avoid being viewed as
an interfering or patronising foreigner in Africa and did not want to be
labelled as culturally insensitive or dare I say ‘colonial’.
113
Dilemma 1: How can the Western, feminist-Africanist locate her work

without being situated within the neo-imperial or Africanist/Orientalist
discourse (e.g. Mikell 1997; Said 1978; Mudimbe 1988).
Australia had not colonised any African states, so I felt rather con-
fident the latter would not apply, but I remained the white/foreign/
female/other throughout, and the perception was that I had many
advantages, such as access to funding (although I was lucky enough to
hold an Australian Commonwealth Scholarship to conduct my Ph.D.
and research, I was not financially rich—nor the stereotypical privileged
middle-class white girl—so I busied myself with organising fund raisers
in order to purchase a return airline ticket from Adelaide to Harare).
Yet, such advantages, however accurate, were negated when I was met
with the ‘scepticism, defensiveness, and ambivalence’ of some postco-
lonial feminist scholars who argued that this research only served to
‘silence’ African woman (Nzenza-Shand 1997b, pp. 170–171; Mohanty
1988, pp. 61–88; Minh-ha 1989).
As an Australian woman harbouring feminist tendencies with a
strong sense of social justice, I was (and remain) dedicated to African
Studies and was fortunate to have been a student of the late Professor
Cherry Gertzel (Buswell et al. 2015). However, up until my fieldwork,
I had not set foot on the African continent and acknowledged that
this was a problem that had to be rectified. In consultation with other
women researching in Africa, I carefully considered my positionality,
my purpose and reasons for going, and bravely (or arrogantly?) declared
that my research was worthwhile, and that not going would not ben-
efit anyone. However, despite applying in advance, my Zimbabwean
research permit had not been issued by the week of my departure.
Dilemma 2: Do I stay, or do I go?
Christine Sylvester, who was visiting Adelaide University at the time
(in 1995), provided the best advice I had received from anyone about
doing fieldwork in Africa. She advised me to ‘just go!’ She said it quite
sternly, so I did! I entered Zimbabwe on a tourist visa and organised my
research permit when I got there. This dilemma was resolved easily. The
other dilemmas, to be detailed below, were soon made apparent to me
as I settled into life in Harare.
114
T. Lyons
Nzenza argued that when white women speak, their voice is valued
but when black women speak, their ‘speech is denigrated in academic
circles because [they] lack the language of theory’ (Nzenza 1995, p.
103). She explained that there are culturally insensitive ‘obstacles to
understanding’, which contribute to the silencing of African women.
The difficulty is compounded by the problems and possibilities of high

theory, which at the present is the chosen mode of articulation. On the
one hand, I recognize its enabling potential and the fact that it cannot
be shut out of African thinking. On the other, it is very distant from our
experience, and it is, after all, understood only by a small elite, largely in
the Western world. (Nzenza-Shand 1997b, p. 215)
Academic theories are usually generated for academic audiences. It is

not simply high theory that uses and thus silences (in this case) African
women’s experiences. The perception in the late 1990s was that the posi-
tion from which the ‘white woman’ researcher spoke guaranteed an audi-
ence, and her work was more likely to be read in academic circles where
(the subject) African women were rarely located. Nzenza concludes that
‘the issue is not that the women have been silent, but that they were not
heard or understood’ (Nzenza-Shand 1997b, p. 216). African women
were speaking in other ways within their communities, but the Western
world was incapable of hearing, hence also confirming Spivak’s subaltern
thesis, they can speak, it is just that no one is listening (Spivak 1988).
Nzenza suggests that the,
future [for] feminist methodologies rel[ies] on oral forms of evidence. The

only problem is how this data should be collected and how it is presented
… The researcher still retains the power to select questions, and to silence
those words she feels are not important to her research. Clearly her ideolog-
ical position also determines the way conclusions are drawn from raw data.
The African woman remains a static, silent object of research, while her life is
‘spoken for,’ and about, in feminist academic circles. (Nzenza 1995, p. 104)
Lewis offered a strategy to search for the subaltern voice within ‘ori-
entalist discourse’ which she argues is ‘an uneven matrix of orientalist
115
situations across different cultural and historical sites in which each

orientalism is “internally complex and unstable”’ (1996, p. 4). Lewis
defines the subaltern voice as ‘embryonically counter hegemonic …
[which] may contest and to varying extents transform the power rela-
tions of hegemonic discourse’ (Lewis 1996, p. 4). This meant that the
subaltern voice would be audible within hegemonic discourse and
appear clearly in the cracks of the latter. Thus, we begin the task of
searching in the cracks of hegemonic discourse until we hear the voice
of the subaltern (the African woman).
Dilemma 3: Assuming we are successful in finding it, how can we then
project her voice to ensure it is heard by a wider audience, both inside and
away from academia?
John Beverly questioned whether we can represent the subaltern
either mimetically—speaking about—or politically and legally—
speaking for—without confronting the dilemma of subaltern resistance
to elite conceptions and without ignoring the ways she can speak, if she
is just ‘spoken for’ (1998, pp. 305–319). Beverly asks, ‘what would be
the point after all of representing the subaltern as subaltern?’ The aim of
my research was clearly not to represent the subaltern as subaltern, but
to re-present them as a subject of Zimbabwean history from the ‘welter
of documentary and historiographic discourses that [had] den[ied] the
subaltern that power of agency’ (Beverly 1998, p. 306).
In this case, it was about the Zimbabwean liberation war and post-
colonial Zimbabwean gender politics, which had silenced the female
guerrilla fighters, and denied them as ‘women ex-combatants’ a right to
be acknowledged for their contribution to Zimbabwe’s liberation from
Rhodesian white minority rule. In my research, I did not claim to represent
the subaltern, but to acknowledge the absence of subaltern representation.
To be unrepresented means to be unheard. To be heard means to be no
longer subaltern. To represent the subaltern in this way meant that they
became actors and agents of their own history. The point was not to be
the voice of the subaltern but to engage in a dialogue with her, and thus
I aimed to privilege her voice in the context (and restraints) of academic
research (Marcus 1994 cited in Lal 1996, p. 206).
116
T. Lyons
Bullbeck (1996) has argued that this approach could be perceived as

‘Orientalism’, or exoticising the Other. That is representing the same
images, voyeuristically retelling the same colonised stories, recapturing
the same exotic images for the Western gaze (Said 1978). Indeed, Nzenza
was concerned about this and offered a critical methodology for the
white Western woman to research the African woman—simply acknowl-
edge that you are coming from a position of power (1995, pp. 100–106).
Indeed, as an Australian woman heading off into Zimbabwe to do
fieldwork, it was necessary for me to consider and challenge these cri-
tiques of my potential perception as a white woman of privilege. Yet,
there were already a sizeable number of Western women academics and
activists researching women’s issues in Africa, and critiquing Women
and Development (WAD) and Gender and Development (GAD) per-
spectives (e.g. Parpart 1989; Chowdhry 1995; Parpart and Marchand
1995; Mbilinyi 1993, pp. 47–48, cited in Sylvester 1995, p. 956;
Razavi and Miller 1995). Their voices were given authority to speak
within the discourse of ‘women in/and development’, and it enabled
them to pursue the needs of African women. While it was true that
those pursuits were perceived and paid for by the West, were they fulfill-
ing Bullbeck’s Orientalist critique of just exoticising the Other, and had
they reflected on Nzenza’s concern to simply acknowledge their posi-
tions of power? Either way, here lies the next dilemma.
Dilemma 4: Is it better to speak for rather than to ignore?
Although my research in Zimbabwe reported in my Ph.D. and sub-
sequent book (Lyons 1999b, 2004), was not conducted with the vast
global funding and resources assumed by and within the Women in
Development (WID) field of research in the 1990s (Sylvester 1995, p.
956), these critics are solemn reminders of how feminist theory and
research can easily shift into colonial gear despite their efforts to high-
light resistance to colonial power relations. So how did I avoid being
criticised as ‘colonial’ in my research on women in Africa? I have to
admit I was not altogether successful.
Up to the mid-1990s, it was not uncommon for women’s lives and
their histories to have been diminished or even excluded from histor-
ical texts. My research found that Zimbabwean women’s voices and
117
therefore their experiences had been excluded from mainstream history

in Zimbabwe. When consulted (by other feminist researchers), their
stories provided valuable insights into this country’s history (Barnes
1992). The feminist researcher is therefore not only justified in this
approach but can provide an essential service in the collection of oral
histories, and as in this case study, to centralise them in the discourse
and or history of war (Staunton 1990).
Therefore, in my research, I firstly considered women’s oral histories
as central to these significant events (Bozzoli 1994). Of course, I was
not the first feminist researcher to have this epiphany, and a number
of feminist historians had documented women’s voices to reclaim their
pasts. I was particularly influenced and inspired, and fortunately men-
tored by the late Canadian academic Susan Geiger for her work in this
area (see Geiger 1992). In my research, however, I found that often the
volumes of women’s herstories remained either unpublished or silenced
by mainstream history as they gathered dust on archival shelves, deemed
irrelevant to the wider political debate or academic discourse. However,
even this strategy was not sufficient on its own, when considering Lal’s
(1996, p. 205) ‘uneasy’ concerns about using the voices of the subject
as ‘garnishes and condiments’ to the researchers’ main course. Indeed,
Sylvester has labelled this ‘garnish’ approach as a type of ‘feminist tour-
ism’ preoccupied with proving that we have been there and done that,
‘leaving us with baseball caps affixed with tourist decals – “I climbed
Mt. Kilimanjaro with Tanzanian National Feminists”’ (1995, p. 945).
Baseball caps do not suit me anyway, so this was not my path.
How many international relations theorists have stopped to consider
if their utilisation of a case study supports a particular theoretical point
which then relegates a whole gender to condiment status or the whole
research as a type of voyeuristic tourism? Surely, no self-respecting femi-
nist would want the ‘narrative’ to be all about ‘themselves’, but to utilise
their effort to expose the stories that need to be told? Yet, in the 1990s,
there was almost too much self-reflexive caution and concern about
researching ‘other’ women. Yet, for my research, without the voices of
women ex-combatants, the research would have been an unappetising
aperitif with no main course on offer. Simply, there would have been no
point.
118
T. Lyons
Dilemma 5: Can any fieldwork or research (feminist or not) centre the sub-
ject’s voice to the exclusion of theory?
In using the voices of women to explain theory, we are not ‘capturing’
the Other, as Lal explains, ‘via new technologies of inscription: tapes, sur-
veys, interviews, word processing,’ but providing an opportunity for these
women to ‘shape [her] own self-representation’ (Lal 1996, p. 204). That is,
the researcher cannot begin to claim that she can control the participants’
responses. For example, interviewees may decide to misrepresent their
socio-economic situation or embellish the truth of their stories in some way.
Indeed, during my fieldwork interviews in Zimbabwe, some of the
women recreated their own histories either by not mentioning, avoiding
or denying some painful aspects of the war. In many cases, the women
did not stick to the prepared questions but talked freely of their experi-
ences. They were asked why they joined the struggle and to describe their
experiences of war as women. The questions I asked the women ex-com-
batants were divided into three sections: (1) before the war; (2) during
the war; (3) after the war. Initially I had a list of 27 questions. However,
after three interviews with these questions, I realised that it was too
lengthy. The women just did not have the time to sit down for the entire
day to discuss them, and most were too busy to agree to second and third
interviews. Hence, the questions were reduced to eleven. In most cases,
one formal interview was conducted with each woman ex-combatant and
informal contact was maintained with some of the women.
Remembering their experiences during the war was difficult for
many women ex-combatants. Most women did not feel comforta-
ble talking about the political situations that occurred during the
war, either because it is still too politically sensitive to discuss, or
they were unsure of the facts, so the interviews related to personal
experiences. These experiences reflected the political and emancipa-
tory strategies that concerned or involved women. As Lal advised, the
participants ‘are often not just responding to our agendas and to our
questions, but they are also engaged in actively shaping their pres-
entations to suit their own agendas of how they wish to be repre-
sented’ (1996, p. 204).
Therefore, participant interviews or any other method of collect-
ing women’s oral histories for any research focusing on women is thus
119
central to feminist discourse and research, and it must be shaped by

both the researcher and the researched, thus it must be collaborative.
Therefore, any prior misrepresentations can be avoided by represent-
ing the voices of the women involved with consideration to the above
dilemmas of feminist methodology. The thesis I undertook therefore
evolved into an examination of the juxtaposition between Zimbabwean
women ex-combatants’ voices (their oral histories, stories and re-
presentations of their experiences) and the prior representations of
women as guerrilla fighters predominantly featured in the various dis-
courses of Zimbabwe’s liberation war. These women’s voices captured
in the researcher’s text signified that they were no longer Spivak’s ‘sub-
altern’, because the women had represented themselves and challenged
their subordinated status in the discourse of war.
There is no doubt that my fieldwork in Zimbabwe benefitted from
some women speaking out about how their roles in the liberation war
had been represented and misrepresented. Indeed, some women partic-
ipants used this research to re-represent their situation and thus rein-
vented themselves as ‘heroines’ of the liberation struggle, rather than
succumbing to the negative stereotypes of women guerrilla fighters.
What were these that affected their demobilisation and post-independ-
ence compensation for their roles (compared to their male counter-
parts)? Others simply took the opportunity to discuss their roles in the
war with someone (another woman), perhaps for the first time since
independence. These women were the heroines of their own stories,
and I was privileged to be able to listen, transcribe, analyse and publish
them.
To ensure my obligation to the collaboration, and to avoid any
accusations of ‘feminist tourism’ or ‘arrogance’, I ensured that cop-
ies of my final manuscript were deposited in the National Archives of
Zimbabwe and the Women’s Resource Centre in Harare, for future
Zimbabweans to be able to access (this was before the World Wide
Web, Google and online social media). I considered it important at the
time to include the full text of the women’s interviews in appendices
(not as ‘garnishes’) in order to preserve their voices to the full extent
possible in a written form. For many, it was their only opportunity to
speak about their experiences. Therefore, I deposited the de-identified
120
T. Lyons
interview transcripts in the Zimbabwe National Archives and later they

were included in an online open access database entitled Struggles for
Freedom—South Africa (see JSTOR, n.d.). Nonetheless, trying one’s best
to take into account all of the postcolonial considerations of identity
and the politics of one’s own position does not automatically exempt
one from the neo-imperial discourses. I began my own fieldwork with
all of these considerations, concerns and questions in my mind.
The Zimbabwe National Liberation War Veterans Association
(ZNLWVA) provided much assistance and enthusiasm for my project
and introduced me to a small but vocal group of women ex-combatants.
Each woman ex-combatant I interviewed was given a copy of the ques-
tions before the interview and a description of my research objectives
and university affiliation. Each woman was also offered the choice of
remaining anonymous and most preferred this; however, the women
who were already in the public eye were named with their permission.
During my interviews with women ex-combatants in Harare, I was
sensitive to their possible stereotyping of me as privileged and pow-
erful. I tried to show them that I was just a student, keen to connect
with them without being perceived as colonial. After discussing my life
experiences with them, they felt more relaxed to tell me theirs, as they
realised I was not a ‘powerful other’, and agreed that this was an oppor-
tunity for collaboration. However, this led to another dilemma for me as
a foreign student researching in Zimbabwe.
Dilemma 6: Should I have paid the women for their interviews?
Already uncomfortable about my perceived position of power as
a white, Western middle-class woman in Africa, at the time I felt pres-
sured to meet most requests for financial compensation for conducting
interviews with the women ex-combatants. For example, during a focus
group interview with women ex-combatants held at the ZNLWVA offices
in Belgravia, Harare, I was required to pay for their travelling and food
expenses. Although I did not have additional funding from my univer-
sity to pay for interviews and research assistants, and knowing that some
other foreign researchers in Zimbabwe (mostly American and some
British Ph.D. Students) did not consider it ethical to pay for interviews, I
nevertheless did so. These women had come out of their way to meet me
121
and talk to me. I did, however, make a point of purchasing enough copies
of the local oral history publication, Mothers of the Revolution (Staunton
1990), and gave each woman I interviewed a copy of this as well, which I
hoped would contribute to the sharing of all of their stories.
When I began interviewing women ex-combatants in Harare, my ini-
tial aim was to get a better understanding of what the liberation war
meant to them, how they had fought differently to men, and how they
represented themselves, especially in their roles as the Guerrilla Girls, a
label that was ascribed to them during the struggle. What I found was
that they had very different interests, and me making token payments
for the interviews did not affect this outcome. Most of the women indi-
cated that they were concerned with getting access to government com-
pensation, funding, or rehabilitation schemes in recognition of their
liberation war activities. They were rather less worried about how they
had been being represented in the mass media, novels, or by academ-
ics. As Nzenza has argued, it is clear ‘that while the Western feminist is
concerned with the oppression of African women, they are much more
concerned with the urgent needs of day-to-day living’ (1995, p. 102).
While my research was necessarily academic and required a certain
demonstration of academic traditions, this did not preclude the crea-
tion of dialogue and an ‘empathetic cooperation’ which accounted for
the ‘politics of identity’. The outcome of my research was that it con-
tributed to the wider discussion about women and war in Africa, in par-
ticular to the debates concerning the position of women ex-combatants
in Zimbabwe, who had been disadvantaged (or advantaged—for exam-
ple, Teurai Ropa 2) economically, socially and politically through their
roles in the liberation war. Without the critical feminist tools discussed
above and therefore without any sense of accountability to the subject,
it might be necessary to just stay at home and not go anywhere. With
these tools, it remains possible to confront and begin to resolve the
dilemmas of feminist fieldwork in Africa.
The story of women’s experiences and history of the liberation war
in Zimbabwe can never be just one story. There are thousands of stories
to be told. The eighteen interviews I conducted with women ex-com-
batants sixteen years after the end of the war are together only pieces
of the historical puzzle. They do not make up the authoritative history
122
T. Lyons
of women’s experiences, nor do they have more or less authority than

other collections of women’s oral histories in Zimbabwe (e.g. Nhongo-
Simbanegavi 1997, 2000). For many of these women, the memory of
war was an individual and painful experience, and they did not want to
make their histories political.
There was no ongoing collective identity of Guerrilla Girls, or subse-
quently a group called women ex-combatants. There was no women’s
section within the ZNLWVA or outside of it, although the term women
ex-combatant existed in public discourse. Most women who had fought
as Guerrilla Girls did not benefit from post-independence rehabilitation
programmes designed to integrate ex-combatants into society.
Dilemma 7: In hindsight, would I have done any of it differently?
Hindsight is a lovely thing, but at the time I did my best and I have
no regrets. Over the years, I have received a handful of letters or emails
from Zimbabweans thanking me for my contribution to their women’s
history. For example, one unsolicited email from a Zimbabwean living
in exile declared the following—‘To say I was impressed and intrigued
by the depth and breadth of your thesis would be an understatement,
as it touches parts of our history, a history which was not taught to
us growing up in Zimbabwe, but was experienced by real people who
remain(ed) silent for reasons you well articulated’ (name withheld).
More recently, I have been approached by a Zimbabwean film-maker
looking to include my research in a documentary on the role of women
in Zimbabwean history. This praise speaks for itself and does not require
further critical feminist reflections to justify my role within the research.
Thus, upon reflection, I would not have done anything differently with
the gift of hindsight. Although, if I could go back in time with a larger
research budget, a more experienced research career and a team of local
research assistants, I would have broadened the research to include more
women’s voices and histories before they were lost to the past. However,
at the time, as a woman researcher in Africa, I did not think to ask for
more money for my research agenda. As an Australian woman research-
ing in/on Africa, I was satisfied that I had challenged some patriarchal,
colonial and postcolonial discourses that had previously determined the
historical texts on Zimbabwe and was understandably tired and ready to
go home to my family after a year in the field.
123
Conclusion
I can not help but think that the next generation of women academ-
ics involved in African studies, who are following behind me through
the university sector in Australia and elsewhere, whether focusing
on feminist concerns or not, are the embodiment of the successes of
global feminism and will indeed make ongoing and valuable contri-
butions to global social justice and peace, through their contributions
to knowledge and understanding of African issues. Academics such as
Balaton-Chrimes (2008, 2011a, b, 2013, 2014), Balaton-Chrimes and
Haines (2015), Burke (2012, 2013), El-Gack (2016), Jakwa (2016),
Meger (2010, 2011, 2014, 2015), Mertens (2016), and Mertens and
Pardee (2016) to name but a few. These women researchers involved
with African Studies have also demonstrated their emancipatory
potential to challenge the dominant colonial and postcolonial dis-
courses that have determined historical texts, through their ‘gutsy’
fieldwork, research and publications. These women researching Africa
have shown that the seven dilemmas of feminist research, as detailed
above, can be overcome. However, it is crucial that all research under-
taken in African contexts takes into consideration these feminist
dilemmas. Until such a time that there is ‘no’ correlation between
the gender of the researcher and the researched (see Gurney 1985),
women researchers in Africa will have to continue leading the way in
the academy to ensure that women’s voices are heard and respected in
the social sciences.
Notes
1. Carol Bacchi was an academic where I undertook my Honours degree
and later my Ph.D. in the Department of Politics at the University of
Adelaide. Although at the time I did not appreciate it, her hallway advice
to me was invaluable to my research development. She is now Emeritus
Professor in the School of Politics and International Studies, University
of Adelaide.
124
T. Lyons
2. Teurai Ropa [Spill Blood] was the assigned guerrilla war name for Joyce
Mujuru, who subsequently became the Minister for Women’s Affairs
after independence, and went on to become the Vice-President of
Zimbabwe (see Lyons 2003). In 2016, she was the leader of an opposi-
tion party named Zimbabwe People First.
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Part II
Relationships with ‘Others’ as a Female
Researcher in Africa
7
Researching the Rural:
A Mzungu Loose in Africa
Max Kelly
Introduction
The process of conducting fieldwork in any context outside one’s own
home environment consists of multiple layers of engagement. The first
is our own experience and interactions as human beings, as friends,
colleagues, neighbours, and most often, initially as strangers in any
environment. A second layer of focus or engagement, and one that is
often of significant interest to one’s host institution (or at least its eth-
ics committee) is issues of risk and safety. Our role in any given com-
munity is driven by a sense of trust and identity. Who are we, why
are we there, are we somebody worthy of attention or time? The way
we conduct research (and ourselves) is driven by academic standards
and ethical standards, yet at the same time we must navigate unfamil-
iar terrain, unfamiliar customs and frequently unfamiliar language.
M. Kelly (*) 
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-94502-6_7
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M. Kelly
The most obvious layer of engagement is within the research itself in

terms of how the researcher is present (or absent) within the research
design, data and analysis. This chapter is driven by the reflexive turn in
qualitative research, the ‘thoughtful, analytic self-awareness of research-
ers’ experiences, reasoning, and overall impact throughout the research
process’ (Råheim et al. 2016, n.p.). The need for critical self-awareness
as a development actor is embedded in international development dis-
course, but less so in development research literature.
Twenty years after commencing my first overseas fieldwork for a
Ph.D. in Malawi, and 20 years’ worth of reflection, and engagement
with academic literature and academic research projects (both mine
and others) provide a sense of familiarity with research, particularly
in Africa. At the same time, I feel a sense of unease, in terms of what
I have learned, changed and discovered along the way; how this has
contributed to my experiences of the world (which it undoubtedly has);
and how it may have contributed to others’ experiences of research, of
foreigners, of whiteness, of white foreign femaleness. What would, or
should I have done differently? What could I have known then that
I know now? In the intervening period I have continued to research in
Malawi, Uganda and a range of other countries. However, my sense of a
relationship with Malawi drives me to constantly seek out opportunities
to return there, and in this instance to reflect on my experiences there,
specifically from the perspective of white Irish Australian Mzungu.
This chapter explores what have emerged as key factors in designing,
conducting and analysing field research data, bringing a gendered per-
spective to literature on field research within international development.
The chapter reflects on overall fieldwork considerations as a foreign
white ‘western’ woman researching within international development,
and some of the generalisations, and oversights that accompany this
‘position.’ Key themes include researcher positionality, methodologi-
cal reflections and power relations, and finally a reflexive look at what
being a female researcher in international development in Africa has
meant. My initial focus is on the locus of discourse on gender, power
and change in international development. This is followed by a review
of development research, in practice, drawing on my own research
experience, and in theory, reflecting on the discourse on researcher
7 Researching the Rural: A Mzungu Loose in Africa
133
positionality and the advice contained in development research books.

The chapter concludes with a reflection on the notion of ‘doing good’
as a development researcher, calling for a repositioning of international
development fieldwork texts to provide a more nuanced and theoreti-
cally informed discourse for new (and seasoned) development workers,
both male and female.
International Development: Gender, Power

and Change
International development studies is most often associated with ‘good
change’ (Chambers 2004, pp. 2–3) in the human condition. However,
the meaning of development is a contested space, ranging from Hickey
and Mohan’s (2005) postmodern position whereby development is a dis-
course, to the ‘willed’ development vision of the development agencies,
from donors to implementers of ‘development’ in all its forms. Gender
is a central part of much of the development discourse. From early con-
siderations of women in development (WID), which resulted in a much
greater focus on the role of WID from the 1960s, through the evolu-
tion of woman and development (WAD), Gender and Development
(GAD), the effectiveness approach, and mainstreaming gender equality
there has been no shortage of in-depth discussion an analysis of women,
gender, power relations, socially ascribed roles, equality driven outcomes
and impact of development (see, e.g., Rathgeber 1990; Moser 1993;
Visvanathan et al. 2011; World Bank 2012). However, the one thing
common to this range of diverse analyses is the fact that the gender
focus is of, and between, the women (and occasionally men!) that are
targets of development, whether this is research or development inter-
ventions. The gender relations, and related issues of power, control,
voice, accountability and so on, from the gendered discourse is primar-
ily concerned with gender relations between ‘beneficiaries,’ rather than
those in positions of power in the development space.
If there is no clear point of critical analysis of gender relations
between development ‘beneficiaries’ (to use a rather patronising term)
and those who take responsibility for development intervention, then
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M. Kelly
it is necessary to see where this discourse may be taking place. If one

takes a broader view and explores issues of power, relationships, voice,
control and many other less visible aspects of the relationship between
those in a position of power in international development, and those
who are less powerful, there is more evidence of critical reflection.
The work of Robert Chambers and his colleagues in the participatory
development space has challenged the role of the researcher, the devel-
opment worker, the consultant and other development actors since
the late 1970s (Chambers 1983, 1997, 2010). Interestingly, although
Chambers’ prolific work sparked an ‘almost’ revolution in development,
it was also criticised for its inattention to gender (Guijt and Shah 1998).
Issues of power between development workers and institutions occupy
debate from the local to the global, in the NGO literature (Lister 2000;
Mawdsley et al. 2005; Bebbington et al. 2008), and even within the
halls of the multilateral and bilateral institutions (Narayan et al. 2000).
The evolution of a theoretical tradition in development studies iden-
tifies some of the more critical aspects of development (or at least a set
of theories about how desirable change may be achieved). From mod-
ernisation to basic needs, to neoclassical development, mainstream
development has been rather more concerned with economic growth
(Peet and Hartwick 2015). Human development, demonstrated in
the evolution of the Human Development Index (http://hdr.undp.
org/en/countries), still focuses on the role of development institutions
in achieving the often elusive ‘good change’ (Chambers 2004). Much
more critically informed theory, and associated research questions the
very presumptions on which development as an ideal, an industry, is
based. Post-development, post-colonialism, decoloniality and critical
development are all engaged in various forms in challenging the core
assumptions of a development paradigm associated with ‘western’-led
development. Constructions of power, including that embedded in
colonial matrices of power and control, are the focus of varied critiques.
As the Critical Development Network states that power relations,
take many shapes and forms, both material (particularly through the
effects of global capitalism) and (inter)-subjective. They occur on many
registers, from the personal, to communal, national, regional and/or
135
global. They can engender (often unintended) negative effects in immedi-

ate and concrete terms, but also – importantly – through the production
and reproduction of power inequalities. (CDN 2018)
International development as a field of study and as a practice is riddled

with competing philosophical, theoretical and practical perspectives.
There is disagreement on whether development is required, benefi-
cial, effective or even desirable. Contested spaces of control, decision-
making, and influence frame an exceptionally complex space.
If development as an industry, an undertaking and a discourse is com-
plex and contested, then the role of the development researcher must be
equally or even more complex. As Mehta (2006, cited by Sumner and
Tribe 2009) notes, development research is intended to make a differ-
ence, a characteristic that renders research on international development
more ‘loaded’ or ‘contested’ than other kinds of research (p. 49). White
(2015, n.p.) argues that ‘that doing research on poor people is actually
the most help you can give them because there are still billions and bil-
lions of dollars being wasted on programmes that don’t work. We can
stop that through good-quality research. It’s our responsibility to do so.’
Parfitt (2002) takes a similar stance on the role of the social minority
and their responsibility to assist the social majority (powerless), which
provides an interesting lens on the role of development research.
The role of the researcher in this space is deserving of perhaps more
reflexivity than is frequently accorded the topic. Doing research as a
woman is even less frequent as a point of discourse.
Development Field Research: The Practice

and the Theory
The Practice
Starting out on a Ph.D. pathway in international development, and spe-

cifically the field of agriculture, which, at least at that time, was so heav-
ily dominated by men, was of course underpinned by being female. I
commenced fieldwork armed with a rigorous understanding of ethical
136
M. Kelly
research and a critical knowledge of methodological concerns about my

specific research. However, without any particular awareness of my own
ways of understanding, operating within and challenging gender rela-
tions in the society to which I had been born, and educated, I was far
less critically aware of the potential impact of my gender on research.
During the research in Malawi I was a young, white, single, female
researcher.
When researching methodology my initial focus was on the
researcher as some kind of neutral being. A scientific education (agri-
cultural science), based on a highly positivist, rationale understanding of
the world as an objective entity, and myself as researcher as an objective,
yet neutral and distant (outside) collector of data was embedded into
my previous experiences of academia. Human geography was the disci-
plinary area within which I was located, international development the
focus, agriculture and rural development the sector.
Methodologically my research was participatory in design, with all
the attendant discourse on power, and the reframing of researcher as a
facilitator, rather eloquently served by Chambers visual image of ‘hand-
ing over the stick’ (Chambers 1983). An extract from my early method-
ology shows scant regard for any subtlety in either gender or indeed any
other aspects of researcher positionality.
Many authors highlight the importance of determining the role of the

researcher within the villages, specifically in terms of how the researcher
is perceived in the village (Dixon and Leach 1984; Sidaway 1992;
Mazzucato and Niemeijer 1996). There are several aspects to this. Madge
(1993) calls for consideration of the researcher’s positionality (race,
nationality, age, gender, affiliations and so on) as an influence on the data
collected. As a result of the discussions in the literature a female research
assistant /interpreter was employed as it appeared that this could also
allow better contact with the female members of the community who
might not be as open or relaxed with a male assistant. (Kelly 2000, p. 66)
Aside from an acknowledgement in the literature, the practical appli-

cation of positionality was to consider the gender of research assistant
(RA), based on an apparent assumption that women would be more
comfortable talking to women. This was despite the fact that fieldwork
137
focused at the community level and therefore would focus on men and
women, together and separately. It was easy to discount being a woman
as one part of a rather fixed aspect of my own characteristics. The liter-
ature I drew upon by Madge (1993) is a response to a Sidaway’s (1992)
article which confronts the role of First-World researchers in the Third
World, a challenge that I responded to with participatory methodol-
ogy rather than any deeper engagement with issues of power and posi-
tionality. Interestingly Sidaway’s research has stood the test of time and
remains important in the discourse today.
However, as soon as my fieldwork commenced, the notion of
researcher identity and positionality was paramount to the success of
my research. Issues of power and relationships with the ‘researched’
were framed by the discourses of participatory development in which it
is inherently accepted that the outsider must reframe themselves from
‘expert’ to humble learner (Chambers 1983).1 The notion of the iden-
tity and position of a researcher from this perspective was therefore one
of reflection, but primarily in terms of power relations between the
researcher and the researched, to inform the research. Yet, this data col-
lection required a much greater engagement with people in the commu-
nities of focus. I sat for many hours with people waiting for meetings
to start or end, or for food to arrive (or to cook it); time spent talking
about things other than research, time spent dancing or drumming, or
learning to cook, or hoe, or pump water. As an individual researcher,
located a long way from the ordered sphere of the university, I felt una-
ble to be the objective person that my initial reading of the literature
seemed to request. Cameron et al. (1992) note that as researchers we
cannot help but be socially located. Our own experiences, skills subjec-
tivities, cultural norms and values travel with us, and we bring some of
these subjectivities to qualitative fieldwork.
My initial proposal of three to six months of fieldwork was discarded
as the requirement to build trust and establish a relationship with the
‘participants’ quickly became apparent. The focus of the research shifted
to one that critically analysed the notion of participatory development,
with a final focus on sustainable livelihoods. Over a year, I worked
across five sites in Malawi, each one comprising a community with mul-
tiple visits and experiences.
138
M. Kelly
My initial choice of interpreter, a young, well-educated woman from

Lilongwe, was quickly problematic as noted in the following excerpt:
After the pilot study several problems became apparent. The interpreter
was from the capital city. Despite an excellent knowledge of English,
she did not come from a farming community. Neither the men nor the
women responded well to her. There were obviously issues of gender with
the men. Also, due to her urban background there appeared to be issues
with her clothing and behaviour. Apart from urban centres, it is still nor-
mal for women to wear long skirts (chitenges ). Due to the mode of trans-
port (motorbike) it was necessary to wear trousers and then wrap a skirt
on top on arrival in the villages. (Kelly 2000, p. 68)
The replacement of the interpreter with a young, local well-educated

man solved most of these problems as he was well received by the men,
well educated, well dressed and from a locally respected family. He also
appeared to be well received by the women, who were patently more
relaxed and chatty in his presence than they ever had been with the pre-
vious interpreter.
In an interesting challenge to my assumptions garnered from litera-
ture on fieldwork, what I assumed to be the most problematic aspect—
transporting a male interpreter on the back of a motorbike, appeared to
cause more amusement than dismay. I maintained the habit of wearing
a Chitenge over trousers and this was frequently noted as being a very
respectful thing to do (by both men and women). The interpreter was
clear that the transport was fine and caused no problems. Again, a key
learning was that was my assumptions are frequently wrong, but hav-
ing an open mind and constantly seeking to make sense of the social
relations, values and norms around me contributed to a much deeper
understanding of the context.
Community and male-led meetings were often lengthy and left space
for all members of the meetings to talk. However, the need to consult
with the women, collaboratively and individually became clear early on.
Frequently women would talk briefly, if at all. Follow-up meetings with
women often caused the most interesting part of the fieldwork. The
women’s meeting in one community which I had been visiting for an
139
extended period took place at the demonstration plot, which had high
maize all around. Some of the men had crept into the field to overhear
the meeting. Once the women realised this, they chased them all away
with lots of shouting (and laughter!). It was a pivotal moment in the
fieldwork with the women, who stated their opinions on the research
vocally, and with lots of discussion, after complaining loudly about
the men’s desire to overhear the meeting. This is our meeting and
our space today was the message. After this meeting, I was frequently
invited along in that community to learn how to cook meals, or help
with other chores within the women’s spaces, where lots of questions
about Ireland, university, the study, what I was finding and so on came
out. Interestingly this was the point that the often-noted position of the
researcher became one where access to the women’s space was opened
up, while access to the male space was maintained. This was a position
that was earned through actions and gained trust, an essential learning
in future research.
There were a myriad of other examples from this initial research. There
were frequent questions of my marital status, children, requests for assis-
tance, for English lessons, for seeds and inputs, and many other points dur-
ing the research where my ‘otherness’ sparked comment, or action. However,
the process of conducting research was in my case primarily positive.
The Theory
So how does the literature on conducting field research in development

consider the role of the researcher, the positionality and the impact on
research? The rhetorical question in this case would be what is the role
of the researcher in international development, and how does this con-
tribute to, or contradict the good change discourse? Working forwards
from my initial field research in Africa what has changed in the liter-
ature, or what did I miss the first time around to be in essence quite
ill-equipped to deal with myself as a subjective and real person in the
research process? The methodological approach and philosophical base
is argued by Murray and Overton (2014) to be malleable depending on
one’s training and intellectual character (p. 24). However, the purpose
140
M. Kelly
of the research is inevitably driven by multiple objectives, including

academic achievement, and publication as well as ‘good change.’ For a
Ph.D. student the end goal is the achievement of a thesis of a stand-
ard that meets western academic rigour. The research was conducted in
position of financial limitations, and with no prior experience of the
geographical location of the research.
Research design, methodology and methods are the starting point
for research. As Krefting (1991) argued, objectivity of quantitative
research is achieved by distance of the researcher and the researched,
but qualitative researchers intend to reduce this distance to increase the
worth of the findings—by seeking depth in data rather than breadth,
and by prolonging the contact with the researched. The ‘neutrality’ of
the researcher is compromised, and Lincoln and Guba (1985, cited by
Krefting 1991) shifted the focus from neutrality of the researcher to
neutrality of the data. Stewart-Withers et al. (2014) argue that in qual-
itative research the researcher is the central instrument and must be an
active learner, rather than expert passing judgement, echoing some of
Chambers (1983, 2010) work on researcher as learner.
Stewart-Withers et al. (2014) highlight the power relations between
researcher and researched, which may be far more complex than initially
presumed. Power and control within and between people, within fami-
lies and communities, challenges participatory research and requires and
a level of observation and engagement to frame the research logically.
Power relations between older and younger women, between different
wives of a household, and the utterly complex and opaque relationships
between brothers, cousins and other relational types which did not con-
form to my understanding of these words challenge. Methodologically
the researcher becomes more than just a neutral entity, and resulting
engagement with the researcher within the research produces a wide
array of possible implications. From the early days of Sidaway (1992)
who identified the location of an outsider potentially hierarchically
higher in society than their peers in country, the location of a ‘first
world’ researcher has become the focus of discourse.2 Researchers as
an instrument are located within a social context. My own initial field-
work experiences have shown that power relations are a combination
of where a researcher is initially placed within the social construct, and
141
what actions are re-taken after this point, with different groups to alter
power relations. When drawing on participatory methodology, under-
pinned by Friere’s (1972) work on conscientisation, locating research
as a way of generating knowledge with communities then the relation-
ship with participants is central. The change in research design of initial
fieldwork to incorporate a much more analytical focus on critical anal-
ysis of participation and power relationships was informed as much by
my worldviews, resulting in a changed methodological focus, as it was
by a more theoretically informed analysis of participation prior to enter-
ing the field.
Stewart-Withers et al. (2014) however note that there has been a
significant shift towards a stronger theoretical base in participation,
and this is heavily influenced by post-development theory, and draws
as much on Asset Based Community Development (ABCD) (see
Kretzmann and McKnight 1993) and participatory methods. The out-
come is in the intent of the usage of participatory tools. It was clearly
apparent that participatory methods had the potential to make claims
for community benefit that were not in any way justified by the expe-
rience of the community. For the women in my research the time
required to build trust and to build a relationship that allowed more
in-depth conversation to be had, also produced a level of respect and
engagement with those women that required their trust be not broken
by falsely representing what happened in the field. Participatory exer-
cises of the kind required to produce the data to fill a required Ph.D.
thesis was not necessarily of mutual benefit. It was only of mutual
benefit if the information was used in a way that contributed value as
defined by the participants.
The relationality of the research process reduced the power differential.
One of the most interesting values defined by the women in the study
was the opportunity to interact with me in their midst. The critical point
of engagement was when I stopped being a generic foreigner and started
being somebody with whom many of the community members had
formed a relationship with (even in brief acquaintance) and where we
could indulge some mutual curiosity. This was framed differently by the
age of the participant. Older women took much longer to relax and talk.
Younger women were much more curious early on. Relationship with
142
M. Kelly
men in the initial study remained more formal. The fact of my female-
ness did finally influence the direction and focus of the research, in that
the relationships with community members provided a place of learn-
ing, that in many instances overrode much of the assumptions that I had
formed in designing the research in London through books.
The issue of the gender of any RA in development literature is inter-
esting. McClennan et al. (2014) argue the importance of selecting a
great RA, citing two examples where an assistant of the opposite sex
provided protection for the woman and ‘counterbalanced the fact that
she was a woman conducting fieldwork’ (p. 153) without stating why
being a woman was problematic. The second example was a female RA
for a female researcher which apparently proved reservations of women
respondents disappeared with a female RA. There are far less examples
in the literature that consider what the advantages of male and female
interpreters are for a male researcher. Both examples counter my expe-
rience of a male interpreter, who neither provided protection, nor obvi-
ously counterbalanced my femaleness, but worked as a fantastic cultural
interpreter, with great skills at becoming less visible as an interview or
process went on.
The current literature on the role of the researcher specific to interna-
tional development is informative. There is a significant focus on logis-
tical issues on women researchers, of safety, and in the recruitment of
research assistants which relates to gender (cf. Scheyvens 2014; Sumner
and Tribe 2009). Pearson and Morgan (2017) identify behaviours and
gendered norms, as well as power differences embedded in feminist
discourse, yet still stay clear on any in-depth reflection on the female
researcher outside of this. Momsen (2006) notes that women as foreign-
ers may be ‘recreated in the field as non gendered’ (p. 45), also com-
menting on the issue of access to both male and female spaces from an
ambiguous gendered identity. Bergström (2017) highlights the need
for a gendered lens bringing to the fore the relationship between the
researcher as a woman and female participants but does not go any-
where near a discussion of the impact of the gender of the researcher on
the research, if a feminist or gendered lens was not taken.
Sumner and Tribe (2009) provide theoretically informed commen-
tary on the positionality of the researcher in development studies, but
143
positionality is more focused on power and knowledge generation. Many

have critiqued development for legitimising ‘western’ knowledge over
local knowledge (Chambers 2004; Escobar 1995). Sumner and Tribe
(2009) make the link between power and positionality and representa-
tion (and researcher legitimacy), drawing on Spivak’s (1988) work that
differentiates different types of representation, as ‘speaking for’ and
‘speaking about’ but add a third and fourth, that of ‘speaking with’, and
explicitly with those most marginalised (p. 52). Power and representa-
tion or voice for female participants is one half of this equation, but
the power and voice of a female researcher, and the relative position of
power, and capacity to ‘speak with’ particularly those most marginalised,
must be a point of reflection in methodological considerations. Is there
a greater power differential between a male researcher and female par-
ticipant, and if so what are the implications for the research findings?
Chambers (1997) notion of handing over the stick, and the premise of
participatory development, to reduce this power differential resonated
strongly with my own research from the beginning. However, the reality
of participatory development has not always met the potential. This links
in many ways with broader discussions on representation, and voice.
Scheyvens (2014) argues that there are a range of responses when con-
fronted with challenging power relationships and development research,
a researcher can either quit researching in this context, privilege local
knowledge through relativist positioning of the research, with all the
attendant issues of this, or pursue alternative methodologies that (can)
promote control of the research with the participants, such as participa-
tory research. These are themes that come across when the issue of power
is raised (and occasionally gender and positionality) (Momsen 2006).
Doing Good?
A question that is asked in research is whether those being researched

want to be researched, or benefit from the research, and if this is a
necessary precondition of conducting research. It can be difficult to
accept that your presence is not a delight to those who are the focus
of the research, or that people may consent to participate to be polite
rather than in any expectation of benefit, either directly or through
144
M. Kelly
the production of knowledge. I have had previous ‘participatory’ maps

and other outcomes of participatory exercises produced on entering a
community, with the sense that these were the expected outcomes of
research, rather than with any emancipatory potential. However, equally
I have had the experience of group of participants staying on to discuss
and comment on how good it is to have their voice heard. The notion
of an over-researched community has been discussed in some ways. For
example, Clark (2008) touches on this when analysing research fatigue,
and Koen et al. (2017) identify in their analysis of over research in
communities as a concept identify a number of potential underlying
contributors to a community being ‘over researched’ but a significant
linking factor is the relationship between researcher and researched and
the power asymmetries embedded in this relationship. Their findings
argue that if research is based on shared values, ongoing respect for the
recruited participants, including power asymmetries, research should
be more than just a means to a researcher’s ends. Scheyvens and Storey
(2003) and Scheyvens (2014) discuss the various sides of this issue, not-
ing that it can be problematic to construct development research as the
powerful researcher and the less powerful participant.
The issue of legitimacy of development research has caused a lot of
soul searching over the past 25 years, since Sidaway (1992) and Madge
(1993) raised the profile of the debate. Research in international devel-
opment is complex and development research can be viewed as being
instrumental and more related to development policy (Sumner and
Tribe 2009). In another space entirely is development research that
challenges the very foundations of development studies, and the pur-
suit of development. The critique of development research that is pre-
dominantly instrumental in nature redefines the role of the researcher,
requiring critical engagement with the role of intellectual (and develop-
ment practitioner) and complicity in reproducing ‘neo-colonial’ knowl-
edge, or even silencing the Third-World subaltern (Sumner and Tribe
2009). My intention in researching the rural was always to ensure that
anybody who wanted to participate had the opportunity or space to do
so. Although my research was not about gender, the capacity to engage
women in research, in part facilitated by my own gender did contribute
to a more even representation, at least at a visible level.
145
Given the breadth of the debate on whether development research is

indeed good, or valuable, or ethical (which is beyond the scope of this
chapter) it is necessary to focus on one aspect of this discourse, whether
it is helpful to consider the gender of the researcher in determining the
impact of development research.
More Recent Reflections,

Development Research Over 20 Years
Since completing my doctoral research I have conducted a number of
research projects, with field data collection in Malawi, in Uganda and
across Asia Pacific. In reflecting on the key lessons learned overall in
relation to field research, I am increasingly concerned with how the par-
ticipants are integrated into the research. Having gained a high level of
appreciation of relationality between researcher and researched, I fre-
quently find myself in a situation of shorter term field data collection
periods. The incredible luxury of Ph.D. research where time in the field
is constrained primarily by cash and a final submission date, and result-
ing long periods of data collection, highlight how much more difficult
it is to establish any kind of a relationship with participants when time
is the major constraint, and therefore how to determine the research is
presented and used. This has sparked a very strong interest in overall
relationships between community members and development actors,
whether researchers or other organisations. What has become clear over
time is that shared concern for the focus of the community engagement
is a primary requirement. The lessons learned from my doctoral research
resulted in an interest in the aid chain and the notion of power and
partnerships within and between development organisations. The most
marginalised are frequently the least heard. For me, it is important to sit
and listen. Although I have always focused on rural development, it was
apparent early on that to ignore gendered roles was to reduce the rele-
vance of the research, and to ignore one core aspect of power relations.
The evolution of post development debates, and decolonial discourse
has produced an even more critical focus on power and relationality.
146
M. Kelly
It is an active choice to focus on the aspects of development which are

still within the development ‘industry’ (funded by development aid).
However, the treatment of participants and host communities through
research is central to any research process. The capacity to engage in
critical discourse about mainstream development interventions, and
search out and consider alternatives, is indeed a very privileged position.
A highly visible aspect of being a foreign researcher is one’s appear-
ance and behaviours, as frequently noted in how to conduct field
research manuals for international development (Scheyvens 2014).
Although dress and behaviours are not limited to female research-
ers, given the extreme likelihood that dress and behaviours of women
in rural areas at least are likely to be conservative, it is frequently more
cumbersome in terms of expectations. Binns (2006) notes as a guest of a
host community it is important to be polite, and friendly with the com-
munity members. However, as is clear the notion of culturally sensitive
or appropriate behaviour, and indeed what may constitute politeness
and friendliness is intricately tied up with cultural norms and values,
including gender, morality, social status and so on. Each of these will
have a significant gendered dimension.
In relation to a critical reflection as to whether it is helpful to con-
sider the gender of the researcher in determining the impact of develop-
ment research, there are aspects of a gendered view of my own research
that have come to the fore. In my early research as a younger researcher
it becomes easier to assume the role of learner. Age (husband and chil-
dren!) adds a different dimension to field relationships, making it some-
what easier to access more formal spaces (government offices, and so
on), while contributing to discussions with particularly older women.
The capacity to reduce the space between researcher and researched
appears at all times to be important to my research. Although Pearson
and Morgan (2017) argue that you cannot dissolve power imbalances, I
would respond that it is possible to reduce them, through critical reflec-
tion and through actions. Equally it is entirely possible to reinforce
power asymmetries by actions in the field, that do not respect, or value
the participant, make no attempt to form a relationship that would pro-
duce a space for discussion, and that extract data for the purposes of
the research (or organisation or other external driver of data collection).
147
Whether it is possible to bridge and portion the vast gulf between

myself and a research participant is in part a response to the desire of
the researcher (myself ) to do so, to make the objective subjective, and
to open a space for questions and multiple realities.
Conclusion
The role of a development researcher is, and should be, more complex
than is often portrayed in the literature. Positionality as a concept is
widely used, but rarely critiqued. As development researchers we have
the capacity to contribute to better understanding of development dis-
course, interventions and the impact of development policy. However,
we also have the capacity to be complicit in the reproduction of neoco-
lonial knowledge. Given the role of women in many spaces in develop-
ment is further marginalised, it seems apparent that critical reflection on
the role of women development researchers (and men) is necessary.
Much of the discussion on positionality, and indeed on development,
focuses on power. Frequently power is constructed as a binary, the pow-
erful researcher versus the less powerful recipient. However, the simpli-
fication inherent in this binary can distort the position of the research
participant. Issues of relationality—given that research in international
development is inherently contested, complex and operating in compli-
cated socials structures, the role of the researcher is still a significant part
of the research. Although there have been broader discussions in sociol-
ogy and anthropology around the role of the researcher, and also some
reference to the issue of women researchers, the predominant literature
in international development research, that body of knowledge to which
it is likely that most Ph.D. students will go, still tends to treat research-
ers as quite a homogenous group (or at least the foreign researcher,
while many have acknowledged the differing circumstances in which
researchers return ‘home’ to conduct research).
Positionality is a widely debated topic in development literature and the
list of aspects of a researcher’s positionality (age, sex, class, religion, sex-
uality and so on) are frequently noted. However, it is difficult to discern
any consensus on what reflexivity is when it comes to positionality. Is it
148
M. Kelly
enough to note one’s positionality? Critical and feminist scholars do pro-

vide a more nuanced discussion of positionality. However, there is such
a dearth of discussion on gender of researcher, that it is difficult to know
where to start, beyond logistical and behavioural issues, and the choice of
research assistants. There appears to be a vast gap in the literature where
development studies broaden its focus on gender to include the gendered
dimension of the researcher/researched relationship. Discourse on power
could equally be extended to include gendered concerns of the researcher,
rather than the researched. The value of this addition to development
research methodology would add considerable value to the overall dis-
course on international development in the contemporary world.
Notes
1. The multiple reference to the work of Robert Chambers reflects the
dominance of his thinking and the challenge he presented to mainstream
development professionals in highlighting the rather challenging dispar-
ities of power that are inherent between aid workers and so called bene-
ficiaries. Despite significant criticisms of some of the embedded notions
in participatory development Chambers work still stands as a defining
moment in the often uncritical aid world of the 1980s and 1990s.
2. This research focuses on the researcher as outsider, as the position of the
author was of a white ‘western’ woman in African context. This is not to
reduce the complexity of issues faced by scholars from within a country,
conducting research or overseas based but national scholars.
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8
Women and Anthropologists in West
Africa: Comparing Two Research
Experiences
Ester Botta Somparé and Mara Vitale
Introduction
When we first met, at the beginning of our Ph.D. among the books of
the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales, School of Advanced
Studies in the Social Sciences (EHESS) library in Paris, we spent a lot
of time talking about our research, especially focusing on methodology.
We were curious about our respective ways to cope with fieldwork, our
strategies to work difficulties out, our daily ‘African life.’ We realised
that our gender played a crucial role in the fieldwork, even though, as
noted by other women anthropologists (Journet-Diallo 1999; Monjaret
et Pugeault 2014), other personal characteristics, such as age, origin and
marital status were contributing to shape the ethnographic relations
with our interlocutors. In this chapter, through the lens of our own
E. B. Somparé 
Department of Social Sciences,
Université Kofi Annan de Guinée, Conakry, Guinea
M. Vitale (*) 
ULB-Cooperation, Brussels, Belgium
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-94502-6_8
154
E. B. Somparé and M. Vitale
research experiences—Ester Botta Somparé worked on education in a

Guinean pastoral society (Botta Somparé 2015), whereas Mara Vitale
dealt with religious authorities in Burkina Faso (Vitale 2009, 2012)—
we will try to sort out the importance of the anthropologist’s gender for
her ability to observe and integrate into the society she studies.
In writing this contribution, we have referred to works of anthro-
pologist adopting a reflexive posture aimed to understand how some
characteristics of the researcher have an impact on the ethnographic
relationship and on the knowledge that is produced during this interac-
tion. We have especially focused on works, mainly produced by French
anthropologists, on the ethnographic relationship as a gendered rela-
tionship, such as the collective book Le sexe de l’enquête (Monjaret et
Pugeault 2014).
As stated by Jonckers (1984) (and further quoted by Journet-Diallo
1999), being a foreigner often seems more important than being a
woman. In local representations, a white person immediately evokes
ideas of power and wealth. This is certainly a legacy of the colonial
period, but also depends on the social status and prestige of Western
expatriates, who work for multinational firms or international organi-
sations, thus enjoying privileged economic conditions. Such representa-
tions may entail feelings of injustice and revenge, especially in Guinea,
where the first socialist regime that allowed nationalistic and anti-
European feelings to thrive. However, the encounter with a Westerner is
also regarded by (some) locals as an opportunity to obtain, for instance,
a job contract or a recommendation, as well as favours, money, or an
invitation to Europe or United States. As women and strangers, we
have even sensed some kind of ‘romantic attention,’ which can be eas-
ily related to the willingness to move to Europe and settle down eco-
nomically and sentimentally. Our age and marital status also played an
important role, as people (especially women) were astonished to hear
that, in our late 20s, we were not married yet. In both our cases, we
had the strong feeling that our marital situation influenced the percep-
tion of our interlocutors about us and our work. In particular Mara,
who diluted the fieldwork over a larger lapse of time and multiple stays,
could witness how major changes in her family situation entrained a
8 Women and Anthropologists in West Africa …
155
significant transformation in her ethnographic relations. In particular,

getting married and becoming a mother allowed her to access a differ-
ent, possibly higher status and obtain further information.
We think that, in many ways, belonging to the ‘third sex,’ as defined
by Schwedler (2006), well describes our ‘fluid’ condition, a sort of
hybrid combination of gender and profession that enabled us to tres-
pass at least some gender-related social barriers. In fact, as women and
researchers, we could access spaces generally regarded as exclusively mas-
culine or feminine. This allowed us to observe situations, visit places
and obtain information that are otherwise inaccessible to women in the
local society, without losing the privilege of being welcome in feminine
spaces that a male colleague could never enter, and observe their spe-
cific rituals. In Mara’s case, she could even meet and speak with female
religious leaders, thus contributing to a research question that had been
overlooked by the existing anthropological literature.
In this contribution, we argue that being women anthropologists in
Africa gave us the opportunity to enjoy a more complete vantage point
on the society. This must not conceal difficulties, because this privileged
sight was conquered over obstacles, also related to our gender. In par-
ticular, in the first intervention, Ester Botta Somparé explains how, in
order to overcome these difficulties, she elected to adopt different meth-
odologies, depending on the gender she was working on. This was due
to the specificity of her subject, but also reflected the different percep-
tion that women and men could have of her as a person, of her research
and their peculiar participation to the ethnographic relationship. In
the second contribution, Mara Vitale describes her struggle to progres-
sively integrate the religious society of Burkina Faso, supposedly almost
impenetrable for a Western woman. This confronted her with ethi-
cal choices, concerning for instance the authenticity of her dress code.
Should she present herself as she really was, or try to look like a devout
Muslim woman, in order to be accepted? Her decision to remain her-
self finally paid off, in part because of her gender, which allowed her
to establish rich relationships with local women who were eager to
exchange experiences and points of view with a Western woman, bearer
of a different way of living and thinking to gender relations.
156
From Hostility to Complicity:

The Long Path Towards Integration
Among Guinean Fulani
When, in summer 2007, I first visited the village of Tassara, one of the
activities I initially observed was a meeting of parents whose children
were attending the local primary school. In this occasion, I was struck
by the separation between men, who were sitting on the left of the class-
room and took active part to the discussion, and women, placed on the
right, who never spoke out, even though they were carefully listening
and would express, through their body language, their approval or dis-
agreement. The observation of such sexual division of space and roles,
that I would notice all along my fieldwork, was for me a key moment
for the comprehension of gender relations, the palpable sign of inequal-
ities and deep segregation by gender in many aspects of social life. In
1981, Ferchiou, argued that every ethnological observation on women
was actually an account of mechanisms of domination between genders.
I do not know if such a consideration is always true, but it certainly was
for my research, in which I spent more time than I intended at ana-
lysing the process of socialisation of young women to their future role
of submitted, dedicated wives. In a sense, the segregation by gender
ended up structuring my fieldwork, and gave me the impression that I
was carrying out two different researches on the same theme. Indeed, as
pointed out by Journet-Diallo (1999), the researcher is, in such cases,
exposed to the risk of studying women and men as two unconnected
social worlds. The overall impression of segregation of social roles, aris-
ing from gender-specific accounts of education paths, was further sharp-
ened by my own observation and the participation to specific feminine
and masculine activities, in a context of rigid sexual division of work.
In this section, I will try to describe how the specificity of gender rela-
tions in Fulani society led me to choose a different methodologic path
to interact with men or women throughout my fieldwork.
At the beginning of my research, as mentioned in the introduc-
tion, my gender identity was concealed behind my foreign origins. I
was labelled as porto, an invariable adjective meaning white in pulaar.
157
The constant reference to my otherness was so overwhelming that

it even excluded me from some basic linguistic conventions, such as
the children’s obligation to address every adult woman with respect-
ful terms such as djadja (elder sister) or nene (mother). As pointed by
Bellier (2002), successive designations assigned to the ethnologist may
be very revealing of the transformations undergone by the ethnographic
relationship all along the fieldwork’s trajectory. A few months after the
beginning of my research, children and youngsters began calling me
djadja porto (white elder sister), whereas adults preferred to refer to me
as ‘Madame,’ a term usually reserved to women teachers, thus hinting
to my identity of an educated woman. This was, for me, an important
sign that my whiteness was becoming less blinding, so that the young
woman researcher could finally emerge behind the stranger. By rec-
ognising me as a woman in the first place, the term djadja paved the
way to my integration into the social fabric. However, my foreign ori-
gin also allowed me to transgress some very strict behaviour codes in
Fulani society (see also Monjaret et Pugeault (2014) on this issue). For
instance, for occasional visits or longer stays I was allowed to share my
room with my fiancé, something that would have been totally unaccept-
able for any local girl.
My otherness merged with the difficulty to understand my profes-
sional identity. In Guinean villages, Westerners are usually development
or humanitarian workers, involved in development projects funded by
international non government organisations (NGOs) or institutions. By
consequence, my arrival in the Tassara district created a lot of expecta-
tions that were soon bitterly disappointed. It was almost impossible, for
the illiterate villagers, to understand the sense of an academic research
focusing on their society, and I ended up being considered as a tour-
ist interested in learning about local traditions (even though rumours
would occasionally designate me as a spy). However, although I could
not bring any material benefits to the district, I was still regarded as
the (empty-handed) representative of a privileged Western world, a
Paradise on earth, a place of total well-being, constantly opposed to the
sufferings and the difficulties of African people. And not only was I a
Westerner, but also the wife-to-be of a member of the Somparé family,
158
that had been ruling for decades the local chiefdom of Dakonta and
controlling a large area surrounding the district. Thus, as the elders
often recalled, the acceptance of my presence was a courtesy towards
the ancient, but still highly respected rulers. Furthermore, my everyday
research activities, which mainly consisted in writing notes, consult-
ing documents and attending daily school lessons with pupils (whom
I often helped with homework and evening reviews), left little doubt
that I was an educated person, and I was slowly assimilated to woman
teachers at the local primary school. Being white, educated, and linked
to a prestigious local family, I was thus perceived as a person enjoying a
privileged social position.
All these speculations about my identity confirm, in my opinion,
Fournier’s (2006) observation about the ‘incomplete contract’ that is
established between the anthropologist or the sociologist and the people
selected for interviews. Even if the reason of the research is explained
and accepted, even if people agree to be interviewed, they still cast
doubts on the researcher’s identity, his/her real goals and the appropri-
ate behaviour to adopt in this strange, incongruous relationship. Some
elements related to the researchers’ identity, sex and age first, help the
informer to “complete the contract” in his own way, to try to under-
stand who is the researcher and what kind of behaviour and informa-
tion he possibly expects from their meeting.
Other factors, however, tempered this supposed social superiority. My
relatively young age, together with the fact that—although engaged—
I was not married yet, allowed people to class me as a curbajo, an adoles-
cent, just like the boys and girls I escorted in their daily activities. Being
a woman, I was certainly considered as inferior to men, in a society
where the hierarchical relation between genders is entrenched in sociali-
sation and reiterated in every occasion. This conferred to my male inter-
locutors, who were generally much older than me, a sense of superiority
that made them feel comfortable during interviews. At first, men even
tried to control my research activities and my access to information,
for instance being present at every interview with a woman. As long as
they still hoped that I could convey funds and development projects,
they attached the highest importance to my opinion on their society:
159
they thus organised for me collective interviews, where they explained

to me the problems of the district, while women were listening silently.
When, after many clarifications, these expectations gradually vanished,
men remained open to interviews, also because my interpreter, a man,
was an esteemed school teacher. They usually received me in their ter-
race, or in open spaces in front of their home, dressed in traditional,
elegant clothes and appeared very busy in reading the Koran, or pray-
ing. Clearly, they wanted to impress me as religious men, who, despite
their illiteracy in French, were the heirs of the district’s long tradition of
Islamic knowledge and Koranic teaching.1 Even though some of them
were reluctant to shake hands, they were all very flattered by my inter-
est in their society, generous in time and information, eloquent and
friendly.
For women, establishing a relationship with me was undoubtedly
more difficult. My presence, but also my male interpreter’s company,
was particularly unsettling for young mothers and wives, who were
approximately my age, while old women seemed more comfortable and
talkative. I had chosen this interpreter because he was the teacher of a
class where I daily proceeded to a participant observation in school. I
had rightly supposed that his prestige and respect among villagers could
help me to obtain interviews more easily. Furthermore, our good per-
sonal relationships, that became a friendship, and his very good knowl-
edge of French, rare in the village, made his help very precious for me.
However, being more experienced as a researcher, I would now make
different choices, using a female interpreter while working with women.
Besides the strong feeling of shyness experienced by my female inter-
locutors, I realise that many answers have been biased by the presence
of this young, unmarried man who enjoyed, nevertheless, the authority
conferred to him by his professional position. Had I had been alone,
or with a female interpreter, I guess that women would have been able
to express themselves more freely and in a less conformist way, even if
participant observation finally helped me to overcome such distortions.
Furthermore, it was impossible to talk about some subjects, such as
excision, that I could only understand later, outside the district, with
160
the help of my Fulani female students and my sister in law, a Fulani

young woman who had a University degree.
With women, I experienced long delays for interviews, which were
invariantly postponed if not cancelled without a word, and received
monosyllabic answers to my questions during interviews that I was
eager to shorten, after long pauses and heavy silence. Some women even
organised a little conspiracy against me, refusing to be interviewed if I
could not pay a small amount of money. Such situations, that I strug-
gled to interpret and understand, brought about the most difficult
moments of my fieldwork. I am convinced that my female interlocu-
tors were upset to see a woman leading a completely different life. As
a result, we were stuck in a kind of irreducible opposition that heav-
ily affected our relationship. I must have appeared to them, constantly
busy with domestic and agricultural activities, as an idle, lazy girl.
Their struggle to understand intellectual work made it impossible, for
them, to consider my research as a real job. They were illiterate, and
sometimes bitterly regretted their lack of school education, whereas
I appeared as an educated woman, able to discuss with ‘important’
men, like local authorities, religious leaders, school teachers. As a mat-
ter of fact, men had imposed to women my presence and urged them
to answer my questions, so that their requests to be paid may be inter-
preted also as a sort of silent, veiled rebellion. Finally, I visibly did not
have worries about my daily subsistence, whereas many women had to
face pressing economic problems. I also realised that women perceived
my interviews as inspections. In Fulani society, mothers are considered
as responsible for their children’s education, the warrants of their moral-
ity, especially as far as daughters are concerned. Thus, asking questions
about children’s education is perceived as a kind of unrequested inter-
ference, if not an attempt to cast doubts on the mother’s behaviour or
scrutinise her educational skills (which clearly go and-in-hand, since the
mother is supposed to teach moral values by example).2 Weighing all
these factors, I think that the women’s hostility derived from a form of
rivalry, as if my education, my presumed wealth, the chance to be born
in a Western country were more detestable in a woman than in a man,
whose superiority is considered as natural. This said, how could I try to
161
overcome this impasse? How should I work with women who were very
reticent to cooperate with me?
I started overcoming these problems when I realised that I had to
shorten the social distance between me and my woman interlocutors,
first of all through work. Thus, I fully embraced my status of curbajo, of
unmarried woman, who is expected to help her mother, but also rela-
tives and neighbours. Following a group of young girls that had quickly
‘adopted’ me, I could enter houses where my interviews were not wel-
come: I just sat in the court, working with women, peeling maniocs
or shucking palm fruits. I stopped asking questions, but just listened
and observed. My interpreter was not present in such occasions, as I
had started talking a little pulaar. Moreover, young girls were always
ready to translate for me, in order to facilitate my conversations with
mothers and elder sisters. They were usually very curious about me and
about life in Europe, and submerged me with questions, thus revers-
ing the dynamics of the interviews. By sharing the women’s work and
enjoying their company, I finally obtained some of that female complic-
ity that appeared so precious to Marie Goyon (2005) in her fieldwork
among American Indians. When, at least, I could resume interviews
with women, I tried to make them feel somewhat superior to me, and
able to give me, just like men, advice and important information. For
instance, I asked married women to advise me on my future marriage;
this allowed me to understand their ideal of a good wife and learn about
their personal experience. However, most of the material I collected did
not come from interviews, but from informal discussions and observa-
tion of domestic scenes.
Finally, I would say that the women’s hostility made my observation
become truly participant, and pushed me to adopt a role more suitable
for my age, gender and marital status. The change in my posture ena-
bled me to become part of the women’s community and analyse some
aspects of their lives, such as mother–daughter relationships, from a
closer and almost intimate point of view. Furthermore, the analysis of
their reluctance to be interviewed equipped me with more efficient tools
to understand gender relations and the mechanisms of masculine domi-
nation in the Fulani society.
162
‘Anthropologists Always Land on Their Feet’3:

But What About Women Anthropologists?
In the early days of my Ph.D., I probably underestimated the extent to
the researcher’s gender, as well as other characteristics like age, national-
ity, social class or marital status would influence the development of her
fieldwork. Thus, without hesitation, I decided to study the diffusion of
the Sufi brotherhood Tijâniyya Hamawiyya in Burkina Faso, a country
that has undergone a process of rapid and intense Islamisation over the
last two decades. I was certainly aware, however, of the challenges that I
would have been confronted with. On one hand, I had to deal with the
distance between the Muslim system of values and the Western model
of women’s emancipation. On the other hand, I had to work in the con-
text of a strongly hierarchical society, based on patrilineal lineages that
confined women to a very marginal and subaltern role.
At first, I tried to implement the methodology, inspired by
Malinowski’s functionalism (Malinowski 1922) that I had been taught
at University. Eventually, I came to realise that this approach—which
requires the researcher to spend long periods of time with the popula-
tion she/he wants to study, so as to learn its language and deeply under-
stand its culture—was far from successful. As a woman, I was to a large
extent excluded from crucial moments of the public life and, as I will
explain below, could not meet some of the religious leaders who were
crucial for my research. Women were not even allowed to visit the
graves of the sheikhs’ who founded the Ramatoulaye’s zawiyya, that they
could only observe from outside, through a little window on the door.
After a period of discouragement, however, I understood that I had
to adapt to diverse and sometime unexpected circumstances, trying to
circumvent as much as possible the obstacles imposed by my gender. I
soon left behind my initial rigidity and opted for flexible strategies that
could allow me and my interlocutors to be more spontaneous and open.
For instance, I stopped recording interviews, and just took notes. I chose
to have a flexible schedule, and did not arrange meetings in advance.
This allowed me to casually interview people (and especially women)
while sharing their everyday life, and progressively earn their trust.
163
To sum it up, I tried to make interactions as informal as possible, in

order to have a more spontaneous outcome. In a sense, rather than
sticking to the original, unfeasible Malinowskian plan of a long immer-
sion in the social life of Ramatoulaye, I preferred—out of necessity—to
depart from it by choosing a strategy of repeated ‘micro-immersions.’
This turned out to be a very rewarding strategy, which at the same time
preserved my neutrality and allowed me to overcome the gender limi-
tations of my research. I also faced a sort of personal dilemma related
to my gender and cultural upbringing: should I try to remain myself,
or somehow conceal my cultural identity by dressing and behav-
ing more like locals, in order to be trusted and establish a better rela-
tionship with the people I wanted to interview? In the literature, but
also among women colleagues, there are other examples related to the
theme of disguise. For instance, Peneff (2009) talks about the Swiss
writer Isabelle Eberhardt as ‘an audacious pioneer of XIX century,’ who,
at the end of 1800, did not hesitate to disguise as a man in order to
study Islam in Algeria, to get access to mosques and Koranic schools.
One of my first interlocutors suggested that, as a western woman com-
ing from a Catholic country, I could hardly hope to meet the religious
leaders of the tariqa, which was essential for my research. Naively, I let
myself be disguised as a Muslim woman, in order to facilitate my inser-
tion into the social group. I felt, however, a strong sense of discomfort
while wearing clothes that did not belong to my culture, and—quite
ironically—I had the impression to disrespect (and essentially cheat on)
the same people that I wanted to be closer to. Luckily enough, when I
was first introduced to a local religious guide who knew I was Italian,
he immediately asked me why I was dressing that way, and pointed out
that my strategy could even backfire and was useless at the very least.
From this moment on, I chose to stick to my research ethics and never
again hide behind an embarrassing mask just to obtain more infor-
mation; in particular, by pretending to be someone different from my
true self, I had the feeling that I could both lose my credibility as a
researcher and hurt the people whose life I was beginning to share and
understand. This choice proved to be highly rewarding, as my subse-
quent fieldwork was much easier and more productive than I expected.
164
This first experience also taught me to better select my informers, who

have since then been more respectful of my ethical choices, and often
became reliable friends.
After a first stay in Ramatoulaye and then in the capital,
Ouagadougou, I understood that villagers did not know much about
some interesting aspects of the confraternity.4 They also seemed
reluctant to talk about their religion to a foreign woman, did not
understand my interest in Tidjanya, and feared that I could misuse
information. Thus, I tried to directly interview the religious authori-
ties at the head of the tijani zawiyya. The high level of their education,
their good knowledge of French, and the acquaintance with Western
culture allowed them to better understand my research and that a
woman could be interested in this subject.5 I did not meet any spe-
cific difficulties in being received and, although very busy, my interloc-
utors always tried to make themselves available to answer my numerous
questions. They soon became my privileged informers, made sugges-
tions about other qualified people to interview, or advised me to visit
important places, such as the previous sheikhs’ graves or the mosques.6
They also allowed me to take part to important ceremonies, where I
was treated as an important guest and introduced to prominent peo-
ple and local authorities, who then appeared more open and keen to
answer my questions.7 In these occasions, I had the impression that my
gender was not really relevant, as it was being overshadowed by other
elements such as my national origin, my project to write to book on
this society, and even—I would say—the professional prestige attached
to being a researcher.8
Notwithstanding this positive evolution of my field research, I could
never enjoy a complete freedom of action, as I constantly had to com-
ply with local cultural codes. More than once, however, less freedom
(as a woman) translated into unexpected research opportunities (from
the anthropologist’s point of view). For instance, I was entrusted to the
sheikhs’ wives and learnt that I should live in their house, instead of
staying on my own. At first, I felt that my freedom was being inevita-
bly restricted, but soon realised that I was being presented with a great
research opportunity. In fact, although I had never planned to write
a chapter of my thesis on women in the confraternity, I immediately
165
started thinking that living with the sheikh’s wives would allow me to
grasp the secrets of a world impenetrable to men anthropologists, as I
could share the everyday lives and stories of women that cannot even be
met by all the men of their families.9 For those women, I represented
an unexpected yet welcome distraction, a break in the routine of their
daily lives, rhythmed by housework and prayers. I never stayed for a
long time, but I realised that, at every journey, the distance between
me and the women of Ramatoulaye (the sheikh’s wives, but also other
women of the village) shortened and complicity increased. Although
they could hardly understand the motivation of my research, we
could naturally share many aspect of a woman’s life and even, in spite
of irreducible cultural differences, a common sensibility. Obviously,
this helped me get a better and deeper understanding of the world of
Muslim women in Burkina. The choice of a loincloth, the cooking of
a dish, etc. were not only moments of complicity, but also sources of
precious information: I could observe, for instance, that not all women
could touch the food for the sheikh and that the cooking and serving
of a meal was always supplemented by prayers and rituals only executed
by wives.
Towards the end of my research a sheikh put me in contact with a
female sheikh, a sheikna, describing her as a reserved woman, who
would have probably never accepted to talk openly to a male anthro-
pologist. This was clearly an important turning point for my research,
and being a woman helped me to take the most out of this opportunity.
My gender allowed me not only to meet and talk, but also to observe
these special moments of the master-disciple relationship, that I would
have been excluded from in the case of male sheiks, For instance, I had
the opportunity to observe the sheikna sharing her meals with her disci-
ples (as a woman, I was excluded from the men’s table, so that I could
never see the sheiks in similar circumstances). On one of these occa-
sions, I had the chance to witness one of the modes of transmission of
Baraka10: during a meal the sheikna casually dropped some rice on the
carpet where we were eating. Her woman disciple, who was one of our
tablemates, eagerly picked grains up and ate them, joyfully saying: ‘The
Baraka! The Baraka! ’
166
Coming back to men, I would like to highlight how the relation-

ship I could establish with them, as well as the role of my gender, var-
ied substantially from case to case. The elders, for instance, saw me
as an Italian anthropologist before than a woman. They were flattered
by my interest for their village and its history. Some of them liked me
because I came from Italy, the country where some of their children
had migrated, and they hoped I could help them to find a job or facil-
itate contacts. Other, younger men accepted my presence, only out
of the respect for the sheikh’s decision, but kept on being sceptical
and restricted themselves to a somehow distant behaviour through-
out my stay. For some others, I must have represented an opportu-
nity to marry and migrate to Europe, even though such expectations
were soon cut short when they learnt that I was engaged. I thus real-
ised that marital status could play a very important role in shaping the
ethnographic relationship, even more than gender. This became even
more evident when I got married and successively became a mother.
Obviously, young men ceased to regard me as a chance to improve
their economical and sentimental situation. As far as women are con-
cerned, our relationship transformed even more, and in a positive
way. They felt that, as a wife and a mother, I had more subjects to
discuss with them, a higher moral authority, and more information
to exchange. Their answers to my inquiries about Islam changed: they
had the impressions (and sometimes entertained the illusion) that, as
a wife and a mother, I could be entitled to discuss or better under-
stand some of their life choices, such as the unconditional or limited
submission to their husbands, the acceptance of polygamy, the differ-
ent educational choices for boys and girls.
To sum up, I think that being a woman—after some initial and
non-negligible difficulties—helped me to build up credibility and estab-
lish an authentic relationship with my interlocutors. Even if I am pretty
sure that some information has been systematically omitted or hidden
to me because of my gender, I also think that as a woman I had access
to many rather inaccessible aspects of the culture I wanted to study, thus
earning a more complete, unbiased and overall better understanding of
Muslim communities in Burkina Faso. At least in my case, also women
anthropologists seem to always fall on their feet.
167
Conclusions
In this chapter, we have tried to show that the choice of both a research
theme and the more appropriate methodology can be influenced by the
gender of the researcher, and driven by other gender-related variables.
Drawing from our respective experiences on the field, we have described
how our common background (in terms of gender, age, nationality and
marital status), has given a similar connotation to our ethnographic
research, in spite of very different contexts and strategies of analysis. In
fact, while Ester worked with illiterate cattle-breeders, using the classi-
cal methodology of long-lasting immersion in a different society, Mara
chose to focus on élites and religious authorities, and tried to seize
longer run transformations by making several journeys to her fieldwork.
After recognising that participant observation is rather an ideal
or an aspiration that can be only partially implemented, we had to
elaborate—as female researchers—flexible strategies to ease our inte-
gration among women and men, emphasising different aspects of our
identity. With men, we both ‘invested’ on our education and cultural
capital, and readily understood that our affiliation with European uni-
versities would have decisively increased our credibility as interlocu-
tors. In the case of women, we instead benefited from the complicity
and mutual help derived from sharing life experiences and common
gender-related roles (wife, mother, etc.). Overall, we soon realised how
essential it was—always within the limits of a rigorous methodological
approach, defined by ethical and scientific principles—to adapt and
redefine our methodological choices according to the different situa-
tions that occurred during fieldwork. Several of our plans, which had
been essential to prepare our research, have been totally transformed by
the concrete interactions with interlocutors (indeed, some variables may
be actually foreseen and controlled by anthropologists, but others only
intervene when a direct contact is established with the interviewee). In
this chapter, we have tried to show that such interactions were deci-
sively defined by our gender and several gender-related variables that,
far from being a handicap, allowed us to incorporate original elements
in our fieldwork and explore some unforeseen, yet promising directions
of research. As pointed out by Singleton (2015), what happens, more or
168
less consciously, is that the observer is observed, and that such an obser-
vation is largely accountable for what the researcher does observe.
Let us also stress that our very different forms of participation also
influenced our writing, with Ester emphasising more social inferiority of
women, their internalised mechanisms of submission and their difficult
path to education. In a sense, she felt compelled to express the needs
and desires of unheeded social actors, excluded from public expression,
thus adopting a ‘methodological populism’ (Olivier de Sardan 1995),
a special attention to the discourse, knowledge and representations of
interlocutors with a low social position. Mara took a different path, as
she preferred to highlight the prominence, the creativity and even the
power of some of the women she met, thus contributing to debunk
some widely shared opinions about women’s submission and irrelevance
in Africa. In our own different ways, we both developed a special com-
mitment to talk about women’s conditions, which we had the oppor-
tunity to understand in a deeper, almost intimate way, through our
participation to their everyday life.
Without entering feminist debates, we would also like to encourage
a reflection on the necessity to consider anthropological research, and
especially methodological guidelines, in a more gendered perspective. In
this respect, our experience clearly shows that women can grasp differ-
ent aspects of social life and trespass some ideological and cultural bar-
riers, unintentionally imposed by a scientific environment that has been
dominated, for a long time, by a masculine perspective.
Finally, and on a more personal note, we would emphasise that our
African experience as female anthropologists led us to think in a differ-
ent, more conscious way about our research work and brought about
new and more intimate considerations on both our scientific ethics and
our personal choices.
Notes
1. The Fulani group I studied migrated to the Coastal region from the
mountains of Fouta Djallon. They brought Islam in an area mostly
inhabited by ethnical groups practising African traditional religions and
soon became reputed koranic teachers and marabouts.
169
2. For instance, a girl who appears a little frivolous towards men may be
easily accused to have taken after her mother’s bad example and repre-
hensible behaviour. A boy who never gets good marks at school may
arise doubts based on a widespread belief: an unfaithful or little respect-
ful wife risks to jeopardise her children’s success at school or work.
3. During my Masters, my mentor, Prof. Michael Singleton, after listen-
ing to the difficulties of my research, encouraged me with this sentence.
4. Ramatoulaye is the first village of settlement of Tidjanya. It is consid-
ered by devotees as an Islamic place of worship.
5. Some of these leaders hold a Ph.D. degree, some others had attended
European Universities.
6. This aspect is essential: the choice to work directly in French, without an
interpreter, avoided any alteration in the content of answers or questions, as
I realised during my first interviewees with devotees only speaking Mooré.
7. These presentations also included blessings to me, my research and my
family.
8. My Italian origins surely contributed to facilitate the fieldwork, as in
Burkina it still exists some resentment towards the former colonisers.
9. The zawiyya in Ramatoulaye implements very strictly some Islamic
rules, so that the sheikhs’ wives cannot be seen by other adult men,
even though belonging to their families.
10. Baraka is a special blessing that is transmitted from a religious master
or chief to a disciple, through the contact of objects belonging to the
sheikh, or corporal fluids, such as saliva.
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9
Constant Questioning On-and-Off the
Page: Race, Decolonial Ethics and Women
Researching in Africa
Amber Murrey
Introduction
Drawing from emergent scholarship in feminist political geography on
discomfort feminism and the literature on decolonial ethics for research
more broadly, I argue that further work is necessary to deconstruct the
artificial barriers between ‘the field’ and ‘non-field’/home and that this
project remains particularly acute for research ‘on Africa.’ Motivated
by the conversations inspired by this volume—which importantly con-
sider the possibilities, challenges and tensions of woman-researchers in
Africa—I argue that our exchanges must be simultaneously attuned to
the racial politics of doing research in contemporary African societies.
The adoption of decolonial ethical orientations is valuable in pushing
such a project forward.
A. Murrey (*) 
Department of Sociology, The American University in Cairo,
New York City, NY, USA
e-mail: amber.murrey-ndewa@aucegypt.edu
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-94502-6_9
172
A. Murrey
To these ends, I make three related interventions: (a) while unpack-

ing the importance for work that looks at the experiences of ‘women
researching in Africa,’ I confront a possible dualism implicit in the
phrase itself—i.e. an implicit separation between Africa as a place where
research occurs and those other places where processes of knowledge
creation, circulation and home-making occur; (b) in so doing, I expose
frictions within this couched implication and explore the need for rad-
ical scholars to do more than (‘merely’) research in Africa. Through an
evocation of recent elaborations of ‘discomfort feminisms’ and decolo-
nial research ethics, this would mean, for example, moving beyond an
academic and/or activist ‘politics of compassion’ (Walsh 2008). Such a
‘politics of compassion’ risks perpetuating the near-singular notion of
‘Africa’ in a racialised global imaginary as a place of poverty, victimhood
and marginalisation, as well as a place for extraction (e.g. the extrac-
tion of bodies, raw materials and ‘raw’ knowledge). (c) Extending this
attention to racial politics, I argue for greater attention to the functions
of race in research on Africa as part of a larger project of women doing
research differently. This intervention is concerned with how our research
is framed and how we position ourselves (and are positioned) as crea-
tors of knowledge. Herein, I follow Boaventura de Sousa Santos’ (2007,
p. 18) articulation of an ecology of knowledges. De Sousa writes:
It is the nature of the ecology of knowledges to establish itself through

constant questioning and incomplete answers. This is what makes it a
prudent knowledge. The ecology of knowledges enables us to have a
much broader vision of what we do not know, as well as of what we do
know, and also to be aware that what we do not know is our own igno-
rance, not a general ignorance.
I offer an appreciation for the value of certain phases and pieces of

our entwined research-relationships-lives (and their significance within
larger historicised geopolitical context) that sometimes remain out-of-
sight and off-the-page, even as we work through questions of discom-
fort, unease and complicity. Working from de Sousa Santos’ (2007,
p. 18) understanding of the importance of ‘constant questioning and
incomplete answers,’ we can address complicities, ‘moves to innocence’
9 Constant Questioning On-and-Off the Page …
173
(Tuck and Yang 2012) and patterns of practice that make up the history
of social science research in Africa and how our work fits within and,
potentially, moves to disrupt such patterns.
‘Women Researching in Africa’

Feminist geographers, anthropologists and critical women researchers
have long grappled with the politics of ‘the field,’ including artificial
distinctions in place and subjectivity that are (re)produced in concep-
tions of fieldwork as ‘going away,’ ‘somewhere else’ and/or as neces-
sarily spatially dislocating/dislocated. The so-called ‘field,’ we know, is
always-already part of our messy, fluctuating, and shared social worlds
and is therefore saturated with the landscapes of power (and the ‘power
geometries’à la Massey 2005) that we critique and excavate in our work.
Feminist geographers, for example, have shown how ‘the power rela-
tions of sexism, racism, capitalism, nationalism and imperialism perme-
ate and constitute the… spaces of the field’ (Laliberté and Schurr 2015,
p. 1). Human Geographers Laliberté and Schurr (2015) further argue
that the ‘spaces of the field’ are emotional landscapes and that human
relations within ‘field sites’ are highly affective.
The processes of doing research—i.e. searching for understanding
and creating knowledge about our worlds—are rife with vulnerabilities,
tensions and frictions. These challenges and tensions take various form:
they are affective, material, infrastructural, institutional, relational,
inter-personal and more—and they can be anticipated, spontaneous,
exceptional, structural, fleeting or continual. Geographers Caretta
and Jokinen (2017, p. 275) address some of these tensions, describing
moments of ‘coping physically…and emotionally with changing and
challenging working and living conditions… [‘in the field’ as] condi-
tions sine qua non for becoming a geographer.’ They highlight the
gendered divergences embedded within framings of ‘the fieldwork expe-
rience’ as a uniform masculinist and white social practice. A discipli-
nary silence, they argue, exists in which these differences in experience
remain un-acknowledged within a normative masculinist epistemology
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that persists even though ‘the average doctoral candidate in geography

is no longer a Western white male’ (ibid., p. 281). While the identities
and positionalities of geography researchers has changed significantly
over the last 35 or so years, this masculinist epistemology—emerging
from a normalised episteme that is heterosexual, white, masculinist
and Western/Euro-American—remains. This naturalised masculinist
epistemology, we might suggest, is demonstrated by the lack of edited
volumes on the topic of ‘men researching Africa,’ for example. As the
normative lens continues to be that of the masculine gazes, masculinist
epistemologies and masculinist experiences, there is little need for such
an explicit intervention.
The need for work explicitly confronting the varied perspectives and
experiences of women researchers surfaces in a context in which work
on ‘research in Africa’ continues to reflect colonial, patriarchal and cap-
italist structural inequalities within the academy at-large. Geographers
Cupples and Kindon (2003, p. 3) argue that the ‘dominant image
‘remains one of a lone, male researcher’… despite the fact that many of
these researchers have been female, or accompanied by a spouse, chil-
dren or other researchers.’ Against a masculinist epistemology that ima-
gines the geography researcher as a solitary figure overcoming physical
and material obstacles (Caretta and Jokinen 2017), there is space in this
volume to consider the nuances of being women researchers—but such
considerations must make explicit arguments against reproducing dom-
inant and colonial epistemologies in work on Africa. To challenge mas-
culinist colonial perspectives of ‘fieldwork,’ we attend first to how we
are always-already positioned as scholars within the gendered and racial-
ised colonial academy and colonial global political economy.
Anthropologists Orchard and Dewey (2016, p. 258, italics added)
reflect on what they all the ‘blurring of relationships and subjectivi-
ties’ in research that occurs in ‘the spaces [they] call both the field and
home’ in the United States and Canada. In their account, tensions
arise in maintaining boundaries ‘inside’ and ‘outside’ the confines of
the research and the ‘post-project landscape,’ which is characterised by
an ambiguity and fluidity in researcher-subject identities. Such argu-
ments take us beyond the normative framing of ‘fieldwork’ as some-
thing that takes place elsewhere at the same time that Orchard and
175
Dewey’s experiences show that researching in home-sites can be none-

theless steeped with tensions similar to research in ‘non-home-sites.’
The boundaries between research and non-research ‘at home’ are fraught
with tensions, as Orchard and Dewey explain:
The variable responses adopted by the women in our studies as they

move with or around us in the field, including respectful indifference or
ignoring each other on the ‘outside’ [of the confines of the research] but
coming together again inside formal research spaces, demonstrate their
multiple subjectivities—an area of ethnographic research that remains
under-problematised. (Orchard and Dewey 2016, p. 259)
In this research context, research occurs ‘at home’ but distinct bounda-
ries are erected nonetheless between the researchers and participants—
so that former participants pass the researcher on the street without
acknowledging their presence outside the formal or explicit research
activity (ibid., p. 254). Such accounts dismiss any quick imaginary of
research at ‘home’ as straightforward and ‘trouble-free.’
Katz (1994, p. 70) offers an instructive account of a feminist geog-
rapher engaging with issues of power and unease regarding ‘the field.’
Reflecting on her disquiet regarding the colonial politics of ethno-
graphic research in Sudan, a space that is far from her ‘home’ coun-
try of the United States, she contends, ‘I felt somewhat compelled to
work where I lived and live where I worked’ (Katz 1994, p. 70). An
under-theorised and underappreciated component of critical scholar-
ship is the complex way(s) in which our ‘home’ audiences matter in the
framing of our scholarship—in this, I urge a fuller consideration of who
our ‘home’ audiences are, where are research is ‘at home’ and where we
make our homes, with our bodies. I wonder, as ‘women researching [in]
Africa,’ how are we doing more than research(ing)? In response, Katz
made a conscious decision to relocate her ‘field site’ closer to ‘home’ (in
New York). The making public of this disquiet (or this discomfort—and
the subsequent decision to move the site of research closer to ‘home’
to alleviate, even if partially, the reproduction of inequality embed-
ded within research processes across space) provides an opportunity to
consider the ways in which seemingly personal or even banal ‘career’
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decisions are deeply imbricated by how we understand ourselves to be

situated and how our projects are embedded within histories of global
power relations. That is to say, decisions about where, with whom and
how we conduct research are not ‘merely’ guided by tactical careerist or
logical considerations of funding availability, institutional capacities or
‘gaps’ in literature, but reflect intermeshing personal and global histo-
ries, patterns and relations.
An under-theorised and underappreciated component of critical
scholarship is the complex way(s) in which our ‘home’ audiences mat-
ter in the framing of our scholarly projects—in this, I follow decolonial
scholars to urge a fuller consideration of who our ‘home’ audiences are,
where are research is ‘at home’ and where we make our homes, with our
bodies as well as with our political and ethical consciousness. I won-
der, as ‘women researching [in] Africa,’ how are we doing more than
research(ing) in Africa?
Anthropologist Al-Hardan (2014, pp. 63, 65) explains that it is
The sphere of the academy itself, rather than the communities that we set
out to research, [that are] therefore the first place[s] where our research
becomes entangled in the coloniality of power/knowledge, impacting its
conceptualization, formulation, and eventually, the kinds of knowledge
we come to produce…
…A commitment to decolonizing research means paying attention to
what happens “before” the research as an inherent part of the research
process, taking into account the structural mechanisms embedded in the
academy that guard and reinforce colonizing epistemologies that presume
an unmarked universal position that makes its own colonial economy of
power through disavowing it.
A serious conversation about ‘women researching Africa’ must also

discuss how our ‘home’ audiences matter in the framing of our schol-
arship (Smith 1999; Al-Hardan 2014, pp. 67–69; Murrey 2017a). A
consideration of who our ‘home’ audiences are, where are research is ‘at
home’ and where we make our homes, with our bodies and relation-
ships, requires that we consider not only where the research takes place,
177
but to whom and with whom we speak about this knowledge: in what
forums, through which publications and to which publics this work
is disseminated (Smith 1999)? If we are ‘women researching Africa’
but our audiences and communities remain primarily white, Euro-
American, non-African or out-of-Africa—even if these realities are
enforced by the global political economy, institutional norms and cap-
italist, neoliberal and/or imperial university settings, the availability of
academic work, personal biographies (nationality, proximity to family,
availability of visas, etc.)—our projects risk reaffirming colonial hier-
archies that replicate neo-colonial models of ‘doing research in Africa’
that reproduces extractive practices. In drawing out the particularities
of experiences and the richness of knowledge from ‘women researching
in Africa,’ we need to be more attuned to an implicit (and sometimes
explicit) separation between Africa as a place where research occurs and
those other—and more central—places where processes of knowledge
creation, circulation and home-making occur.
Colonial Frictions and ‘Women Researching

in Africa’
As ‘women researching [in] Africa,’ how are we doing more than
research(ing) in Africa? What are the larger politics of our research in
Africa? This interrogation is potentially fruitful in extrapolating the ten-
sions between our intentions and our contextual confines, which inform
and shape the circulation and reception of our work. As I have shown
elsewhere in my own work on witchcraft and la sorcellerie in Cameroon,
our audiences matter significantly in shaping what the research does: so
that even if my approach to witchcraft is (self-described as) ‘critical,’ if
my conference audiences sometimes lack even embryonic understand-
ings of witchcraft in the region, I risk reaffixing colonial and racist
tropes, in which my story of the pipeline becomes ‘just another’ story of
‘witchcraft in Africa’ (Murrey 2017a). Al-Hardan (2014, p. 61), presses
us to re-think researcher coloniality in Palestine:
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…what kind of research can researchers who are structurally positioned

within the academies of the former/current imperialist powers and their
allies engage in when carrying out research in communities that are on
the other end of the imperialist and colonial equation?
In a racialised global knowledge hierarchy in which ‘Africa’—and

particular regions, societies and peoples within the 54 countries on the
continent—remains marginalised, as scholars researching ‘Africa’ we
need to consciously work to challenge the colonial episteme. In this,
we would draw from the body of scholarship that has sought to high-
light the ways in which research methodologies constrain and erect
borders in what ‘counts’ as knowledge as well as those more practical
concerns of audience and the post-publication deployment of knowl-
edge. ‘Decolonial scholars argue that the modern episteme is always and
intrinsically saturated with coloniality although it is insecure in its reach
and depth’ (Radcliffe 2017, p. 329). Shaw et al. (2006, p. 273) explain
our responsibility as researchers situated within the colonial present;
they write,
We must always ask, ‘Who does this serve?’ and be leery of engaging in
research that not only does not serve indigenous communities, but is
also antithetical to projects of, for example, self-determination[.] This is
not easy, for meaning easily escapes the intention, and what may appear
innocuous can become damaging in the hands of others.
How might we contribute to and collaborate within projects of

decolonisation, particularly as researchers working within the social
sciences that remain predominantly white and male (Kobayashi 1994;
Mahtani 2006; Pulido 2002)? Are the tools of the discipline sufficient
for the task, even as institutionalised racialisation pushes non-white
geographers to the margins and my discipline (human geography)
itself requires decolonisation? Lawrence D. Berg (2012, p. 510) asserts,
‘geography is one of the whitest social science disciplines in Euro-
American academia,’ while Virginia Caputo (2000, p. 21) argues that
anthropology continues to ‘cling at a certain level… to a colonial view
of the world. Shaw et al. (2006, pp. 267–268) assert, ‘Geography is
179
not politically neutral, and the projects of imperialism/colonialism are

far from redressed…the discipline of geography should engage more
actively with the post- and neocolonial/imperial experiences of indige-
neity, regardless of the potential fraughtness of such a pursuit.’ Indeed,
the genealogies of geography are imbedded in the colonial appropria-
tions of African knowledges, including the re-construction of indige-
nous places through early expeditions and extensive mapping activities
(Mercer et al. 2003; Elliott-Cooper 2017). The longer history of white
women’s engagement with the continent is equally troubling; white
women missionaries played important roles in the eighteenth- and nine-
teenth-century propagation of the ‘dark continent’ myth of African
societies through the circulation of pre-colonial diaries and quasi-jour-
nalistic accounts (Pieterse 1995).
Efforts to decolonise research and to break from colonial epistemes
must attend to these earlier histories as well as the ways in which
they are perpetuated through ongoing uneven encounters between
researchers (women or otherwise) and people in African societies
(Murrey 2017b)—including the current employment and contract-
ing of social scientists by militaries (Campbell and Murrey 2014),
international financial institutions (Grovogui and Leonard 2007)
and corporations in extractive projects (Murrey 2017a). We might
understand this context as the coloniality of social science, which has
extensive tentacles within African research paradigms and African uni-
versity systems (Nyamnjoh 2015; Ndlovu-Gatsheni and Zondi 2016;
Hlabangane and Radebe 2016). Wamba di Wamba (1991), Nyamnjoh
(2015), Ake (1979), and Mamdani (1993)—have critiqued the expe-
riences of ongoing knowledge imperialism in the structure of African
universities. Francis Nyamnjoh explains, ‘the resilience of colonial
education and its dominant epistemologies…epistemologies cham-
pioned by dualisms and dichotomies in the Eurocentric modernity
that inspired colonialism and that continue to inform how real-
ity is defined and perceived’ in Africa and by African intellectuals
(Nyamnjoh 2015, p. 39).
Not only are we situated as researchers within the particular African
contexts where we research and work, we are situated as producers of
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knowledge within a globalised and racialised hierarchy of knowledge,

one in which Africans working from the African continent (particularly
outside of South Africa) continue to face disadvantages, marginalisation
and exploitations. Gruffydd Jones (2006, p. 233) explains:
…the logic of the free market in the global economy of academic

research, knowledge production, and publishing produces a growing glut
of overproduction in the West, a “perverse inflation of publications…and
mountains of papers…while on the other hand Africa suffers the multiple
dimensions of “book hunger.” University libraries in the West are forced
to weed their collections of dated material to make way for the ever-in-
creasing volume of new publications. Discarded and outdated books are
then sent in charitable donations to fill the half-empty shelves of African
libraries.
She continues:
The effective muting or cramping of academic production by African

scholars in Africa by political and, more insidiously, economic modes
of oppression and dispossession leaves the field open to the continuing
domination of Western scholarship across all fields…The very notion of
“African studies” is a historically specific colonial legacy and reproduces
the marginality of Africa… (Gruffydd Jones 2006, p. 235)
My dissatisfaction with my emplacedness in such as system prompted

me to seek work as an educator, academic and collaborator in two
African universities: Jimma University in Jimma, Ethiopia and The
American University in Cairo in Egypt. These teaching and academic
experiences have been powerful, troubling, wrought and highly diver-
gent: Jimma is shaped by significant widespread poverty and infra-
structural shortfalls, where students come from rural areas and are
often first-generation college students (funded through a government
programme wherein students pay-back tuition during postgraduation
employment; see Murrey and Tesfahun 2018). New Cairo, on the other
hand, is marked by affluence, power and privilege in a landscape of con-
siderable inequality.
181
Al-Hardan explains, ‘it is neither researchers nor research that will

decolonise the coloniality of power/knowledge in the world’ (Al-Hardan
2014, p. 69). The Decolonial Europe/Decolonialidad Europa’s Charter
of Decolonial Research Ethics emphasises that the researcher’s ‘princi-
pal site for struggle—the site where she can contribute—is the academic
realm ’ (2013, italics added). My intention is not to overly-celebrate nor
to hold up a set of standards for ‘appropriate’ conduct. Like collabo-
rative projects to transform the academy, ‘Decolonising geography… is
not a comfortable process’ (Radcliffe 2017, p. 331). Shivji (2017, italics
added), on the role of the intellectual in African societies, has recently
argued against such claim-making within the academy,
And they are very good when it comes to producing self-serving ideas.
They exaggerate and inflate their importance and role, their indispensabil-
ity and alacrity, their sanctimony and sacrifice. Intellectuals are one spe-
cies who are egoistic to the bone. But being masters of mystification, they
package their egoism in altruism.
Although not framed as such, Shivji’s words evoke the importance

of ‘discomfort feminism’ or the ways in which feminist praxis embrace
moments of discomfort as a way to push our political and knowledge
projects forward: this discomfort might work here in two ways. The first
is to disavow simplistic optimism (even ‘cruel optimism’ à la Berlant
2011) and the second is to refuse to perpetuate colonial representations
that pose as the ‘politics of compassion’ or altruism. To these ends, I
embrace uncertainty by going against the impulse—which arises from
a colonialist and capitalist episteme—to be enthusiastically sanguine. In
rereading Lazreg’s 1988 piece, ‘Feminism and Difference: The Perils of
Writing as a Woman on Women in Algeria,’ I was reminded that:
Ultimately, Western feminists operate on their own social and intellectual

ground and under the unstated assumption that their societies are perfecti-
ble. In this respect, feminist critical practice takes on an air of normalcy…
(Lazreg 1988, p. 81, italics added)
A decolonial conceptual approach grounded in a feminist ethic of

troubling colonial knowledge production does something different.
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Such a project begins with a recognition of the coloniality of knowl-

edge and women researchers’ contributions to and challenges of this
paradigm in order to take stock of where we are as ‘women researching
Africa,’ evaluate ongoing power imbalances in gendered work ‘in Africa,’
and consider potentials for alternative modes of knowledge creation in,
for, with, from African societies.
Shivji’s critique of the propensity for academics to repackage ‘egoism
in altruism’ speaks to limitations embedded within scholarship on pov-
erty and marginalisation. In particular, the academic ‘politics of com-
passion’ (Walsh 2008) has been critiqued for perpetuating a singular
notion of ‘Africa’ in the racialised global imaginary as a place of poverty
and marginalisation, as well as a place for extraction (e.g. the extraction
of bodies, raw materials and knowledge). My decision to teach, live,
work and research in Africa has not been done in a reassertion of a men-
tality of aid, assistance or help—indeed, the risks of ‘recolonising’ Africa
through such moves are also great—but has been with an intention to
‘give practical support to the conditions necessary to the existence of
that knowledge [otherwise], in other words, to the liberation of the
whole world form imperialism’ as well as to do work that is satisfying
and fulfilling (Gruffydd Jones 2006, p. 237; see also Morreira 2015).
To ‘break away from the philosophical and theoretical heritage’ of the
coloniality of knowledge (Lazreg 1988, p. 82), researchers move beyond
the hegemonic modes of social science research (because these modes
are rooted in and emerged out of colonial epistemes) in ways that do
not avoid the messy, tense, noisy and/or polemic confrontations with
the heritage and ongoing realities of coloniality in contemporary life.
Women, then, must be different kinds of researchers and scholars. We
need to break from colonial knowledge frames and relations in our
research conduct. On academic feminism, Lazreg (ibid., italics added)
powerfully asserts,
Although it questions traditional assumptions, academic feminism has

often neglected to investigate its own premises. If it were to do so more
often, it might have become apparent that “traditional” social science cat-
egories have not yet been transformed but have been given a different sex
instead.
183
In what ways do ‘we’—i.e. ‘women researching in Africa’—investigate

our own research premises and the complexities of our positions in effort
to transform and disrupt injustices embedded within research practices?
Race and ‘Women Researching in Africa’

Extending this attention to racial politics, I argue for greater attention,
in particular, to the functions of race in research on Africa (see also
Murrey 2018, forthcoming). This argument builds upon and extends—
in an explicit direction—the scholarship on power, privilege and raciali-
sation within research processes (Kobayashi 1994; Smith 1999; Faria and
Mollett 2016), while disavowing the normative practices of research posi-
tionality that can reify categories and erase racial differences while claim-
ing to attend to them (Murrey 2017b), the latter is part of a set of evasive
practices that reflect ‘settler moves to innocence’ (Tuck and Yang 2012).
Pierre (2008, p. 548) disavows the tendency in contemporary social
science work on Africa to avoid subjects of race, writing:
with extremely few exceptions, especially outside of southern Africa, schol-

ars of continental Africa do not engage in the complex ways that race con-
tinues to be significant in this postcolonial moment… historical and current
theoretical and epistemological practices…leave us with few tools to ena-
ble such a discussion…these practices actually work to impede race analysis
about the African continent…entrapping us into a kind of race-blindness.
The epistemological practices that perpetuate a ‘kind of race-blind-

ness’ serve to mystify anew the ‘white political field’ critiqued by The
Decolonial Charter on Research Ethics. When race is written out of
‘women’s research in Africa’—including white women’s research in
Africa—a colonial logic of extraction and discovery is reaffirmed. By
evading race, we lack the decolonial consciousness necessary to under-
stand ‘the racial logic underpinning our own research endeavors’ (Pierre
2008, p. 549)—including (or sometimes, in particular) the racialised
global knowledge economy (discussed earlier in this chapter). The sys-
tematical failure of the Western-inspired social sciences in Africa to
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acknowledge and critique global anti-blackness facilitates the perpetua-

tion of dehumanising narratives.1 Pierre explains (2008, pp. 550–551):
Post-colonial Africa’s engagement with whiteness and discourses of race,

racial difference and privilege occurs within a broader set of processes
whereby local relationships continue to be structured by the current
global configurations of identity, economics, and politics. These processes
demand radical racial analysis.
A turning to race is not a turning to essentialisms; Nyamnjoh (2015,

p. 36) writes, ‘Essentialisms are the curse of a world that overly empha-
sizes regressive exclusionary logics of claiming and denying belonging.’
Faria and Mollett’s (2016) work on whiteness in ‘the field’ represents
a significant break from engagements with positionality and reflexiv-
ity that would reify race as static and fixed by unpacking the changing
processes of racialisation that unfold through emotional encounters.
Their intervention demonstrates the imperative for geographers work-
ing in the countries of the south to attend to how our work is not only
deeply racialised, but how an academic silence on this racialisation is an
‘elision…bound up with the workings of whiteness’ (Faria and Mollett
2016, p. 80). What we need to pay greater attention to, then, is how
whiteness—much like the masculinist epistemology addressed in the
passage above—is ‘positioned as a noncategory, normal, natural, indeed
achieving a “super-naturalness”… a “racial grammar” [that ultimately]
becom[es] invisible’ (ibid., p. 81).
The Decolonial Charter on Research Ethics similarly emphasises
the importance of an ever-present attention to white epistemological
power and privilege which, much like elucidated by Shivji above, mys-
tify and erase (intentionally or inadvertently) racial power and privilege
through the language of empowerment, solidarity, well-being, altruism,
decolonisation and so on. The Charter of Decolonial Ethics (2013,
n.p.) states:
Academic knowledge production protects white privilege, and requires

of the researcher that she or he inhabits white identity…Analyses made
185
on behalf of the subjects, or about them, without consultation or debate

with them are not valid because they have been made through the exercise
of epistemic violence inherent to the white political field.
Here, the coloniality of knowledge exists within a ‘white political

field’—the colonial academy—wherein researchers are produced as
white through methodological and ontological training in Eurocentric
and colonial frames:
There is a powerful tool that protects white identity and the white polit-
ical field. It is the false discussion about the researcher’s nearness or dis-
tance to the people that she studies. To discuss proximity (solidarity) or
distance to research subjects is a privilege reserved to the researcher and
covers over the real concern, which regards the researcher’s own politi-
cal positioning in relation to white identity and the white political field.
Decolonial research is not close to decolonial struggles located outside
of the academic realm, nor in solidarity with them. Decolonial research
is existentially and politically committed to decolonisation. (Charter of
Decolonial Ethics, 2013, n.p. italics added)
Decolonial research is consciously, epistemologically and politically

committed to decolonisation. Mignolo (2011) has called this the ‘con-
scious place of dwelling,’ so that it is not so much the physical place
inhabited by the decolonial scholar as the conscious epistemological
home-place: the orientation toward decolonisation. This firm commit-
ment is ‘a beginning, rather than an end, of the move toward decolo-
nizing research’ (Al-Hardan 2014, p. 69). At the same time, as I have
asserted here, the places where we make our physical homes and foster
communities also matters greatly in upsetting the global coloniality of
being—not merely for the fostering of certain communities in-place,
but also for reproducing colonial patterns of knowledge extraction.
If the ‘principal site for struggle’ for the decolonial scholar is the aca-
demic realm (as the Charter states), it is here that we work to exercise
our fluctuating and instable capacities to make space for decolonial
activisms, decolonial scholarships and decolonial movements. This takes
the form of organising public events, out-of-academy collaborations,
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citation and pedagogical practices that disengage with the Eurocentric

colonial canon as well as experimenting with decolonial and decolo-
nising praxis in our teaching, speaking and being. As researchers and
academics, such critical space making is both intimate and overt.
It is reflected in our comportment within and out of the academy, as
researchers and people gendered as women—much of which takes place
‘off the page’ and out of public purview (Murrey 2018, forthcoming).
On-and-Off the Page

Disclosing the particularities of relationships and racialised and gen-
dered encounters can be risky, particularly for scholars who are margin-
alised within the university and in a social science context disinclined
to engage with the intimacies of everyday politics (Billo and Hiemstra
2013). While our scholarship is public, a great many aspects of our
scholarship reflect our personal lifescapes within larger geopolitical
contexts—many of these impactful aspects of our lives and scholar-
ships remain undisclosed. Anthropologist Scheper-Hughes (2009, p. 2)
reminds us that ‘politically engaged anthropology…is generally kept
off the record.’ Ongoing conversations in human geography address
the need to embrace discomfort as a generative methodological tool for
cultivating spaces at the margins where tensions (racial, gendered, colo-
nial, more) can be addressed. Yet, some of these personal-community-
political nuances might need to remain off the page partially because
these stories are larger than us and need to be held with responsibility
and care.
The chapter, I initially intended to write for this volume focused
more directly on my intimate and subjective relations in and with
people in Cameroon, including my decade-long relationship with
my Cameroonian partner, who (along with our eldest daughter),
accompanied me during ‘fieldwork.’ At the time that I conducted
ethnographic fieldwork on stories of struggle in two towns along the
Chad-Cameroon Oil Pipeline, I was 26 and a mother. Motherhood
in Cameroon is a communal responsibility and connotes an impor-
tant passing along of bodily knowledge. My role as a mother flavoured
187
my relationships in Cameroon, where my knowledge as a mother was

often more respected than my knowledge as a doctoral student or
intellectual. These spoken and unspoken personal commitments facil-
itated the building of lasting relationships and also allowed for pubic
discussion and commentary on my place in the community. Based on
my role as a mother and a ‘sister in-law,’ people sometimes referred
(either to me or to my partner) to a responsibility not to betray
knowledge ‘from the village.’ This fear of betrayal echoes frustrations
voiced by those living along the Chad-Cameroon Oil Pipeline, where
scholars and researchers have conducted studies without creating ties
in the communities where they work and appropriating knowledge for
other, unspoken ends, leaving communities fearful and suspicious of
those who follow (Murrey 2017b).
In Nanga-Eboko and Kribi, the coloniality of social science was often
palpable in people’s fears of betrayal and frustrations with research-
ers on the African continent (see also Smith 1999). Such was often
the case during my encounters with people in places where researchers
(Cameroonian and foreign), journalists and corporate mediators have
conducted decades of studies, community-level surveys and briefings,
leaving communities fearful, suspicious and resistant (Murrey 2017b).
In Nanga, my presence was surrounded with various suspicions about
my access to networks of power. Who was I? Could my proximity to
power result in new reimbursements for past dispossessions or was my pres-
ence yet another form of imperial (knowledge) extraction? People occasion-
ally approached me in secret to say that so-and-so was lying—that s/he
was well reimbursed for loss of land by the oil consortium but wanted
more or that so-and-so ‘told me not to “betray the community” by
revealing that he was well reimbursed.’ Le droit à l’oeil, for example, is a
socio-cultural practice when someone has the ‘right of seeing’: the right
to demand a percentage of the profits when they witness, without inter-
fering, un fey (a scam). The presence of a researcher in the community
was cause for whispering, speculation and kongossa (rumour). Avoiding
the exacerbation of frictions between people required constant real-time
negotiations of power and knowledge (see Subramaniam 2009)—at the
same time that revealing such intra-communal inequalities and frictions
risks reaffirming colonial and racialised stereotypes.
188
A. Murrey
A prism of comfort and disdain is instructive for characterising my

experiences as a young woman of Portuguese-Italian and Irish-Scottish
heritage in Cameroon, where my gendered whiteness was often the
cause of public commentary. I was called la blanche (French: white
woman), ndigga (Nanga: white person) and gingiru ratté (Camfranglais:
broken Albino person). Our encounters in ‘the field’ are neither smooth
nor methodological but emerge within ‘the specificities of friction and
uncomfortable collaboration ’ (Walsh 2008 p. 78) that are part of the
messiness, uncertainty and fraught-ness of decolonial work in a colonial
world. Doing decolonial work—trying to do decolonial work—means
continually thinking, rethinking, pausing and resolutely pushing for-
ward in and during moments of encounter—some of this work neces-
sarily takes place ‘off of the page,’ in the quiet corridors, classrooms and
informal conversations with colleagues and friends. This work might
necessarily occur off the page because it is emergent, subversive and dis-
ruptive of colonial ways of knowing.
Conclusion
The theme of this volume presents a distinctive opportunity to reflect
upon the particularities of the collectivities we work with, as ‘women
researching in Africa’ as well as a challenge to push our conversation
to consider how we participate as researchers in a larger collective of
‘women researching Africa’ within a global knowledge economy shaped
by the coloniality of power. This chapter has sought to bring together
strands of critical scholarship so as to emphasise the importance of
women researching in Africa in ways that challenge and upset the colo-
niality of power/knowledge by rejecting masculinist and colonising epis-
temologies, attending explicitly to global and racial politics in Africa
(including global whiteness and global anti-blackness), and working to
sustain an ethical and political commitment to decolonial struggle. I
have addressed the potentials of adopting an approach of constant and
ongoing subversive questioning (on-and-off the page) in our research
conduct as a way of disrupting the persistent presence of colonial
knowledge paradigms in ‘research in Africa.’
189
Note
1. For an example of social science work in Africa that gives serious consid-
eration to global anti-black racism, see Daley’s (2007) work on the ena-
blement and acceleration of patterns of genocidal violence in Burundi
through a global racial hierarchy that dispossesses and de-values Black
life at every scale.
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10
Lessons Learned on Research Methods
and Researcher Stance in Africa
Jody McBrien
Introduction
It is somewhat rare for a woman who makes a career of writing research
articles to have the luxury of writing a reflection. But it should not be
so. Giants of academia, such as Eisner in The Enlightened Eye (1997)
and Lawrence in The Art and Science of Portraiture (1997), as well as
psychologists and philosophers who study and practice mindfulness
(Brown et al. 2007) remind us that there are many useful paths to crit-
ical inquiry beyond the basics learned in graduate courses on scientific
research. Unfortunately, editors and reviewers of the journals in which
we must ‘publish or perish’ continue to reject manuscripts that do
not include the expected content of a typical scientific research paper.
Such work is, of course, crucial to the acquisition of new knowledge.
J. McBrien (*) 
College of Liberal Arts and Social Sciences,
University of South Florida, Sarasota, FL, USA
e-mail: jlmcbrien@sar.usf.edu
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-94502-6_10
194
J. McBrien
But when we do not also look at the inquirer, ourselves, we can easily
overlook elements of the research process that can sully our findings or
cause problems in the field.
I have co-written several typical scholarly journal publications and
co-edited one book based on my research in Uganda, primarily with
women (Stewart et al. 2015, 2017; Ezati et al. 2016; McBrien et al.
2015, 2016; McBrien and Byers 2015). With this chapter I hope to
take a reflective, somewhat introspective look at what are, for me,
more challenging questions than I address in those past publications;
namely,
• What is, and what should be, the role of a ‘privileged’ White woman
conducting research in a war-torn African community? What are the
problems of ‘privilege’ in this research?
• What problems occur when we are not mindful?
• Is researcher distance ethical in this research? What problems result
in longitudinal work when participants become friends?
In this article, I will explore these questions by reflecting on 17

years of travelling to Africa for work and research, with most atten-
tion on my six years of working within one community, Lira, Uganda,
as a White female American university researcher in the aftermath of
Kony’s Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) war. My research background is
that of an educational anthropologist, as I rely on cultural and ethno-
graphic research to study contemporary issues of theory and practice.
I will punctuate my narrative with the lessons I have learned, in hopes
that they may benefit cross-cultural researchers who may be new to the
field in Africa.
Given the part of this volume, I also consider the ways in which
gender affects my research, though I admit that this was not an orig-
inal purpose of my study. Over the years, I have worked successfully
with both men and women in Uganda. However, ultimately my most
detailed work was with women I came to know and respect, and with
whom I wrote a book about the LRA war and its aftermath.
10 Lessons Learned on Research Methods …
195
Crazy Beginner
I flew non-stop from Atlanta, Georgia, to Durban, South Africa,
by myself in August 2001 to participate in the United Nations (UN)
World Conference Against Racism. At the time, I was completing my
work as a Cable News Network (CNN) education editor prior to begin-
ning my doctoral work at Emory University. I also traveled as a dele-
gate for a fledgling non-government organisation (NGO) called ‘Unity,’
located in the Boston area. The Chief Executive Officer was unable to
attend, so he delegated that I attend for the NGO. It was my first trip
to Africa. Even though CNN asked me to submit reports, I was not a
regular reporter, so they did not send me as part of the crew. With that
status and being the only representative of Unity, I was largely on my
own.
I had an unfortunate travel encounter in Durban when I attended a
Mariam Makeba concert that was a part of the UN conference. I had
observed cars pulling in front of gates and having those gates opened
for them to park, so I guessed this was the custom. When I did this,
the back of my car remained in the street, and no one opened the gate.
Suddenly, the men in the car behind me all left their car and started
beating on mine. Terrified, I was rescued by the nearby security guard
who told me where I could park. After the concert, I could not find my
car. I wandered and wandered, to no avail. An Indian male approached
me in his car and asked if I needed help. I did, but I had no idea if it
was safe for me to get in his car. I took the risk. He was a kind man, and
we found my car.
I attribute these incidents that ended up well to crazy beginner’s luck
and suggest this form of travel to no one. I attribute my good fortune
to lessons learned through regular international travel for 40 years that
has taught me how to exude confidence in almost any setting. I traveled
solo again on my second trip, this time to Ghana in 2010. I had friends
working at the University of Ghana, but at my destination, Buduburam
Refugee Camp, I would be staying with a local teacher and her husband.
This experience caused me to think a great deal about my fragile and
196
J. McBrien
gendered position in the country. The teacher was warm and welcoming;
her husband, far too much so. He used any occasion during which his
wife was not present to try to hold my hand, touch me, try to kiss me,
and tell me he loved me. I told him that this was not appropriate in my
culture, and he responded that it was fine in his. I found myself on very
tenuous ground as a result of my lack of knowledge. What would hap-
pen if I mentioned these behaviours to his wife? Should I? What might
that do to her marriage? If it affected her marriage, what would that do
to her life? I recognised that I was viewed as somewhat exotic, as there
were almost no White people at the camp. At one point, I had caused a
toddler to scream uncontrollably, as he had never seen a White person
before. Ethical dilemmas have been a part of my travels, not only involv-
ing the role of sex and gender, but also of cultural diversity.
Since my first trip to South Africa to take part in the UN World
Conference Against Racism (completed just two days before 11
September 2001), to my most recent trip to Uganda in late 2015 to
launch a book written with seven women who transitioned from par-
ticipants to fellow researchers and friends (McBrien and Byers 2015),
some of my life’s best and worst moments have occurred on the African
continent. These kinds of moments would not be typical of the local
residents. If they had an extra $100, they certainly would not waste it
as I have, to enjoy the exhilaration of rafting the Nile River rapids as
part of a ‘research team-building’ exercise. My friends in Uganda would
rarely have three days to take off from work to spend in the middle of
a safari camp experiencing the silence of the bush and the brilliance
of the Milky Way in a space unpolluted by city lights. Because of my
upper-middle class and White privilege, I am able to create balance
between rewarding, but exhausting days of travelling from house to
refugee camp and NGO to CBO (community-based organisation) to
school to radio station, digitising interviews and typing out field notes
in the evening; and times when I can stop and experience the splen-
dor of diverse landscapes in Ghana, Mozambique, South Africa and
Uganda. I recall a conversation with a friend in Lira about Murchison
Park, which I visited twice between 2010 and 2014. She, a native Lira
woman with a Master’s degree, teaching career and her own mental
health clinic, has never had the opportunity to go there.
197
Certainly not all of my time involving research in Africa do I view

as gendered experiences. I have worked successfully and deeply appre-
ciated my interviews with African men. I met two adolescent males in
Buduburam Refugee Camp in Ghana in 2010; and we remain in close
contact as I complete this chapter in 2018. Two close contacts in Lira,
Uganda, are males involved with improving equality among genders
through their work in health and social contact. I have held remarka-
ble interviews with former boy soldiers. Thus, as mentioned, my inten-
tions were not primarily to work specifically in women’s studies, and I
owe a debt of gratitude to the many remarkable men I have met since
2010 who have enlightened me about their history and culture, particu-
larly in Ghana and Uganda. At the same time, it is the women who
have offered me an intimate view of their gendered lives in their towns,
which I came to document in my co-edited book Cold Water: Women
and Girls in Lira, Uganda (McBrien and Byers 2015).
Privilege
The remarkable leisure opportunities I have had in Africa are what read-
ers will recognise as economic privilege. This privilege is also the rea-
son why even friends in Lira will pull me aside and ask for money for a
child lacking school fees, towards a new latrine at their school, for med-
ical supplies for a sick child, to install a biogas appliance in their home,
to begin a new business, university tuition, and so many other necessi-
ties. I probably receive ten of these requests every day that I am work-
ing in Africa. I understand completely, but they make me tired and sad.
Of course, it must look like a person who can travel such distances and
take weekend breaks for some leisure ought to be able to donate all the
needed dollars for these important needs. At the same time, I cannot
afford to say yes to all the requests, and how would one choose? This
question haunts me both during time in Uganda and when I am in the
United States and hear that a child needs surgery, a friend has not been
paid in three months, a girl has been sent away from school because she
cannot pay school fees, a friend’s children have gone hungry for days
because she has no income.
198
J. McBrien
My cognitive awareness reminds me that I can afford malaria pills

to avoid that illness. I can return to my soft bed after several weeks of
sleeping on a thin mattress. I will return to a climate-controlled home
after staying in a hot room with no screens and no fan. I can return
to my culture that is simplified by clockwork organisation after strug-
gling with a very different concept of meetings and appointments that
begin ‘when everyone has arrived’ rather than, for example ‘at 10 a.m.’
I will have the option of taking a warm shower when I return to the
United States. Being aware of these daily challenges rather than irri-
tated by them makes me mindful of my privilege, both in the field
and when I explain to my university students the need for compas-
sion towards the immigrant and refugee children they will have in
their classes once they become teachers. These children do not have
the choice of returning to a culture and a language they know and
understand.
Remaining conscious to the concept of privilege reminds me that
I can never completely understand the culture, because I never really
live the context of it (Case 2013). I can never truly understand what it
is like to experience years of war and terror and poverty as a Ugandan
trying to survive the violence of Joseph Kony’s LRA, for instance.
Spending a week in Buduburum Refugee Camp in Ghana or even
months of learning from residents of Lira, Uganda, will never pro-
vide me with the day-to-day understanding of living through a war
and working to reconstruct my community post-war. This recognition
deeply affects the ways in which I have approached research in a refu-
gee camp in Ghana and the community of Lira, Uganda. I will proceed
with lessons gained from my opportunities to gather qualitative research
over years in African countries. Although many of these lessons were
engrained by African women who became close colleagues in the field,
I would be amiss to ignore the men who also helped me to understand
and appreciate cultural differences.
Lesson #1: I recognise cross-cultural challenges in interpreting and
fully understanding the contexts of the Ugandans who have participated
in my research. Not only is their culture far different from that of my
White and Western contexts, but their experiences of war and terror are
outside of my experience. The work would not be possible—it would
199
not be authentic—without not only meeting with participants over

time, but also asking them to become assistants in the research (Caretta
2015). Caretta (2015), Willis (2017), and Rwantabagu (2010), among
other researchers, have pointed out the problems of imposing Western
education and other psychosocial structures in African countries with-
out first gaining a deep understanding of the native culture and con-
texts. As a result, it would be unethical for me to cross an ocean with
a Western-made plan to tackle problems and expect it to be accepted
or to work. With this understanding, I have viewed my role more as a
reporter and a convener to facilitate information and to bring together
the people with the wisdom to solve the problems—those who know
intimately the history, experiences, and culture of the land and the res-
idents. Local people may embrace change when they are a part of the
plans for change, but not typically when such plans are put upon them
(Evans and Haitt-Michael 2016).
Unfortunately, I have observed many post-colonial attitudes of
superiority among non-native people of privilege, particularly White
researchers and workers from North America, and problems associated
with the belief that we, not Africans, know best. For me, this issue has
not been gendered, as I observed it in a White male I brought with me
to Uganda and a White American woman I heard speak at a conference
in Kampala. The issues grow in complexity as one realises that the term
‘privilege’ itself is fraught with contradictions. ‘Privilege’ connotes a life
of more consumable goods than one needs, which contribute to major
disasters such as global warming, the extinction of animal and plant
species, and deaths caused by chemical pollutants, starvation, terror,
and war. Those I know well in Lira, who would be considered ‘under-
privileged,’ are far richer in terms of community bonds and friendships
than I see in the United States. Instead of ‘bowling alone’ (Putnam
2000), their lives are filled with family and community engagement.
I witness more genuine caring, forgiveness and empathy among the
families I know in Lira than I do in my own community. This situation
furthers the contradiction I always have in my mind as I continue my
work there: Am I helping or hurting? Without careful self-reflection,
Westerners may assume that their culture and lifestyle is superior
(Menton 2015). Is it, really?
200
J. McBrien
During my several trips to Africa, I have observed examples of sup-

posed Western advances that have only created problems. Plastic bottles
and ‘disposable’ diapers lie in heaps of waste, as the countries do not
have the same waste disposal systems of the West. A colleague I brought
to Uganda was nearly electrocuted in the shower because of poorly
wired electricity. An elderly man commented on how the British sys-
tem of education had destroyed the old ways of teaching children to be
moral and wise, as the system of Western education had replaced the
nightly education by elders around the boma (evening meal and fire).
I recall my first trip to Gulu, Uganda, during which I encountered a
surly local NGO staff person. I asked if I could have some of his time
for an interview. He glared at me and said, ‘What will you do for me in
exchange? I am very busy.’ He enlightened me by saying that Western
researchers were constantly coming for information. Then they would
leave, come to their own conclusions and publish their results to add to
their accomplishments without so much as another thought about the
people whose time they had taken. He made sense to me. This knowl-
edge led to Lesson #2: reciprocity (Curry 2012; Trainor and Bouchard
2010). I learned to conduct interviews and focus groups while provid-
ing a meal, transportation fees, and/or school supplies. I also learned
the importance of returning and revisiting people I have met. We email
one another and talk on the phone. When I led the creation of the
book Cold Water about the women and girls in Lira, I asked the women
I knew in Lira to write or tell their own stories, not my interpretations
of them. And all the book sale proceeds went to supporting the work of
the Lira women authors and to girls’ scholarships (Maiter et al. 2008).
In my many trips to African countries, I have run into American
missionaries and scholars who assume they are doing good by going to
Africa to spread their ideas. The presumptions necessarily include the
beliefs that their ideas are superior to those held by Africans. The results,
however, can be far from the locals’ expectations. In one case, I came
upon a group of Ugandan women ‘witch doctors’ (a term they used to
describe their former selves) who had turned to Christianity, resulting
in their rejection of former livelihoods and places of respect within their
community. With their former vocations gone, they turned to brewing
alcohol for an income. At the same time, they denounced men who
201
bought their alcohol and, as they said, became drunk in the morning.
Ironically, they felt that their new work was acceptable by their new reli-
gious faith (McBrien and Byers 2015, unpublished field notes).
In another instance, I attended an international social work confer-
ence in Kampala in 2013 with my co-researcher Julia and four of our
female Lira colleagues that I brought to present our work, the result of
a grant I received. We sat in a session in which a US professor described
research that did not go well. She described how she created a project
to help at a school in rural Kenya and brought several doctoral stu-
dents with her. What she neglected in her preparations was finding
any contacts with the school in Kenya, nor any residents in the village.
She simply assumed they would be welcomed. As I listened, I thought
to myself, would any Western researcher assume that she could sim-
ply arrive at a school in London or Frankfurt or Tokyo or New York
without making advance plans for collaborative work? What is it about
Africa that causes people from industrialised countries to assume they
will be welcomed with no advanced requests or planning?
I know I must take care to neither romanticise the positive aspects I
see in the Ugandan culture, nor ever view the horrors my friends have
endured through the LRA war as rendering them too traumatised to
manage capably. I tend to see my African acquaintances and friends
as people who are remarkably resilient as a result of surviving the war.
Yes, the atrocities visited on residents of northern Uganda resulted
in the need for physical and mental health care for many. However,
so many others, even those who were captured or injured by the
rebels, hardly fit the definition of a ‘victim.’ Both women and men I
know are leaders who have helped to rebuild their community, creat-
ing new schools, health facilities, and help for orphans and women.
As the post-war years grow, I have watched them move beyond reli-
ance on international NGOs to creative self-reliance in the form of
co-ops and financial networks they have created by themselves. Their
continued success models the work of Tedeschi et al. (1998) on post-
traumatic growth, which asserts that trauma does not always have a
stressful aftermath and can, in fact, be a catalyst to positive growth in
individuals.
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Learning the Ropes: Uganda 2010

After my first trip to the African continent in 2001 and subsequent trip
to Ghana in early 2010, I was invited to travel to Uganda in late 2010
by a Canadian investigator who felt that having a US co-researcher
along would be helpful to gaining a grant. She had been to Uganda pre-
viously and stated that the research would be conducted at pre-arranged
places and with Ugandan colleagues. So when I found myself walking
the streets alone in hopes of finding willing participants at whichever
NGO I happened to pass, I became uncomfortable and ultimately
hired a young man who was a Lira resident to bring me to various local
schools and social organisations in exchange for a daily wage. At the
time, I was not sure how reliable he was. Years later, I still know this
young man, and I know him to be honest, so I believe that my research
from that first trip was intact.
I was most comfortable when travelling to interviews and observations
with research colleagues from Makarere University. One knew the area
very well, as she was born in Lira and, as a professor, had traveled there
on many occasions to observe and work in the schools. At these times I
felt certain that interviews and focus group information would be accu-
rate, as my Ugandan university colleagues would have easily interrupted
a false narration. As such, I deferred to an emic perspective as providing
more authentic information. Conversely, I also recognise my etic (out-
sider) position of privilege as a White Western researcher. Given my field
experiences of cold-calling at the doors of NGOs and visiting along with
Ugandan colleagues, I found that research with local and native Ugandans
provided an entrance to interviews that I could not execute on my own.
I remain friends with the researcher with whom I first travelled to
Uganda, but we have laughed together and stated that we would not
travel together again. Lesson #3 regarding field research for me was to
know not only the other’s research interests, but also his or her field
research style. My colleague was much more comfortable staying out
late and catching a boda boda (motor scooter taxi) back to the hotel at
11 p.m. than I was. She also did not feel the need to have someone with
an emic (insider) position along during interviews, whereas I felt highly
uncomfortable and less capable of obtaining accurate information by
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knocking on doors by myself, an unknown person in the community, in

hopes of stumbling upon someone who might speak with me honestly.
These comments are not to imply that teachers, students and com-
munity leaders in northern Uganda are dishonest. Not at all. However,
as I mentioned earlier, I learned that they had become wary, and weary.
I found this particularly in Gulu, a more known LRA war site, as many
organisations had dealt with researchers who visited to gain information
but were not concerned with providing anything to the organisations in
return for their time. Some connections I made in Lira at schools and
service organisations seemed eager to work with me. In response, I told
them that I would find a way to raise money and return. The initial visit
was to conduct a needs-assessment of schools, teachers and students. I
wanted to return to learn from their wisdom and try to facilitate ways
to improve the existing local systems. I will always be grateful for the
colleague who brought me to Uganda for the first time. Given that I
was told I would be with other university researchers from Uganda and
that there were pre-arranged interviews, my advice to new researchers
would be to be flexible and prepared for expected plans to go awry. If
you remain true to your ethics and research principles, your time in
country will still be valuable.
Falling into the Same Hole: Uganda 2011

During that first trip to Uganda, I was especially moved by the people
I met, and I wanted to return on my own terms to facilitate ideas and
inspiration among the local people. I kept my commitment and raised
money through small grants and individual contributions, providing
enough money for me to not only return, but also bring a colleague. On
my second trip, I invited a male psychiatrist with excellent credentials,
whom I had known for years.
We have a saying in the United States, summarised as follows: ‘A per-
son walks down a path, sees a hole, and keeps walking. She falls down
the hole. A second time, the person walks down the path, sees the hole,
and keeps walking. She falls down the hole…’ In other words, I might
have thought I learned my lesson about collaborative fieldwork, but I
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J. McBrien
had not. This Ivy League connected professional discussed theories that
resonated with me, and he had previous experience working with ref-
ugees in the Balkans. I thought his ideas and programmes would be a
great help to my desire to facilitate work in Lira. I was wrong.
However, given that I kept my word to the people I met in Lira, I
come to Lesson #4: returning is very important. I returned not only
because it was important to me from a research perspective, but also
because it was important from an ethical perspective. Because I returned,
my Lira acquaintances respected and trusted me. We worked together
to create sessions with school students, teachers and community lead-
ers to try out the message of my US colleague. I never anticipated what
unfolded. I am still not certain if it was due to gender or to what I refer
to as a ‘Pied Piper of Hamlin effect’; in particular, with male participants
in Lira. When with the US psychiatrist, I felt that I had become invisi-
ble, and that my only use was in bringing this male wonder to Lira. My
colleague took over all the sessions and interviews, as I watched him take
a top-down approach with himself, rather than a Ugandan, as the leader.
This occurred with one exception—the women. Although they took
in the ideas of my colleague (as had I), they were able to discern an
awkward disconnect between this new person I brought and myself and
their goals. These women, so used to a gender power differential, would
not be fooled by one more instance that looked so familiar to them.
It was this second trip that concretised what I had been learning over
the past couple years—Lesson #5: the hidden strength and wisdom of
the women of Lira. In the next three years, I would come to know the
depth of their wisdom and ability to lead their communities towards
positive change, in spite of the patriarchy they endured in their town
and district (McBrien and Byers 2015).
Making Progress—Uganda 2012

Two years had passed, and I felt I had still not reciprocated, nor had
I learned the details that I felt were important to narrate the extent of
the destruction wreaked on Lira by the LRA, nor the resilience of the
people to move on. I received more grant money and determined that
205
I would not make the same mistake a third time. This time I invited
someone whom I am proud to name, Dr. Julia Byers, now Emeritus
Professor at Lesley University. Julia created the Department for Creative
Therapy at Lesley. She traveled to Palestine for 20 years to conduct
research and art workshops with refugees there. She had never been to
Africa, but was anxious to travel with me.
Julia had the qualities that I have found essential to ethnographic
work in Lira: humility, kindness and empathy. My own research process
necessitates these same qualities, and so, I finally found a co-researcher
with whom I could connect and with whom we could both connect
in a similar way as we pursued field studies, interviews, and reciprocal
work (such as working with girl students) in Lira, Uganda. She brought
with her a suitcase full of art materials for workshops, with which we
explored residual effects of the war on girl students. She also exuded a
generosity of spirit that resonated with the women I had come to know
over the past three years. Returning a third time solidified my relation-
ship with these Lira women, as did bringing someone who was equally
interested primarily in the well-being of the women and students. There
were many pivotal moments during this trip. We were told of occur-
rences I had not heard before, such as child sacrifices and local tragic
deaths over land disputes.
The most momentous occasion occurred one evening when we
brought several women together with us to have dinner at one of the
hotels in Lira. We sat outside long into the night as, one by one, each
woman told her story of surviving the war. Many tears were shed, and
stories told that had been kept silent for years. One of the women stated
this expressly by saying, ‘You know, I have never told anyone this story
before. Never.’ Her life story involved abductions of female family
members by the LRA, her work with rehabilitating abducted children,
and her continued search for her family members.
It was at this point that Julia and I made a pact with these women
that their stories needed to be told, and they agreed that they wanted to
be named as the tellers of their stories. We determined we would find
a way to write a book. This is Lesson #6: the necessity of authenticity.
Authenticity takes time and honesty. It does not emerge from a quick
trip to a country to pull information and publish it upon return to
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one’s research institution. Genuine relationships are required that allow

for trust and honesty. This also requires connection and an amount of
closeness to the participants, something shunned in traditional research.
In the ensuing section I will explain the way in which we were able to
overcome the challenge of becoming close to our participants—by ask-
ing them to become fellow researchers.
Participants? Friends? What Then?

The desire to be truly authentic brings with it this research challenge,
and Lesson #7: the problem of subjectivity and proximity. Longitudinal
research regarding sensitive issues that required trust brought with it
decreased distance between the researchers and the participants. I think
there are few researchers in the social sciences today who would argue
that any of our work is truly ‘objective’ (Ellis and Flaherty 1992). Even
quantitative work is subjectively affected by the role of the researcher,
the conditions under which surveys are conducted, and the question of
whether or not people from another culture will understand the sur-
vey questions designed by those from a different culture (APA 2017;
Letherby et al. 2013). Those of us who conduct qualitative research
with populations that have suffered through wars, the need to hide their
children or their identities, and events that have caused them to mis-
trust authorities are aware of the challenges associated with this work.
Sensitivity and honest care are required. Good researchers want to pro-
vide accurate research. Simultaneously, they need to protect the safety
and dignity of participants. They know that a superficial relationship
between themselves and the participants is not likely to result in reliable
information. At the same time, there is the problem of losing a research-
er’s perspective by becoming too close to the participants (Berger 2015;
Iphofen 2011).
There is no question that I became close to my research participants
over six years’ time. Additionally, I have no doubt that they divulged
their experiences because they trusted me. I came to care deeply about
these participants, a sensibility that would be problematic in numerous
research constructs. I believe that the way in which we conducted our
207
research was the only way to create authentic, honest research. Yet, we
had to resolve the dilemma. We came to what we believe made sense
for authentic research and a mutual trust between ourselves as Western
researchers and our participants, resulting in Lesson #8: participatory
research.
As we conceptualised our book Cold Water: Women and Girls of Lira,
Uganda (McBrien and Byers 2015), we determined that each of the
women leaders we knew should tell their own stories. Some chose to tell
their stories and have them captured on a digital audio recorder, which
we transcribed. Others wrote their own narratives, which we edited.
After editing the chapters, we sent them back to the women to edit and
affirm as authentic or not. Only after receiving their comments did we
forward the manuscript for publishing. We recognised these women as
experts in the context of their experiences prior to, during, and after the
LRA war. We, White professional women from the United States, can
never know the depth of the tragedy and courage that the women expe-
rienced. Using their own words provided an authentic portrait, made
more so by their trust in us over years of knowing them. Additionally,
our Lira women friends and colleagues told us stories that we will
never individually associate with them—husbands’ infidelities, domes-
tic abuse, abandonment and other terrible events. These intimate sto-
ries will remain in our conjoined secrets, as we would never choose to
endanger the women by revealing some of the most tragic experiences
they encountered in written documents.
Another way in which we created authenticity was in providing our
women authors a platform in which to present their personal findings
to an international audience. Through my grants, I was able to receive
enough money to bring four of the women to Kampala for an inter-
national research conference on social development. There were numer-
ous ironies surrounding this event. For one, the conference was held
at a five-star resort on Lake Victoria. Relationships between guests and
workers harkened to colonialism, as workers were Black and guests were
primarily White. My co-editor, Julia Byers, and I decided to forego our
presentations in order for the Lira authors to deliver their presentations.
Many attendees commented to us that they thought this should have
been the common presentation format at the conference, rather than
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J. McBrien
having researchers speaking for their participants. This was also the
conference at which we heard the story of the US scholar travelling to
Kenya with no pre-arrangements.
I happily chose to include the women I know there as co-researchers
and writers, because I viewed my colleagues from Lira as co-researchers.
My colleagues in Uganda own the wisdom of their culture, and the
tragic historical events that they experienced are theirs alone. Although
I have spent many hours recording their experiences, I will never under-
stand these experiences as they do. And so, for me, it became essential
to ask these women to be equal partners with me in narrating and pub-
licising their stories.
International Inequality
Another cultural lesson for me involved recognising the vast difference
in challenges between my Ugandan women friends and myself and
Western researchers. The world of the women I know in Lira is not
completely outside of my conception, because I can obtain the funding
to travel there, spend time, and learn about the culture and the peo-
ple. This privilege is not reciprocal. Even when I raised funds to bring
one of my research co-authors from Lira to the United States to speak
at my university, the US Consulate in Kampala refused her a visa—
twice—for no rational reason. I need only fly into Entebbe, show my
passport, pay $100, and be on my way. Ugandans must physically show
up for an appointment at the US Embassy in Kampala (for my friend
Emma, a 10–12 hour round trip), pay $240 USD, and hope to receive
a visa during an interview. If they are denied, they are not reimbursed.
At Emma’s first appointment, the staff member said that she could
not prove she would return to Uganda. Emma is a remarkable leader
in Lira at her church, the school at which she taught, for her family,
her CBO and within her community. She returned and collected let-
ters of affirmation from the many community institutions with which
she is associated, stating her loyalty to her children and community
commitments. However, on her second trip to the embassy, the staffer
did not even look at these letters. He simply told her that she was not
209
‘well-traveled,’ and denied the visa. It is hardly surprising that a woman

who sometimes went as long as three months with no pay from the
private girls’ school at which she taught would not have opportuni-
ties for holiday travel outside of Uganda. One might expect that staff
at an embassy would have some training in cultural differences. If they
did, one can only assume a hidden agenda on the part of the United
States. The example of Emma illustrates not only challenges on the part
of the researcher’s cultural understandings, but also limitations based
on cultural understandings and inequality outside the control of the
researcher.
Final Thoughts
As mentioned, the factor of researching in a post-war zone does not
mean that all participants are victims of post-traumatic stress. However,
the LRA created terror and destruction in northern Uganda for more
than 20 years, resulting in 95% of the population in Kitgum, Gulu,
Pader and Lira moving to Internally Displaced People’s (IDPs) camps
during the war (Human Rights Watch 2005), at least 28,000 children
abducted and forced to become child soldiers and/or sex slaves
(Women’s Commission 2001), and major destruction to the area’s infra-
structure. For many, war is all they knew between the 1980s and 2008.
During this time, education for the majority of northern Ugandan chil-
dren took place in camps with highly inadequate materials and a stu-
dent: teacher rate of 150–300: 1 (Women’s Commission 2001). Social
problems in camps included inadequate food, clean water, shelter,
safety and medical care. Growing up in a culture of survival has greatly
affected the adjustment of an entire generation of northern Ugandan
youth. Additionally, the decades of war created a generation that learned
to fear and mistrust others, not knowing who might help or betray
them.
All research needs to be ethical. A situation of war and terror requires
additional needs to provide highly ethical research and trust, as when
working with former child soldiers and abductees. And so a word of
advice I would give to all researchers from outside Africa would be to
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J. McBrien
let values of caution and compassion come before a more stoic scientific
approach to the research.
The issue of globalisation with the continued sentiment that the West
is superior remains an issue in African research by those from outside of
Africa. It can also create a sense of dislocation of identity for Africans
who strive to receive an advanced education. A good friend who is a
poet and scholar from Mozambique perfectly expressed this challenge
in his poem ‘Education is that which liberates.’ In the poem which can
be found on YouTube, Cossa (2011) expresses the dilemma of becom-
ing highly educated in the Western sense, recognising that this educa-
tion comes from those who have oppressed and disregarded his culture
and people. My friend’s poem expresses my own concerns. My work in
Africa has not mirrored the original anthropologist’s stance of observ-
ing, but changing nothing. Cold Water, in particular, has brought rec-
ognition to a group of women and organisations in Lira, even as they
chose to be named. Has my intrusion into the lives of these women I
have come to care about been beneficial, or has it caused harm?
As I reflect on the women who have become co-researchers and
friends over six years, I think of their trajectories. From my outside
observations, their lives have stayed the same, except for the self-made
community changes in Lira that have brought gradual improvements,
such as better market facilities, an increased ability to use biogas, and
slow improvements to their community-based organisations and
schools. One woman has moved from teaching at a private girls’ school
to lecturing at the first university in Lira to becoming the Dean of
Students. One that we encouraged to get into local politics has left the
network. Another became discouraged because her organisation made
progress between the time that we submitted our book manuscript and
the time when it was published, and we were unable to document those
changes. And another’s CBO has failed, with the result that she is strug-
gling to make enough to feed her children and herself.
And now, our book is published, and my funding is gone, but the people
I have come to know and love remain. I think of my colleagues in Uganda
and the boys I helped from Ghana who were forced to return to Liberia,
and the needs of those I have come to care about in these countries. My
questions remain. What are the challenges, and what is the good of Western
211
research and influence in African nations? I believe it is important for the

world to know about the tragedy and criminality of, for instance, those
involved with the LRA. We need also consider how unlikely such a terrible
war would have been without colonialism—without Western intervention.
In my university courses, I teach my students that life’s fascinating, complex
questions do not have one simple answer. And yet, the desire for an answer
to my questions about African research haunt me.
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McBrien, J.L., and J.G. Byers (eds.). 2015. Cold Water: Women and Girls of
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Part III
Methodological Challenges for Female
Researchers in Africa
11
Challenges and Opportunities of Doing
Fieldwork as a Woman on Women
in Guinea
Carole Ammann
Introduction
Thanks to the postmodern turn and the crisis of representation it is
common knowledge that the data anthropologists gather during field
research are not mere objective facts. The researcher with his or her
appearance, multiple identities, background, habits and academic
training forms part of the experience in the field and therefore influ-
ences data generation (Robben 2007, pp. 61–63; see the edited vol-
ume by Okely and Callaway 1992). As Akhil Gupta (2014, p. 397)
aptly writes: ‘[…] anthropological data […] depends in large measure
on the affective and bodily practices and peculiarities of the ethnogra-
pher. Moreover, ethnographic data is inherently social.’ Even though
anthropologists advocate to reflect on one’s knowledge production
and to reveal ‘the stories behind the findings’ (Thomson et al. 2013b),
C. Ammann (*) 
Institute of Geography, University of Bern, Bern, Switzerland
e-mail: carole.ammann@giub.unibe.ch
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-94502-6_11
218
C. Ammann
these issues are typically mentioned just briefly in introductory parts or

appendices (Häberlein 2014a).
Feminist researchers have been among the first to call for reflexiv-
ity and the importance of a researcher’s identity in social interactions
(Davies 2008 [1999], p. 266; Ward 2016b). By reflexivity I understand,
borrowing from Audrey M. Kleinsasser (2000, p. 155), the ‘methodi-
cal process of learning about self as researcher, which, in turn, illumi-
nates deeper, richer meanings about personal, theoretical, ethical, and
epistemological aspects of the research question.’ Reflexivity should con-
stantly be present, not only during fieldwork but also during data analy-
sis and writing up (Davies 2008 [1999], pp. 271–272).
Even though there are countless differences among female anthropol-
ogists (Okely and Callaway 1992) it seems that being a woman pro-
foundly shapes a researcher’s interactions in the field (de Walt and de
Walt 2011, p. 99). In her chapter, Helen Callaway (1992, p. 30) reflects
on gender-related questions during research and writing. She argues
‘that a deepening understanding of our own gender identities and the
coded complexities of our being offered the best resources for gaining
insights onto the lives of others’. More recently, the couple Kathleen
Musante deWalt and Billie deWalt (2011) write about the gendered
ethnographer and on sexual activities in the field. In two edited vol-
umes on gender roles in research (Delamont and Atkinson 2008; Ward
2016a), the authors thoroughly analyse the impacts of gender and other
identity markers on the research settings, however, it mainly focused
on the Global North. The edited volume by Martha K. Huggins and
Marie-Louise Glebbeek (2009b) gives vivid accounts of how female
researchers have reflected on and dealt with issues regarding their iden-
tities during fieldwork in different parts of the world. Geographically
closer to this contribution is the edited volume by Susan Thomson
et al. (2013a) in which women who work in the Great Lakes Region
recount their emotional and ethical challenges during fieldwork.
Finally, the edited volume by Gabriele Griffin (2016a) discusses cross-
and intra-cultural interviewing by female researchers in various world
regions. There, some authors reflect on difficulties in accessing small,
marginalised groups. However, as this volume is solely about inter-
views, there is a need to discuss advantages and disadvantages of other
11 Challenges and Opportunities …
219
methods when researching women. While all the above-mentioned

authors write about specific challenges and opportunities research-
ers face in the field, there are still too little accounts of women’s (and
men’s) experiences and reflections on how gender impacts research in
African countries.
The objective for this anthropological contribution is to recount
for the story behind the findings and to reflect upon how my gender,
skin colour, age, nationality, academic training and family status have
influenced my fieldwork. Before starting fieldwork on women’s political
articulations in Kankan, I naively thought that being a woman would
facilitate access to other women, but accessibility to women proved to
be a major challenge. In this paper, I therefore reflect on how the fact
of being a young white woman shaped my experiences in the field and
the process of data gathering. Further, I elaborate on the influence of
local gender norms on my behaviour, a difficulty accurately described
by Martha K. Huggins and Marie-Louise Glebbeek (2009b, p. 5), as the
local people’s ‘[…] attempts to transform the [female] researcher into
a particular culture’s notion of a “good” wife, mother, sister, or daugh-
ter – or a “sex object”’. Indeed, while living with a local family I tried
behaving like a ‘good’ daughter, in the collaboration with the research
assistants I strived for being a ‘good’ sister and research partner, and
during interactions with men I aimed at not being perceived as a ‘sex
object’. In brief, in this contribution I reflect on how I dealt with gen-
der-related difficulties and opportunities I came across during research
in a Muslim West African city.
Situating the Research

The secondary city of Kankan is situated in the Upper Guinean Region,
some 650 kilometres northeast of the capital Conakry. It is a Muslim
religious center with around 220,000 inhabitants (Republique de
Guinée 2014, p. 9). Kankan’s society is patrilineal, and at first sight,
gender duties and responsibilities are strictly divided: Men are the heads
of households, they have the decision-making powers. According to
local gender norms, women should be subordinate, executing men’s
220
C. Ammann
commands. However, such gender relations are never fixed. They are
not only influenced by habitual practices but also affected by people’s
imaginations of an altered future and therefore flexible and open to bar-
gaining processes. Further, factors such as age, religion, family relations,
education, or one’s economic background influence gender relations
(Ammann 2016b).
In 2011, I, a 30-year-old, white, middle-class woman originating
from Switzerland, set off to gather data in Kankan for my Ph.D. The
first field stay lasted for eight months, followed by a second phase of
three months. This was the first time I set foot on Guinea, but I had
visited other West African countries and had conducted research in
Benin. During my first week in Kankan, I moved in with the Fofanas,1
a female-headed household. Madame Fofana is a widow and has four
children, two daughters and two sons. I was swiftly integrated into the
family and regarded as the eldest of Madame Fofana’s daughters. As a
family member, I participated whenever something special happened: I
paid a visit to Madame Fofana’s mother’s co-wife; I nervously sat on my
chair when the eldest daughter defended her internship report before
graduation; I helped peeling the potatoes for the wedding festivities
that took place at our compound; and I shared the grievances of my
host family when we learned about the death of a friendly person and
together we offered our sympathies to the concerned family.
Crucial for my fieldwork was the finding of a suitable assistant.
Based on my previous experiences in West Africa and on conversations
I had with colleagues, I assumed that a woman in her 40s who would
have a respected place in society would be best suited to assist me doing
research on women. While looking for a fitting candidate, I soon had
to realise that in Kankan women of that age hardly spoke French, the
national language, as most of them had not learned French at school.
Further, they were occupied with their children, the household, and
income-generating activities. After one month of doing fieldwork,
I finally started collaborating with two research assistants who were
both in their mid-20s: Thierno Sow and Djénabou Dramé. The choice
of the two research assistants proved to be very lucky as their work was
not only tremendously helpful, but we also became close friends in the
process.2
221
During the fieldwork, I focused on how ordinary women’s daily

actions influence the local government’s discourses and practices and
vice versa. Methodologically, I grasped everyday life through the appli-
cation of the triangular Emic Evaluation Approach (EEA) (Förster
et al. 2011). It is based on the assumption that social identity is forged
through interactions of different social actors. The EEA consists of
three pillars: (a) mapping of social actors, (b) discourse analysis, and (c)
social-practice analysis. First, I have mapped the actors, their physical
and social environment and how these actors relate to each other. In a
next step, I have identified markets and cafés as two social spaces where
everyday and political discussions were common. Additionally, I par-
ticipated in the daily lives of the Fofanas, Thierno and Djénabou, and
other friends and acquaintances. I joined weddings and funerals and
took part in public events. To analyse people’s discursive formations, I
conducted narrative or theme-centred interviews, I talked informally to
people, and listened to naturally occurring talk; in brief, I observed ‘the
everyday, the ordinary and the seemingly insignificant’ (Lewis 2005,
p. 381).
In the following I reflect on major challenges I faced during my
fieldwork in Kankan, namely the problem of getting access to women
and how gender influenced my interactions, for example with male
state employees. Further, I elaborate on how I reacted and adapted my
research methods due to these difficulties.
Problems of Access
One day during my initial research phase, I assisted Madame Fofana in
selling sweets in the courtyard of a female friend. There, many women
were gathering who all spoke the local language, of which I unfortu-
nately only had some basic knowledge. Although I could observe
what was going on, I did not know who the people were, what they
were doing and what they were talking about. In brief, I was not famil-
iar with the persons and had not enough means for exchanging with
them. This left me frustrated as I had the feeling that my research was
not advancing. Not being able to communicate in the local language is
222
C. Ammann
a major shortcoming of my research (Davies 2008 [1999], pp. 87–88,

124–128; Senft 2008) and it increased my reliance on Thierno and
Djénabou who translated the informants’ statements into French.
However, even with the help of Thierno and Djénabou, getting access
to women remained a major challenge. Some weeks after my arrival in
Kankan, I wrote in my diary: ‘How can I answer the many questions I
have if I cannot even talk to women? What can I do to facilitate access
to them? It is so easy to talk to men and so hard to talk to women…!’
(Field notes, 12.09.2011) Many of the non-formally educated female
interlocutors were reluctant to give an interview in front of a micro-
phone and they were typically very occupied. I also had the intention
to do group discussions divided by gender. After the first group discus-
sions with women, I realised that this was not an appropriate tool: The
situation was artificial and the atmosphere rather tense. I noticed that
the recorder was an additional hindrance as the participants made spe-
cial efforts to articulate, as if in a radio programme. Thus, my experi-
ence resembles Jocelyn Viterna’s (2009, p. 287) in rural El Salvador who
describes that women were ‘giggling nervously and averting their eyes as
if they were embarrassed at the thought of an interview’. In summary, I
found out that many non-formally educated women who had no expe-
rience in talking in front of a larger audience felt embarrassed to accord
me a recorded interview.3
Because of these difficulties, I quickly learned one of the most impor-
tant lessons of doing fieldwork, namely that ‘the field decides’ as a
young local researcher expressed it. I took this advice seriously, know-
ing that flexibility is one of the key characteristics for a researcher on
the ground. Anthropological research is a ‘creative process’ (Beer 2008,
p. 26, author’s translation) and adopting one’s methods to local cir-
cumstances is a necessity. Thus, after discussing the challenge of getting
access to women at length with the research assistants, we first decided
to look for settings where group discussions occurred naturally. This
was mostly the case in cafés, grains,4 markets, hairdresser saloons and
during social events such as marriages. Kankan’s markets were ideal for
conducting research as the vendors discussed all aspects of a human life
(cf. Prus 1998, p. 23; Storr 2008; Clark 2010, pp. 15–17; Ammann
2016a). The research assistants and I therefore spent many hours sitting
223
beside market women listening and observing what was going on.
Secondly, we regularly went to the female informants’ homes and sat
beside them while they were cooking or doing other household tasks.
Thus, we could chat together and make observations without obstruct-
ing them.
Thirdly, we put an emphasis on educated, young women. As Kankan
hosts a university this strategy proved to be useful: Due to their knowl-
edge of French, I could interact with female students without being
dependent on the research assistants. But still, access to male students
remained much easier than to female. One reason for this was that the
number of male students exceeded by far the number of female stu-
dents. My gender and skin colour were also factors that facilitated the
attention of male students.5 Further, female students are busy doing
household tasks and looking after siblings. Some of them are strongly
guarded and cannot leave home whenever they would like to. Only with
time I came across other reasons for my difficulties in accessing women,
even if they were young and highly educated: My ability to move ‘out-
side the prescribed roles for women’ (deWalt and deWalt 2011, p. 101),
that was possible due to my foreign background, had the disadvantage
that I excluded myself from some female spaces. My own interests such
as discussing politics, watching soccer, jogging, or reading are all things
that are locally rather regarded as male activities. Further, I did not do
things that were considered as women’s tasks such as carrying a baby on
my back and things on my head, cooking on a small wood-fired oven,
or washing dishes with little water.
The difficulty of getting access to women is a problem seldom
mentioned in literature. The question whether women have a privi-
leged position in the field because they can enter (partially) men’s and
women’s domains has been contradictorily discussed (Callaway 1992,
pp. 35–36). Some researchers assume that a common dimension
of identity has the potential to facilitate access. However, as Gabriele
Griffin (2016b, p. 5) aptly notes ‘[…] this is not necessarily the case
as it rests on the fallacious assumption that “sameness” along specific
identity dimensions necessarily guarantees greater openness or under-
standing between researcher and informants, and/or indeed, that such
dimensions are stable and potentially seen in the same way by the
224
C. Ammann
different interview participants’. Further, Henrietta L. Moore (1993,

p. 98) reminds us that economic and other disparities such as education
between researchers and the researched do not disappear through com-
mon identities such as gender.
For my part, I think that aspects of my behaviour have been as
important for being able to talk openly with the female informants
as gender. Crucial for gaining their trust was to treat these women
respectfully. I did this, amongst others, by presenting a small gift at
every encounter, by minor gestures such as taking off my shoes when-
ever entering their houses, and, most importantly, by showing interest
in their everyday lives. Some of the informants felt proud that a white
woman came all the way from Europe to Guinea to talk to them.
This became obvious, for example, when I was sitting beside a mar-
ket woman who proudly teased her neighbour vendor that I had cho-
sen to talk to her and not to the latter. However, I am convinced that
the researchers’ behaviour in the field is always crucial, be they male or
female.
The sameness of gender could also open doors, especially into the
more intimate spheres of everyday life. Women often accorded me emo-
tional glimpses into their lives at home – contrary to men. In many
families, there were recurring tensions between co-wives and between
husbands and wives. Repeatedly, women told me stories about vio-
lence and sexual abuse. Not surprisingly, women talked more openly
about these issues when I was doing research with Djénabou or alone
than with Thierno. On several occasions, female informants considered
me, an outsider from a ‘Western’ society, as their spokesperson. They
told me I should air their grievances regarding their status, local gender
relations and economic difficulties to the wider world. They hoped this
would eventually help to change their situations.
Gendered Interactions
The Fofana family members were not directly subjects of my research.
Nevertheless, I gained invaluable insights by observing and partly par-
ticipating in the family members’ daily routines. Thus, I got to know
225
how Madame Fofana presented herself as the female head of household,

and how she managed to make a living. By closely analysing when, why
and with whom her daughter Diaka left the yard, I learned what was
seen as an appropriate behaviour of a young female student. My actual
age was in between Madame Fofana’s and Diaka’s age, but I was at
that time not a mother and therefore socially considered as young and
treated like one of Madame Fofana’s daughters. Whenever I left the yard
after eight o’clock, I needed to reveal to Madame Fofana where I was
going to and with whom. Fortunately, she loosened her grip after some
discussions and because as ‘an outsider’ I only partially had to conform
to local gender norms. It seems that the above described experience is
common to anthropologists who reside with a local family, especially for
women (cf. Büchel 2005, p. 95; Häberlein 2014b).
Many informants wanted to know whether I was married and had
children. When not talking to close friends, I responded that I was mar-
ried, even though I was not. Thus, I veiled aspects of my identity in
accordance to local norms that do not accept cohabitation. Why my
husband had let me go doing research abroad for such a long time also
caused much confusion. Another problematic issue was my childless-
ness with regard to my advanced age (cf. Shaery-Eisenlohr 2009; Wiley
2014). I usually clarified that women in Switzerland do not have chil-
dren as early as in Guinea. Furthermore, I explained that I first wanted
to finish fieldwork before becoming a mother. Contrary to Guinea, it
would not be considered as appropriate in Switzerland to leave one’s
children behind for a long time.6
When working with local authorities my age, my small size and my
gender were sometimes an advantage. Martha K. Huggins and Marie-
Louise Glebbeek (2009a, p. 6) remark that ‘[…] female researchers are
perceived as less threatening and are often not taken seriously’. This
was exactly my impression and I made use of it: By playing into the
role of a young, naive outsider I sometimes gained access to spaces, for
example within the local bureaucracy, to which I would perhaps not
have been admitted if I was a tall man. However, my gender came with
its own challenges. I strongly remember an interaction with a male
high-ranking, local state employee. I got to know Monsieur Nabé, the
vice mayor, at an early stage of my fieldwork and visited him regularly.
226
C. Ammann
Monsieur Nabé used to call me his wife which was a typical behaviour
for elderly men of a certain position. I responded by joking, that in
that case, I insisted on being his only wife, thus playfully accepting his
attempt to frame my gender within local cultural categories.
During that meeting, Monsieur Nabé started talking about local mar-
riage customs and gave his opinion on ‘proper’ local gender relations.
Monsieur Nabé then started insulting NGOs for fighting against female
circumcision. He criticised that men working for those NGOs were
not circumcised, which, according to him, was much more dangerous
than cutting small parts of female genitals.7 During his talk, I lowered
my gaze and felt very uncomfortable. My feeling of embarrassment was
only lessened by the fact that Thierno was at my side, but I noticed that
he did not like the situation either. I finally interrupted Monsieur Nabé
by proposing that doctors should decide on those topics, not us layper-
sons. Thereafter, Thierno and I kindly thanked him and left the office
(field notes, 02.03.2012).
Even though I felt very awkward during that unpleasing situation, I
learned many important things for my research: First, I got to know an
elderly, rather powerful man’s view on gender relations in Guinea with-
out having to ask specific questions—opinions that had been provoked
by my white female-ness. It has probably been my capacity to move
outside local gender norms and to, for example, discuss issues such as
politics on equal footing that irritated him. That is why he wanted to
teach me a lesson on ‘proper’ local gender behaviour. Secondly, it gave
me an insight into how encounters between local state employees and
ordinary women could look like. The situation made me wonder how
Monsieur Nabé staged superiority vis-à-vis ordinary women due to his
position, age, gender and economic background. Thirdly, I reflected on
what implications my attitude had on an ethical level as I had deliber-
ately veiled my own convictions regarding gender relations in general
and female circumcision in particular. There were many other situations
where this topic was challenging for me. But like the female research-
ers in the edited volume by Martha K. Huggins and Marie-Louise
Glebbeek (2009a, p. 16), I ‘feigned accepting an interlocutor’s opin-
ions—or at least did not challenge them—in order to keep from jeop-
ardising the research’. Balancing one’s own convictions and standards
227
with local norms is a major challenge researchers face during fieldwork

(Avishai et al. 2012, p. 394). Fourthly, from then on, I carefully aimed
at not being perceived as an NGO employee. And finally, we decided
that we should continue frequenting Monsieur Nabé, however, I should
never go to his office on my own as here, similar to certain interactions
with other (mostly elderly) men, my gender was sometimes a challenge.
Discussing the Impacts of my Gendered

Identities on my Research
Our research identities are multiple and dynamic (Huggins and
Glebbeek 2009a, p. 9). This became obvious during my fieldwork on
women’s political articulations in Kankan, Guinea: In situations where
my informants had economic difficulties, my ‘whiteness’ hinting to
my ‘rich’ European origin was of importance. When an elderly woman
advised me how to behave, she did this because she considered me as
young. In interactions with students, my age and university back-
ground were paramount (e.g. Ward 2016b, p. x). Still, there were many
instances where my gender was decisive, for example when discussing
female intimacies. A woman born in the mid-70s said to me: ‘We are
the same, only the colour of our skin differs. Because in your country
a woman marries and has children and here, it is the same’ (Interview,
15.02.2013). This statement illustrates the importance of getting mar-
ried and giving birth for Kankan’s female inhabitants to be considered
as ‘real’ women. As I was not a mother at that time, I was not assigned
into this category. Perhaps the access difficulties to women would not
have been that prominent if I had already been a mother and doing
fieldwork with my children. Now, it would be very insightful to learn in
which ways my status would change and what kind of new topics would
emerge if I went back with my family.
Local gender relations very much shape our experiences in the field
and data collection more generally, even if we are not interested in gen-
der issues. In certain situations, we choose to play into local gender
expectations as I did for example when men jokingly considered me as
228
C. Ammann
their wife. In other instances, I actively refused to play the game and did
not act accordingly, for example when I was the only women watching
soccer in a local ‘video-club’, when I went jogging, or when I refused
to reveal to Madame Fofana where I was going when leaving the yard
in the evening. Coming from a foreign background gives us researchers
typically more possibilities to bargain local gender norms and to flexi-
bly adapt to different roles than the majority of the local population. I
argue, however, that we must actively reflect such choices and the pos-
sible consequence they might bear. In my case, discussing these difficul-
ties with the two research assistants was key. They told me, for example,
how to behave in specific situations, what kind of questions to ask and
which places to avoid. Thus, finding (a) person(s) of trust is highly help-
ful in all research settings.
During interactions with men, I aimed at not being perceived as a
‘sex object’, for example, by dressing according to local norms and
by showing respect. However, even though I disliked the situations
when the fact that I was a young (white) woman became too obvious,
these instances also had positive aspects: I got important insight into
local gender norms. Susan Thomson et al. (2013b, pp. 2–3; see also
Häberlein 2014a, p. 121) point exactly to such difficulties: ‘You will
face emotional challenges that cannot be planned for and anticipated.
Accepting that this is inevitable is one part of finding a solution to the
problem and to turning challenges into opportunities to deepen your
analysis.’ I had been interested in understanding how the local bureau-
cracy exerted power over women. By experiencing the above described
situation, I gained a sense of how power dynamics based on gender
and position can influence encounters within the local administration.
Generally, a fruitful strategy when dealing with male state officials, who
openly displayed their superiority, was to treat them respectfully, to play
into their hierarchies, to ask about their families, and to joke.
As repeatedly stated, it is clear that my gendered person influenced
data generation, analysis, and the writing process. What would have
changed during my research if I were a man? Some things probably
would have and others not. Women would probably have complained
less about their husbands and not as easily talked about intimacies to
a male researcher. Men would not have looked at me as a ‘sex object’.8
229
But would Madame Fofana still have wondered about my behaviour,

for example, when I was sleeping at the riverside with other Swiss peo-
ple who visited Kankan? Was gender the main issue there or was she
afraid of dangerous water spirits? I also wonder whether she would have
treated a male the same way when he would have wanted to leave the
yard at night. Is place of origin, in such moments, more important than
gender?
Back in 1992, Judith Okely was pondering how the anthropologist’s
gender influences the choice of topics, analytical lens, methods, interac-
tions in the field, and finally, data interpretation. The couple Kathleen
Musante and Billie R. deWalt (2011, p. 102), who conducted joint
research, are enthusiastic about doing research in teams of opposite sex
because ‘[m]en and women have access to different settings, different
people, and different bodies of knowledge’. As I was doing fieldwork
on my own, I tried to bring in this more balanced view of community
life by working with a male and a female research assistant. According
to the setting, I could choose to collaborate with Thierno or with
Djénabou. Besides assisting my research, they offered me an invaluable
insight into the lives of male and female youth. Still, doing fieldwork in
mixed teams is not a universal solution. In the end, every age, gender,
ethnicity, and other parts of our identity has it peculiar advantages and
disadvantages at a specific time and space (Wax 1979, pp. 513–514). In
certain situation, we highlight one aspect of our identity and (partly)
hide another one, however, in most circumstances we must make the
best out of who we are.
In the field, the way we plan to generate data tends often not to
work out as predicted: ‘Sometimes it is not about planning, it is about
circumstances, seizing opportunities, and adapting to local realities’
(Thomson et al. 2013b, p. 2). There are no easy answers to most of these
difficulties. Thus, reflexivity, creativity and adaptability are key for suc-
cessfully dealing with ever-changing circumstances. During my research,
I constantly had to readjust the focus and the methodological approach.
Being in the field felt like an ongoing learning process. My biggest chal-
lenge was to find ways of gaining access to women. Here, my educa-
tional background, my place of origin, and the fact that I did not speak
the local language were the main reasons for these barriers. I assume
230
C. Ammann
that access-difficulties would have been even more pronounced for a

male researcher. The most important step there, was to collaborate with
two research assistants who, amongst others, helped me (partly) passing
the language barrier. Together we pondered where we could spend time
with women, as we had to find ways of talking to them outside of a
formal interview-setting. Unfortunately, female group discussions were
not an adequate tool. Finally, markets proved to be ideal spaces for the
purpose of the research.
A presupposition for good work—be it as researchers or
practitioners—in an African context (as elsewhere) is a general atten-
tiveness to local circumstances, for example local gender relations and
to how they influence our agency. Furthermore, we must reflect on how
our different identities possibly impact data collection or research more
generally. To make such considerations visible, I call for more scien-
tific contributions in which not only female but also male researchers
reflect on how their identities, especially their gendered being, influence
their fieldwork. How do men play their roles of behaving like a ‘good’
son, a ‘good’ head of family or a ‘good’ research collaborator when they
are—at least at the beginning—ignorant newcomers? How do women
conduct themselves to be perceived as a ‘good’ daughter, ‘good’ sister
or ‘good’ colleague, especially when local gendered norms are contra-
dictory to her own, personal convictions in this regard? I argue that
not only our fieldwork but also data analysis and the written text profit
from a more profound reflection of how gender identities, as well as any
other form of identities, shape our research.
Acknowledgements This research was made possible thanks to the Marie

Heim-Vögtlin Grant by the Swiss National Science Foundation, the Research
Fund Junior Researchers by the University of Basel, the Freiwillige Akademische
Gesellschaft, and the Josef und Olga Tomcsik-Stiftung. I thank Djénabou Dramé
and Thierno Sow for their collaboration and for sharing their reflections on
the topic of this article. I presented this article in a colloquium at the Institute
of Social Anthropology at the University of Bern in November 2016 and I am
grateful for the received comments. Furthermore, I am thankful for inputs by
Marion Bernet, Ruth Jackson, Max Kelly, Rahel Müller, Aïdas Sanogo, Sandra
Staudacher and Frederik Unseld on earlier versions of this chapter.
231
Notes
1. I changed all names to ensure anonymity.
2. For more information on the collaboration with Djénabou Dramé and
Thierno Sow, who asked to be given their proper names, see Ammann
et al. (2016) and Ammann (2017, pp. 64–69).
3. I also faced challenges when interacting with better-educated people:
They typically wanted to know the exact content of the talk and were
rather suspicious of the white foreigner. Here, the clear and formal set-
ting of an interview contributed to a relaxed atmosphere.
4. Grain is the term for a group of (mostly) young men who sit together
drinking tea and discussing (Ralph 2008).
5. Mostly because they hoped for social and economic opportunities.
6. In 2013 and 2015, I became the mother of two daughters. Now, my
Guinean friends impatiently wait for our visit. They can hardly accept
my explanation that I am afraid of my children having a road accident or
falling ill in Kankan where healthcare is in a pitiful condition.
7. Guinean men are circumcised, which is considered as an initiation rite.
According to local norms, circumcision is a precondition for being a
‘good’ Muslim as it helps purifying the body and preventing illnesses.
8. According to the Guinean law, homosexuality is illegal. Contrary to
other African countries, homosexuality is not widely debated in the
Guinean public sphere nor has there been any research on the topic. I
only dared to cautiously discuss the topic with Thierno and Djénabou.
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12
On Walking Alone and Walking
with Others: Framing Research Activities
by Time and Distance in Kafa Zone,
Ethiopia
Ruth Jackson
Introduction
[Kafa Zone is] a green collage… (Jackson 2010, p. 97)
Of the many landscapes in the sub-Saharan country of Ethiopia—from

the largely desert scrubland of the Danakil depression with its shallow
salty lakes and long chains of active and dormant volcanoes (‘home’ of
the Pliocene hominid fossil Australopithecus afarensis nicknamed ‘Lucy’
by archaeologists, or Dinknesh to Ethiopians); to the Rift Valley with
its steep terraces on the edges of cliff-sided mountain chains and ris-
ing up to huge tabletop plateaus where gullies rush through with clear,
fresh water—the landscape that exerts the most powerful presence
and to which I feel most deeply connected, and where I have lived the
longest—even if my memories are warped by time and abraded by dis-
tance (Macfarlane 2012)—is in Kafa Zone in the southwest, where the
R. Jackson (*) 
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-94502-6_12
236
R. Jackson
montane rainforest, renowned for being the habitat of wild Ethiopian

coffee and the origin of the genetic diversity of Arabica coffee (Coffea
arabica ), is now recognised as one of the biodiversity hotspots of the
world.
To date, most of my research has been about maternal health and
how the goal of reducing maternal mortality fits into Ethiopia’s develop-
ment agenda. And although I touch on that in this chapter—and that
is why I returned to Ethiopia in 2007 after a long absence—this chap-
ter uses walking to rural research locations (participant observation) as
an entry to point to reflecting on how walking influenced my writing
and the ways my writing influenced my life experiences as a female
researcher in Africa. I start by briefly describing the literature on mater-
nal health and reducing maternal mortality. While much of this litera-
ture and my own research focuses on the social and structural barriers
to maternal health care for women in developing countries, this chapter
addresses some of the shortcomings of this ‘one-size fits all’ approach.
I suggest that we do not need more research, but more reflection on
why stereotypes of women needing to overcome these barriers persist.
As a female researcher in rural Ethiopia, walking as participant obser-
vation gave me a unique view on how walking creates social networks
for women to interact with each other, even though they may have very
little opportunity to become ‘empowered’ and shape their own destinies
in the Western concept of ‘development.’ My aim is to provide a richer
account of my research to assist other researchers preparing to do field-
work in countries such as Ethiopia.
Maternal Health and Reducing Maternal

Mortality in Ethiopia
Of all the health statistics monitored by the World Health Organization
(WHO), maternal mortality still has the highest discrepancy between
developing and developed countries: 99% vs. 1% of global maternal
deaths in 2015. Around 66% of all maternal deaths are in sub-Saharan
12 On Walking Alone and Walking with Others …
237
Africa: an estimated 11,000 women died in childbirth in Ethiopia in

2015 (WHO et al. 2015). In 2005, the overwhelming majority of
women in Ethiopia (94%) gave birth at home (Central Statistical
Agency [Ethiopia] and ORC Macro 2006). Of the 56 women I inter-
viewed in Kafa Zone during my doctoral research in 2007, most gave
birth at home with the assistance of their neighbour, mother, mother-
in-law, husband or sister. Four women gave birth in a health centre or
hospital, and of these, only two women had planned to do so (Jackson
2010).
Improving maternal health and reducing maternal mortality was a
key Millennium Development Goal mainly to be achieved by trans-
ferring modern health services to developing countries so that women
have access to skilled attendance at birth, referral for emergency obstet-
ric care and other strategies to complement those at the intrapartum
period. A major consequence of the development of maternal health
services in developing countries is that the location of birth must
change: from home delivery where birth takes place without the assis-
tance of trained health providers, to facility-based delivery and the
medicalisation of maternity care (Koblinsky et al. 1999). But prevent-
ing maternal death is not as simple as it is for other conditions such
as vaccine-preventable diseases (Gil-González et al. 2006; Shiffman
and Smith 2007). Much of the existing literature focuses on health sys-
tem factors (Bullough et al. 2005), and ‘the performance of health sys-
tems in terms of access to health care and the quality of care provided’
(Gülmezoglu et al. 2004, p. 16). Others question the focus on clinical
health service strategies because there is a need to take a more compre-
hensive perspective to understand the problems of maternal mortality
and include ‘the macrostructural—i.e. the social, cultural, economic
and political—determinants of health’ (Gil-González et al. 2006, p.
904). Thus, the ‘[d]rivers of success in reducing maternal mortality
range from making improvements at the provider and health system
level, to implementing interventions aimed at reducing social and struc-
tural barriers’ (WHO et al. 2015, p. 29) such as distance to a health
facility.
238
R. Jackson
Ethnography and Participant Observation

To report the experiences of a group of women who were pregnant or
had recently given birth; to identify the variables that influenced their
decision-making when faced with the alternative options for the loca-
tion of birth; and, to juxtapose those experiences with staff at health
facilities, I needed a method of study that involved observation of
cultural and social interaction with both women and health staff over
a period of time. Qualitative research using ethnography to search for
‘patterns of meanings and emotions that make up culture and how these
make sense of actions in everyday life’ (Liamputtong and Ezzy 2005, p.
17) appeared to be the best option for data collection. And as ‘feminist
ethnography is about understanding process … it has to occur across
both time and space’ (Skeggs 2001).
Ethnography, both a research method and the written account of an
ethnographic research project, commonly uses data from participant
observation, interviews and documents (Hammersley and Atkinson
1995). Ethnographers generally immerse themselves in local daily life
as much as possible to learn how people ‘respond to situations, how
they organise their lives; it is about learning what is meaningful in their
lives. Through this immersion, the ethnographers themselves experi-
ence events in the same way as the local people’ (Liamputtong and Ezzy
2005, p. 169). The aim is to provide complex, vivid, descriptions of
‘naturally occurring, ordinary events in natural settings so that we have a
strong handle on what ‘real life’ is like’ (Miles and Huberman 1994, p.
10, emphasis in original). So, as I walked, occasionally rode a mule, or
travelled by bus or four-wheeled drive to visit women or see health facil-
ities, I wanted to evoke a picture of how travel feels and to comprehend
how travel is possible from the remote neighbourhoods (kebeles ) to the
district (woreda ) centres or Zonal capital for birthing women (Jackson
2010). This allowed a general reflection on how walking defines an
approach to living where all activities and decisions are framed by time
and distance. I suggested that the action of walking links a woman’s
activities between the home, the field, water and firewood collection,
239
visiting neighbours, going to church and going to the market. It affects

decision-making about seeking biomedical health care. To restate, I
wanted to understand what it means for women to ‘go to a rural health
facility’ and what shapes their decision-making when faced with emer-
gencies during childbirth.
Many of the women I met lived a long way from a health facil-
ity. They walked two, three, four hours or more to go to the market,
to visit relatives, or to visit health facilities for antenatal care or fam-
ily planning, but this did not mean they would walk to a health facil-
ity to give birth as birth ‘normally’ takes place at home (Jackson 2010,
2013). If there was a problem during birth at home, the ‘accessibility
of services plays a dual role in the health-care-seeking process. On the
one hand it influences people’s decision making…On the other hand
it determines the time spent in reaching a facility after the decision to
seek care has been made’ (Thaddeus and Maine 1994, p. 1100). In rural
areas in developing countries, delays due to distance and the unavail-
ability of transportation are common and there is often a shortage of
medical facilities. Those that exist are concentrated in and around urban
areas. Even where there are roads, the scarcity of transportation means
that rural people must walk or improvise transportation to reach a med-
ical facility. During this time a woman’s condition can deteriorate mak-
ing it more difficult to treat on arrival. And reaching a health facility
does not necessarily mean the end of the journey as the nearest facility
may not be equipped to treat the condition or even administer essential
first aid, so patients may be referred to yet another facility that is better
equipped. The Ethiopian government now encourages women to give
birth in health facilities; has expanded rural health infrastructure; and,
introduced a free ambulance service to reduce travel time and address
shortages in transportation in rural areas (Jackson et al. 2017).
Ethnography is also about comparison at the theoretical level: ‘broad
questions are addressed concerning the nature of society, the relation-
ship of individuals to social structures, the way reciprocity creates
social relations, the processes of social change, etc., and are argued
with detailed ethnographic data’ (Armstrong 2008, p. 64). So when I
240
R. Jackson
write about the physical act of walking, it means I was ‘there,’ putting
one foot in front of the other to reach a destination such as a wom-
an’s home or a rural health facility. At the same time, as a researcher
learning how to do ethnography, I was ‘there’ to gain a deeper under-
standing about how taken for granted ‘walking’ is as the ‘normal’ way
to move from one place to another. I doubt I would have gained this
simple insight if I had not had to walk almost everywhere during my
research. Ethnography and reflexivity, especially reflecting on one’s expe-
riences in the research process, has become one of the ways feminists
use and create theory ‘by searching for the most effective explanation
for conceptualizing the process, matter, person, issue, event or context’
(Skeggs 2001). I observed Manjo women (from one of the minority
groups in Ethiopia) walking with sacks of charcoal or stacks of firewood
strapped to their backs. Heavy sacks. And women walking to market
with handmade baskets filled with dried maize in one hand, and a live
chicken tucked under the other arm. I wrote that when I was walking
around town or to the kebeles with my ‘backpack weighing a kilo or
two’ I greeted them with ‘Ashamasham, the Kafficho greeting for people
who are working’ (Jackson 2010, p. 99): this acknowledgment of their
labour made me feel better because they would be surprised and smile
or even laugh, and then talk about it with their walking companions.
Walking also gave me a much better understanding of the Three Delays
medical model that assumes that the pathway to maternal survival from
giving birth at home to that in a health facility is ‘a direct linear route’
(CHANGE/The Manoff Group 2005).
In brief, Delay One refers to delays in deciding to seek care dur-
ing an obstetric emergency; this decision is influenced by cultural and
socio-economic factors such as who makes decisions at household lev-
els, but also by factors that shape decision making such as cost, dis-
tance, and perceived quality of health care at the health facility. Delay
Two is the delay in reaching a medical facility because of accessibility
and options for transport including time and cost. Delay Three deline-
ates delays in appropriate treatment in a health facility which is mainly
related to the quality of care, adequacy of the referral system, and short-
ages of supplies and equipment.
241
What Do I Know When I Am in Kafa Zone?

For some time now it has seemed to me that the two questions we should
ask of any strong landscape are these: firstly, what do I know when I am
in this place that I can know nowhere else? And then, vainly, what does
this place know of me that I cannot know of myself? (Macfarlane 2012,
p. 27)
In this chapter, I also want to show how some of the events in my life
are linked and together have helped create my identity. I spent much
of my childhood in Ethiopia—much of the time unhappily at boarding
school—this helped shape my identity as I countered the experience by
dreaming of school holidays in Kafa (see Jackson 2010, pp. 60–64). By
deliberately returning to Kafa after a long absence, to do research and
on one occasion simply to take time out from the rest of the world for
a couple of months—I’ve deliberately created a narrative to order my life
and identity based on my time in Kafa, walking, shaping my everyday
longings.
This chapter has allowed me to rethink questions such as ‘How does
one become a researcher?’ ‘How did I become a researcher in Ethiopia?’
and ‘What is the impact of my gender on the outcomes of my research
in Ethiopia?’ While I am not really interested in answering questions
about how women and men might do research differently as the binary
differences between the gender of the researcher possibly takes for
granted that the researcher’s gender results in women and men doing
research differently, I have always been more concerned with ‘the inter-
nal critique of hegemonic ‘Western’ feminisms,’ and how to avoid uni-
versalising ‘Third World Woman’ as ‘underdeveloped’ (Mohanty 2011
[1991], pp. 83, 88). As a Western woman, who could be described as
‘secular, liberated and having control’ (Mohanty 2011 [1991], p. 88)
over her life to a large extent, critical self-reflection and reflexivity, has
allowed me to think about ‘new connections between the personal and
the theoretical’ (Kleinsasser 2000, p. 157). And while there are many
contradictions about these matters I do not want to be bogged down
by them either, but to keep walking, eyes forward, as a woman who is
242
R. Jackson
still ‘learning’ how to do research in rural Ethiopia. Planning my next

research project, my gender will be even more relevant than it was in
the past: gender is a verb I can use when positioning myself to inter-
view women about food preparation for one of the Ethiopian Orthodox
feasts.
The benefit of doing participant observation in Kafa Zone meant
that I began to appreciate how long it took people to travel and how
much energy was required to move from one place to another. By trav-
elling on foot, I wanted to better understand how the referral system
for birthing women worked in practice. Even when there were roads,
vehicles were infrequent and expensive to use (especially if you had to
charter a bus or truck), so their usage was uncommon. Distance is a
‘universal barrier’ (CHANGE/The Manoff Group 2005) that separates
potential patients in rural areas from the nearest health facility. And
although distance can be an actual obstacle, it can also be a disincen-
tive to even try and seek care, especially when combined with lack of
transportation and poor roads. So the women I meet during interviews
and the women I meet on the road or at the market are my primary
sources and role models of how women cope, ‘get around’ the rules and
take control of their own lives (see Pankhurst 1992 for more on this).
From international development theory and literature, feminist litera-
ture describing the evolution from Women in Development to Gender
and Development, anthropological literature, and sociological literature
about birth (Jackson 2010), the most important thing to me is to listen
to women and respect their stories. In the past, I asked ‘Why do women
give birth where they do?’—and what happens when they decide to
walk to a health facility as:
…the road is on mountainous terrain. In the rainy season it is slippery

and muddy and sometimes there are rivers that are impossible to cross.
Unfortunately for women being carried to a health facility, the topogra-
phy and lack of transportation also contribute to the delay in reaching a
health facility and many women die on the way. So how is it possible to
separate the social and cultural dimension of birth from the physiological?
(Jackson 2010, p. 264)
243
In much of the literature it is still taken-for-granted that women will

not go to a health facility to give birth because they are ‘ignorant, poor,
uneducated, tradition-bound, domestic, family-oriented, victimized’
(Mohanty 2011 [1991], p. 84). But if gender is ‘a socially constructed
act’ (Bergvall 1996, p. 175), and if, as feminist researchers, our goal is
to understand and practice ways to reduce gender inequality, then this
stereotypical view of rural women only marginalises them by ignoring
their stories and their experiences. As I have found a way to exercise
agency through walking in Ethiopia, when I think about the women
I meet along the road, it is that they too are often able to act and that
their achievements should be judged in terms of their ‘own values and
objectives, whether or not we assess them in terms of some external cri-
teria as well’ (Sen 1999, p. 19).
As stated earlier, many of the women I interviewed walked for hours
in mountainous terrain to go to the local market once or twice a week.
But going to the market is not just about obtaining cash money:
Women welcomed the opportunity to get out of the house and socialise
with other women; to talk on the way and at the market. Stopping at a
favourite tej1 or tella2 bet3 on the way home is a social occasion as women
gather together to gossip and catch up with all the news with friends and
neighbours before the long walk home. (Jackson 2010, p. 163)
This observation highlights the important distinction between stere-

otypical views about women in places such as rural Ethiopia and why it
is important to make their lives visible (Reinharz and Davidman 1992),
according to their own values. In 2007, I also observed that it was com-
mon to see women walking to the market but uncommon to see them
walking on their own. Almaz, a research participant who was a young
girl in the 1950s, recalled some of the positive changes in her lifetime
such as grinding houses, electricity and telephones. Notably, she men-
tioned that girls, who were not allowed to leave the house and go to the
market, now can. Statistics show that 40% of urban women and 64% of
rural women do not want to access health care if they have to go alone
(Central Statistical Agency [Ethiopia] and ICF International 2012).
244
R. Jackson
Around 42% of women are permitted to go to the market place alone

(Holden and Tefera 2008).
Yet the word ‘alone’ also comes up as disadvantageous again and
again in my research. For example, Sara expressed how isolated she felt
when giving birth ‘alone’ because she lived far from her mother and her
family and had no close friends or neighbours to call on to support her,
only her husband who massaged her abdomen and held her shoulders
during the labour. Sara’s expression of sorrow about being ‘alone’ dur-
ing birth was that there was no one to watch over her: ‘The labour was
very heavy. In this place I have not got any family, my mother is far
away—and no one is watching my back even when I am at death’s door’
(Jackson 2010, p. 174).
My elderly next door neighbour Amina was grieving for her daugh-
ter as she had been left the responsibility for her three grandsons and
could only imagine a bleak future for them. Makeda faced many years
bringing up her two sons alone as her husband was in jail (for refus-
ing to pay a bribe to a public official). Yet when I saw her walking on
her own, she was always smiling and cheerful, as she took food to her
husband twice a day. One day when I was walking I met her and we
took another route to avoid a potentially rabid dog. Another day, I
remember she smelt like jasmine flowers and I thought that perhaps it
was the smell of coffee blossom for her husband. Then there was the
young woman sitting next to me on the bus to Chiri. She was going to
walk home to Muti (about a three-hour walk) with her baby, but I was
not concerned about her walking ‘alone’ because with so many people
walking it was ‘virtually impossible to walk alone. And no one would
walk without offering to carry the jebena [coffee pot] and her shopping’
(Jackson 2010, p. 101). Alone is not the same as ‘all alone,’ so these
kinds of descriptions generate rich information and better understand-
ing as I search for the most effective explanation about the processes,
people, events or context that need explaining (Skeggs 2001).
By comparison, I often walked ‘alone,’ and at times felt joy because
I was ‘alone,’ even deliberately getting ‘lost’ in an unknown neighbour-
hood one day in Addis Ababa knowing I was not really lost because
the airport was somewhere to my left and eventually, after an hour or
two or more, I would come to a main road. Even if I was ‘lost’ I could
245
always ask someone for directions. As I wandered down streets that

turned from asphalt to dirt, no one paid any attention to me as they got
on with their Sunday afternoon activities: sitting around drinking coffee
on the side of the road, washing clothes, boys kicking a football, girls
braiding each others’ hair. Small shops and roadside stalls sold vegeta-
bles and essential items like oil and salt and batteries. It was liberating
knowing that no one in the entire world knew where I was except the
strangers I was passing. No longer tied down in an unhappy relation-
ship, it was a joy to know I was finally ‘on my own.’
So when I think about how happy I felt being alone, I do not mean
that my reflections about walking alone should be in binary opposi-
tion to that of Ethiopian women who prefer not to be on their own
when walking or giving birth. It is just that this approach to think-
ing about my research experiences forced me to ask new questions of
myself and how to locate my research in Ethiopia, to be concerned with
‘problematic, tentative, plural, multiple and complex’ ideas and that
my tentativeness ‘be matched by an equally demanding commitment
to self-doubt and reflexivity’ (Patterson 1997, p. 425). In hindsight, I
would suggest that sometimes I probably gained more from walking
to interviews and meeting people along the way than from the inter-
views themselves—especially interviews with government workers who
told me that the many problems women told me about accessing mater-
nal health care services or being unable to send their children to school
because they were too poor to even buy a pen, had all been solved now,
or were simply problems in the past.
Participant observation is about being open to learn how and why
people behave in certain ways. While it is important to maintain a bal-
ance between being an ‘insider’ and an ‘outsider’ when observing and
participating in the research setting, interpreting the data is more sub-
jective (Guest et al. 2013; Harrison 2008). Although I touched on the
maternal health literature, I was sure that strong links should be made
between maternal health and gender as there are many links between
them in terms of development and improving women’s access to mater-
nal health services.
For example, Gill et al. (2007) describe women as mothers (who
suffer high rates of maternal mortality and morbidity in developing
246
R. Jackson
countries); as individuals (where the enabling factors to improve wom-

en’s status such as education and employment affect a woman’s capac-
ity to access and utilise health services along with the empowerment to
make decisions about using health services); as family members (where
a woman’s contribution is important to ensure the health of her chil-
dren who are less likely to be stunted or more likely to attend school);
and as citizens (where the cumulative effect of women dying in child-
birth or suffering disability because of complications of birth or its
management) ‘probably affects national and global development out-
comes’ (2007, p. 1353). Some research on maternal health has tried to
explain why progress to reduce maternal mortality in developing coun-
tries has been slow and inconsistent because pregnant women, moth-
ers and their newborn children are treated poorly because they are
poor, have lower social status in terms of their caste or race/ethnicity
and because they are women (Sen et al. 2006). Shiffman (2000) argues
that women’s status is seen as an important determinant of maternal
mortality.
Consequently, as a researcher who has mainly focused on mater-
nal health, women’s experiences of birth and more recently on female
Health Extension Workers role in referring women to health facilities
(Jackson and Kilsby 2015; Jackson et al. 2018), I took it for granted
that my female gender was beneficial without too much consideration
during my early fieldwork. But what did being a woman researching
in Ethiopia bring to my research apart from my personal reflections
of participant observation? I have tried to present other ideas in this
chapter that might suggest different explanations, not so much on
why some women still prefer to give birth at home, nor even to pres-
ent some of the unique characteristics of Ethiopian life that can be tak-
en-for-granted (such as women enjoying themselves when they walk
together), but how these aspects of everyday life are related to each
other. Surely, this is the aim of good research—not merely to create
descriptions of a particular culture but to explain the common ways
we produce culture and ideas and to share these experiences to improve
our research expertise and skills through reflexivity and attention to
gender.
247
On Reflection
For a long time after my first stint of fieldwork in Kafa Zone I did
not think I had learnt anything new, only that I confirmed what was
already known about distance and delays to health facilities for women
in childbirth. I even concluded my thesis on a personal note that the
discourse of development did not allow to find any real alternative for
women whose lives could be saved by a Caesarean Section or assisted
delivery. I also concluded that if development is anything at all, it
should be described as a fertile exchange of ideas, stimulating friend-
ships and other positive values that do not have an end stage (Dahl and
Gemetchu Megerssa 1992; Jackson 2010). Doing fieldwork was difficult
and there were days I struggled to find my research identity. All along
I knew I was not in Kafa Zone just to be a researcher, I had also gone
there as a person who had lived in the same area as a child and never
really reconciled that part of my identity. I had naively taken for granted
that being a woman would make things easier for me, but I needed time
to learn how to relate my experiences as part of the data collection pro-
cess. Returning to Kafa Zone many times over the past 12 years or so
enabled me to pay more attention to the familiar and unfamiliar, to
learn how to be more observant. Doing research with women gave me
a unique perspective on the role of female Health Extension Workers
in Ethiopia who make up almost 50% of the entire health workforce
(Jackson and Kilsby 2015; Jackson et al. 2018). Kafa Zone is the place I
visit to take time out from the rest of the world and also the place that I
want to return to do more research. Perhaps we cannot know how to do
research when we start, but as feminist researchers, the feminist princi-
ples of those who go before us provides us with stories of experience and
meanings, of ‘subjectivity as a focus’ and that we do not lose sight of
context (Skeggs 2001).
What I have tried to show about women and mobility draws atten-
tion to two points. First, although I walked to interview women and
others throughout my research, I did not consider walking to interviews
as ‘participant observation’ until I had done so much walking myself
that ‘I began to wonder if the normalisation of walking is actually
248
R. Jackson
viewed as a problem by the people of Kafa Zone’ (Jackson 2010, p. 84).

The more I walked everywhere, the more normal it became for me too.
Walking to interviews, to rural kebeles and to the market and other loca-
tions was both a structured and unstructured activity that sometimes
took many hours each day as there was no other way to get around. So
an important lesson from my research is that the time spent doing par-
ticipant observation can provide meaningful insights to us as research-
ers both personally and professionally, but it is impossible to predict
how long this might take. Insights, like ‘Aha’ moments, come when
one is not actively trying to make sense of things but when our minds
are doing other things (such as waking up, taking a shower, walking or
washing the dishes), or even after one has left the field and is focusing
on other things (such as writing up research). This chapter has provided
another opportunity to position myself in the centre of my research—a
self-reflexive approach—and to consider once again how I know what
I know by doing research in rural Ethiopia. What differentiates the
birthing experiences of the women who give birth in a health centre
or a hospital from those who give birth at home in Ethiopia invokes
the sociological imagination as the ‘personal troubles’ of a woman in
labour become a public issue of ‘social structure’ (Mills 1978, p. 8). As
researchers, we start to learn to understand the ‘invisible meanings’ as
so much is taken for granted or overlooked. Ethnography gives us the
opportunity to question assumptions and work out some of the things
that are connected to each other. I suggest that as female researchers,
insights from this process are important to us as we move back and
forth from the experiences of research to mapping out the ‘physical, cul-
tural and economic possibilities for social action and meaning’ (Skeggs
2001), especially the ‘the process by which people move from a position
of unquestioning acceptance of the social order to a critical perspective
on it’ (Kabeer 1999, p. 441).
And second, my ethnographical data would have been minimalised
if it had been limited to participating in activities with women in their
homes and not on the road. The more I walked, I began to realise that
walking created social networks for women. Although structured gender
inequality in Ethiopia means that some women still need to ask their
husband’s permission to go to the market or the health facility (Central
249
Statistical Agency [Ethiopia] and ICF International 2012; Holden

and Tefera 2008), and they may have no other option to get around, I
would argue that for many women, walking gives them time to gossip,
to catch up with friends and to learn from others. Some ‘clever’ women
even made a detour to the hospital for Depo-Provera on market days
so their husband would not find out they were accessing contracep-
tives without his permission (Jackson 2010, p. 156). While quantitative
measures of bargaining power, knowledge about land registration and
women’s empowerment (e.g. Kumar and Quisumbing 2015; Mabsout
and van Staveren 2010; Woldemicael and Tenkorang 2010) are impor-
tant, it is also important to listen to women’s stories about their expe-
riences. Change takes time, perhaps one step at a time, but women
are reshaping their lives by going out, meeting each other and walking
together.
Would a male ethnographer reach the same conclusions that I did?
Possibly, though I expect not, as gender is the principal aspect for
describing the division of labour for rural women’s lives and one that
male researchers may not be able to access. Production, reproduction
and consumption are oriented to the household unit of husband, wife
and their children. Work takes place in and around the household with
appropriate tasks allocated by age and gender (Jackson 2010; Pankhurst
1992; Poluha 2002).
Challenging gender norms in Ethiopia will also take time. National
policies include gender mainstreaming in sector and development pro-
grams with a strong focus on health through the Health Sector Gender
Mainstreaming Manual (Federal Democratic Republic of Ethiopia
Ministry of Health 2013). One of the main focus areas is to increase
women’s access to and utilisation of maternal and newborn health ser-
vices. This is clearly a good thing, but the limited understanding of
empowerment in the manual reinforces ‘women’s traditional role as care
providers and as health care seekers’ by using ‘a culturally acceptable
approach to facilitate access to health services through women health
providers to every household’ (2013, p. 27). Empowerment is under-
stood in Ethiopia as empowering women to ‘to participate more fully
in Ethiopia’s development’ (Maes et al. 2015a, p. 470), especially in
terms of reducing maternal and newborn mortality. As empowerment
250
R. Jackson
should be a bottom-up process that transforms gender power relations

when individuals or groups of women develop awareness of their own
subordination and build their capacity to challenge it (Reeves and
Baden 2000), this limited understanding of empowerment is gender-ac-
commodating (Jackson et al. 2018). Women’s gendered roles mean that
they are responsible for most domestic and care giving work. They have
community and social obligations especially since the introduction of
the Women’s Development Army—a grassroots movement aiming to
produce ‘model women’ who ‘discipline themselves and their neighbors
to enact healthy behaviors’ (Maes et al. 2015b, p. 42).
Throughout my research and in formulating this chapter, I am aware
that there are many contradictions I have not addressed that create new
questions. Contradictions are important, making us ‘become conscious of
[our] inconsistencies, whether it happens alone or in the midst of social
interactions, “self-awareness” takes place’ (Berliner et al. 2016, p. 5). I could
address questions such as where women go, for how long, why, and how
they arrange the trips they make. I could ask men the same questions as a
starting point to better understand inequities between men and women in
rural Ethiopia, but these are questions for another research project.
So even if I haven’t fully answered the question about what Kafa
knows of me that I cannot know myself, I can attempt to answer: what
do I know when I am in Kafa that I can know nowhere else? As I’ve
walked from place to place I’ve learnt that the relationship between
thinking and walking is ingrained into language history as the stories
and paths connect (Macfarlane 2012). In my writing I try to pay atten-
tion to the words and sentences ‘in a way that doesn’t violate fact, but
at the same time is structured and presented in a way that makes it
interesting to read’ (McPhee 2010). Through walking, I’ve learnt that
living consciously ‘is the real business of our lives’ (Vivian Gornick in
Scialabba, December 1997/January 1998). I think about walking alone
or with others. If you walk with others it can be difficult to find your
basic rhythm and you might need to change your pace to someone else’s
pace but there’s nothing wrong with that, at least for a while. And if
you walk alone, you are never entirely on your own when you just go
out to pay a visit to ‘green glades, grooves of trees, violet-shaded valleys’
(Gros 2015, p. 56) that you haven’t seen for days, months or even years.
In Kafa Zone, you never really walk alone because everyone is walking.
251
I enjoy the company of others while walking, but I never mind walking
alone. Yet in a sense, I am always ‘alone’ as a ferengi (foreigner), espe-
cially as a ferengi woman because I am normally in Kafa to ‘do research.’
I feel that walking has truly taught me how to live, wherever I am.
How to literally put one foot in front of the other and to walk into
town for a coffee at the same pace as others on the path. How to greet
the children on the roadside chanting fereng fereng fereng with jocularity
by asking yet? yet? yet? Where? Where? Where? implying that I couldn’t
see any ferengi anywhere. How to sit with others drinking coffee at
Agernesh’s coffee shop outside the bank in Bonga. Her coffee shop—a
couple of wooden benches under a piece of tarpaulin—has the best
(strongest) coffee in town. How to put one foot in front of the other
and to feel that I was no longer waiting to learn how to live because
with each step I am walking and living. This I have learned and know
and can do in Kafa like nowhere else.
Each time when I return to Kafa and stay in the guest house on the
side of the hill not far from my childhood home in Bonga, the early
morning view is of the cloud forests in the distance. Just clouds. Then
as the clouds lift, fragmented forest and farms become visible on the
mountain tops. Clouds still hide the valleys. Soon all the clouds lift,
and the many shades of green are only broken up by the road to Decha
Woreda zigzagging up the sides of the mountains. And then it’s time to
go for a walk.
Notes
1. tej is an alcoholic drink made from honey and the local gesho plant.
2. tella is mild alcoholic drink made from maize or barley.
3. bet or house. Tej or tella bets are often in the front room of the house.
Outside the house on the edge of the roadway will be a pole with a
bunch of white trumpet-like flowers attached on the top to indicate a
tella bet. A broken piece of an old metad (earthenware oven used for
cooking injera, a flat pancake like bread, on the fire) indicates where
food is served. Bet also indicates bunna (coffee) bet, temhert (school) bet,
shint (toilet) bet and so on.
252
R. Jackson
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13
Gender and Positionality: Opportunities,
Challenges, and Ethical Dilemmas
in Ghana and Sierra Leone
Vanessa van den Boogaard
Introduction
A researcher’s identity affects research access and outcomes, as well as
the physical safety and psychological wellbeing of themself and their
research subjects and participants. Accordingly, good research design
and execution considers positional power dynamics related to one’s real
and perceived identity. The importance of being aware of position in
qualitative research is widely acknowledged in many disciplines, includ-
ing seminal pieces emerging from feminist studies and critical theory
(e.g. Acker et al. 1999; England 1994; Harding 1991), and more recent
and multidisciplinary discussions of the complexity of positionality in
fieldwork (e.g. Meadow 2013; Ortbals and Rincker 2009a; Shehata
2006; Wood 2006; Gold 2002; MacLean 2013; Smyth and Gillian
2001; Thapar-Björkert and Henry 2004). This literature prominently
V. van den Boogaard (*) 

Department of Political Science, University of Toronto,
Toronto, ON, Canada
e-mail: v.vandenboogaard@utoronto.ca
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-94502-6_13
258
V. van den Boogaard
features discussions of position and gender in fieldwork (e.g. Arendell

1997; Bucerius 2013; Mies 1991).
While addressing identity and power dynamics is a well-established
ethical norm, the opportunities and ethical challenges associated with
conducting research as a female and as an outsider in Africa are not
fully addressed by the methodological literature of political science.
As Ortbals and Rincker (2009a, p. 288) argue, ‘the major themes of
identity and research have not penetrated political science to the same
extent as in other disciplines’, despite the relevance of identity to much
research in political science, and particularly to ‘comparativists who
go abroad and become outsiders in a social context distinct from their
own’. Gender identity is a critical component to understanding one’s
place in a social world, though ‘how gender is constructed and nego-
tiated in research using in-depth interviews warrants much more sys-
tematic attention’ (Arendell 1997, p. 365). At the same time, the
intersectionality between perceptions and experiences of gender, race,
religion, age, and citizenship remains underexplored in mainstream
methodological debates in comparative politics and more broadly.
In line with Arendell’s (1997, p. 365) suggestion that ‘subjecting our
research to analytical scrutiny can move us towards greater understand-
ing of the import of gender’, this chapter explores the complexities of
identity and how it impacts the experiences and outcomes of research,
using my own research as a case study. I draw on my experience as a
white female conducting both positivist and interpretivist mixed meth-
ods research, both independently and with co-authors and collab-
orators, in northern Ghana and Sierra Leone from 2011 to 2014 for
three distinct research programs. These programs incorporated a signif-
icant interview component to explore the socially embedded norms of
local market taxation in northern Ghana; informal cross-border trade
between Sierra Leone, Guinea, and Liberia; and informal taxation in
northern and eastern Sierra Leone. While this research did not have an
explicit gender component, conducting interviews with predominately
female market traders and predominately male government authori-
ties reinforced that ‘[t]he norms of the situation of the research inter-
view did not override or displace those of a gender stratified society’
(Arendell 1997, p. 363). Rather, the very nature of in-depth interview-
ing requires the researcher to have ‘a heightened sense of self-awareness
13 Gender and Positionality …
259
about the researcher’s personal understandings, beliefs, prejudice, and

world view’, with the understanding that a researcher’s ‘social, historical,
and cultural baggage’ influences the research experience and outcomes
(Sankar and Gubrium 1994, p. xiv).
In aiming for a more reflexive and self-critical approach to fieldwork
(see e.g., Ortbals and Rincker 2009a; Sayer and Storper 1997), I first
reflect on the influence of position, gender, and intersectional identi-
ties on research access and outcomes in my experience. Then, I consider
the implications of positionality and identity for personal and profes-
sional ethical considerations that are insufficiently addressed by the cur-
rent literature. I conclude by examining what reflexivity may mean for
researchers of different epistemological persuasions.
Position, Gender, and Intersectionality

Position and Gender
Perceptions and misperceptions of a researcher’s identity can influence

research outcomes, impacting both the researched and the researcher.
Feminist theory and research methodologies, as well as postmodern-
ist, poststructuralist, and critical theory, have been foundational to the
exploration of positionality within research (see e.g. Hertz 1995; Moss
1993; Nast 1994; Jones et al. 1997; Denzin and Lincoln 1994; Denzin
1992; Flax 1989). This includes an emphasis that all knowledge is ‘sit-
uated’, influenced by its origins, including through the position of the
researcher. As McDowell (1992, p. 409) argues, ‘we must recognize and
take account of our own position, as well as that of our research par-
ticipants’. This is particularly important as potentially overlapping and
intersecting ‘systems of social power’ are entrenched within the relation-
ships between the researcher and researched (Vanderbeck 2005, p. 288;
see also Dowling 2000; Sundberg 2003). Perceptions and mispercep-
tions of our position in the social world are inconsistent and dynamic
(Gold 2002; Arendell 1997), but are ‘continuously negotiated on issues
of national location, age, generation and reciprocity’ (Thapar-Björkert
and Henry 2004, p. 363).
260
V. van den Boogaard
In considering the impacts of position on research experience and

outcomes, gender identity is increasingly recognised as a necessary con-
sideration for both female and male researchers (e.g. Arendell 1997;
Hertz 1995). For example, gender identity may impact research access
within social settings wherein conventional gender hierarchies are
pronounced or gender roles and interaction between genders is heav-
ily regulated by social norms. Power dynamics between researcher and
researched are particularly relevant with respect to gender identity
(e.g. Reinharz and Davidman 1992; Reinharz 1993; Cook and Fonow
1990), given the underlying power structures that maintain gender hier-
archies and given that all societies remain, to varying degrees, ‘stratified
by gender’ (Arendell 1997, p. 343).
Gender identity may be both a limiting factor and an opportunity
for female researchers. In line with a conventional patriarchal gender
hierarchy, women may have greater difficulties gaining research access,
maintaining general control of the process of research, including in
interviews, and establishing professional and respectful relationships
with male research participants. For instance, in certain circumstances,
female researchers may experience greater difficulty gaining access to
powerful male interviewees, though the same may also be true of men
wishing to gain access to women in societies where interaction between
genders is constrained by norms and culture (see e.g. Thompson 2009).
Various accounts highlight the challenges for female researchers when
male research participants assert authority during interviews, either
verbally or physically (e.g. Arendell 1997), or face ‘male interview-
ees [who]… respond to them with aggression’ (Gatrell 2006, p. 244).
Moreover, in contexts where research is being conducted in male-dom-
inated spaces, including bureaucracies, policy settings, and corporate
contexts, being female may make a researcher more of an outsider than
she may already be by being foreign and/or part of the academy. In
these settings, male researchers may find it easier to blend in or to be
accepted as ‘one of the guys’ in a way that opens up participants and
data collection possibilities.
I have experienced these barriers while conducting my own research. For
instance, I have often been required to have collaborating male research-
ers accompany me to interviews to gain access to interviewees. However,
261
as I discuss below, this necessity in certain contexts was unlikely solely the
result of me being female, as other elements of identity—including age,
academic position, local networks, race, and nationality—were likely more
influential than, though undeniably interactive with, my gender identity.
More commonly, in conducting interviews, I have often had to adapt to
male research participants who dominated the interview, sometimes lead-
ing it astray, refusing to answer or blatantly ignoring questions, re-word-
ing my questions, or generally putting forth a dominating demeanour and
tone of voice. In extreme, but not uncommon, cases, research participants
have taken advantage of these gender dynamics to proposition me roman-
tically in various ways, leading to the particular challenge, well known to
females, of pursuing one’s agenda while being hypersensitive to one’s vul-
nerability. In managing local research teams, I have also struggled with the
similar power struggles with research collaborators and assistants, which
has challenged my ability to maintain control of the research program,
process, and even objectives. Re-establishing control over my own research
has, in some situations, resulted in conflicts with my research teams, poten-
tially threatening how my research team perceived my cultural sensitivity
and, thus, the respect they held for me, as well as the project.
As an example, before implementing a household survey in rural
areas in eastern and northern Sierra Leone, I worked with a local
research collaborator and six research supervisors in order to hire
research enumerators to conduct household surveys. It was important
to me that some of the research enumerators be female, both because
female enumerators would facilitate access to female heads of house-
holds and, as we were able to pay a fair salary, having some gender bal-
ance on our team seemed like an issue of job access equity. Recruitment
for enumerators was done through the local university, so it was no issue
to have at least some females apply for the positions. However, as we
prepared for the job interviews, I faced considerable resistance to hir-
ing women from my colleagues, who argued that the roads in the prov-
ince where the research was to be conducted were ‘too rough’ for the
women, and that the women were not ‘tough enough’ to withstand the
basic living conditions of the rural areas. With reluctance, they agreed
to hire some women, though I was left unsure if my conviction that
women should be hired created inter-team tensions or resentment of my
262
V. van den Boogaard
authority. At the same time, the incident raised the issue of finding bal-
ance between gender equity and cultural sensitivity, particularly as there
was a question of how research teams would be perceived by research
participants, who in some regions may find young men and women
travelling together improper.
At the same time, while gender is often portrayed as a limiting fac-
tor, it can also be a considerable opportunity for female researchers (e.g.
Ortbals and Rincker 2009a, p. 288). For instance, female researchers
may be seen as non-threatening, and thus as suitable confidantes—an
identifier that may be belittling but that may at the least advance the
research objectives. As Pierce (1995, p. 98) explains upon reflection of
her engagement with male research subjects, they ‘did not confide in me
as a person but rather in an imagined relation—as a feminized Other’
(see e.g. de Beauvoir 1949).
Moreover, foreign female researchers may find, as I have, that a
unique status is bestowed upon them—what may be referred to as a
‘third gender’—wherein ‘outsider’ women are not perceived as existing
within culturally-specific gender hierarchies, instead existing in a liminal
space, having access to both male and female ‘worlds’ within a particular
society, though without ever being fully accepted by either. This may
afford them a level of access to research subjects and information not
available to foreign male researchers or local male or female research-
ers. Indeed, travelling alone to conduct research in northern Ghana on
the fiscal social contract between market traders and the local govern-
ment, I was clearly acting outside of conventional cultural gender roles.
Despite challenges in data collection, the fact that I was perceived as
an oddity facilitated my access to divided gendered spaces, particularly
within the market (predominately women’s territory) and the local gov-
ernment finance offices (predominately occupied by men). After several
days in the market, I was able to draw less attention to myself, sim-
ply sitting in the shade of stalls with women selling pagnes, or helping
women to arrange their onions and okra at the beginning of the day.
At the same time, I was often treated as an ‘honorary male’ (Warren
1988) in areas of male authority and in other exclusively male cultural
and religious spaces, including in the celebration of Iftar, the breaking
of the Ramadan fast. Despite being a gender-segregated space, as a ‘third
263
gender’ I was welcomed into the communal male celebration and the
informal discussions of politics that accompany many such community
gatherings. I had the unique experience of engaging in both male and
female worlds, which I believe was only possible because I perceived as
neither male nor female in the specific culturally stratified sense.
Intersectional Identities
Position and identity cannot be understood in terms of a single dimen-

sion. Indeed, race, class, education, age, religion, and other identity
markers interact with gender and influence position to create particular
experiences (Crenshaw 1991; Hancock 2007), again, with the simul-
taneous potential to both limit and facilitate research programs. For
example, being a white foreign woman, I often received undue preferen-
tial treatment, gaining access to high-ranking and powerful individuals.
At other times, I was at a disadvantage as some women in the commu-
nities regarded me with greater scepticism (see also Sundberg 2003;
Alcalde 2007).
Age has also been an important intersecting component of my posi-
tion as a researcher. As a young woman, respondents often treated me
as unimportant, seeing me as powerless or inconsequential (for simi-
lar experiences see e.g. Ortbals and Rincker 2009b; Reinhardt 2009).
Accordingly, some respondents were often dismissive of me or unwilling
to talk. On the other hand, by emphasising my lower status to respond-
ents, I was sometimes able to portray myself in a student–professor,
employee–boss power dynamic (see also Wax 1979), with respondents
in these situations often more willing to engage in the interview in a
pedantic or patronising manner, with interviewees feeling in a position
to convey experience and knowledge to an inexperienced individual. As
Arendell (1997, p. 350) relates, she often experienced having research
participants take charge of the interview, seeing interviews as oppor-
tunities for instruction, thus ‘establishing that they were collaborators
if not actually conductors of [the] research enterprise’. Accordingly,
while Hermanowicz’s (2002, pp. 486–487) guide to conducting inter-
views suggests that researchers playing ‘the innocent sometimes’, but
264
V. van den Boogaard
‘not more than once or twice in an interview’ so as to maintain their

sincerity and to not annoy the respondent, I have often found that
powerful male research participants are most open to interview ques-
tions when I ‘play dumb’ a lot of the time, thus facilitating a traditional
power dynamic that I am uncomfortable sustaining. Thus while, ‘female
researchers must work especially hard to achieve an impression combin-
ing the attribute of being nonthreatening with that of being a credible,
competent professional’ (Gurney 1985, p. 43), this challenge may be
both compounded and confused for young female researchers.
Positionality and Ethical Considerations

The implications of positionality, gender, and intersectionality of iden-
tity on research are often discussed in terms of the experience and out-
comes of power dynamics in the researcher–researched relationship.
However, the implications of position in these regards can present fur-
ther implications not only for research and data access, but also through
the creation of personal and professional ethical dilemmas. As Gold
(2002, p. 223) argues, ‘positionality can be much more than a question
of hidden agendas, power relations and conflicts of interests’. Indeed,
while being a woman, or perceived as a ‘third gender’, can improve
research outcomes by facilitating simultaneous access to divided gen-
dered spaces or having interviewees open up in an otherwise uncom-
mon manner, it raises important ethical questions that are insufficiently
considered within both the existing literature and training for young
researchers.
Reinforcing Inequality?
As Ortbals and Rincker (2009a, p. 289) emphasise, ‘most training

received before fieldwork focuses little, if at all, on the personal con-
sequences of leaving one’s home for a year, trying to integrate into
another culture, and facing (mis)perceptions based on one’s identity.’
This was reinforced throughout my research as I often confronted an
265
ethical dilemma about the consequences of remaining passive in the face

of what, to me, were distasteful or inappropriate behaviour or remarks.
For one, I was commonly and explicitly objectified by research par-
ticipants. My ‘third gender’ status, my unmarried and childless status,
as well as the fact that I was often travelling alone, profoundly affected
how I was perceived and treated by research participants. Indeed, male
research participants frequently assumed that I was open to casual sex-
ual relationships because of my ‘unusual’ behaviour and my absent or
non-existent male guardian. I experienced this particularly sharply in
northern Ghana, where I was travelling and working alone, and where
traditional social organisation, cultural and religious beliefs, ingrained
gendered power dynamics, beliefs regarding women’s reproductive obli-
gations, and the social desirability of children contribute to ‘pervasive
gendered inequities and norms regarding the subordination of women’
that ‘give Ghanaian men disproportionately more power than women’
(Crissman et al. 2012, p. 201). For example, while conducting inter-
views I was commonly referred to by participants as ‘baby’ or some
other sexualised diminutive (Reinhardt 2009). In some instances, where
the power dynamic was less stark, I protested vigorously against such
pet names, though when the power dynamic was reversed, as when I
was interviewing positions in high officials, I often felt less comforta-
ble in doing so. Moreover, my marital status was often raised as a ques-
tion early on in interviews, leaving me in an uncomfortable situation:
ignoring the question or steering the discussion back to the research
subject was often not possible, though disclosing my marital status
often resulted in unwanted follow-up remarks or behaviour, again with
the idea that a single woman working and travelling alone must have
some ulterior intentions. Even in situations where unwanted questions
or attention can be ignored or brushed aside, I found, as did Arendell
(1997, p. 361) in relating a situation in which an interviewee continu-
ously moved uncomfortably close to her, that I was ‘[c]onstantly aware
of and preoccupied with what was occurring’.
At the same time, I was often perceived as a prime marriageable tar-
get because of my assumed wealth, assumptions of which were closely
tied to my skin colour and citizenship. On more than one occasion, I
was proposed to within an interview—something for which my research
266
V. van den Boogaard
training had ill-equipped me. In one memorable research interaction,

the relatively powerful respondent jovially proposed to me during our
first interview in his office and spent much of the interview describ-
ing his position of power and wealth, presumably as a courting tac-
tic. Requiring a follow-up interview, I met the respondent again at his
office, but was quickly surprised and made uncomfortable by his insist-
ence that we would talk over lunch and that I should get in his vehicle.
Reinforcing the power dynamic, he spirited me away to a local restau-
rant, and then introduced me to others as ‘his wife’.
In these contexts, I often did not know how to respond, though
female instinct for self-protection generally led me to sidestep awkward-
ness, laugh, or attempt a non-confrontational reply. However, after the
moment passed, I would often feel disappointed in myself for not tak-
ing a clearer position, fearing that I, in passivity, was reinforcing gen-
der inequalities. Arendell’s (1997, p. 358) account of how she handled
explicit proposals from research participants for dates, discussions of
marriage, or personal compliments closely mirrors my own sentiments:
I was often confused about how to respond to comments meant to flatter

me. Mostly I offered what was intended to be a good-natured laugh and
a statement aimed at responding only very generally while shifting the
focus of our conversation back…But hearing these exchanges on tape is
sobering: by my silence was I condoning the re-enactment of the gender
stratified order, allowing these particular participants to relate to me in a
stereotypical fashion?
Similarly, she wonders (1997, p. 363),
did I contribute to or even implicitly endorse the perpetuation of the

system of male dominance? In my responses to actions which made me
uncomfortable and which conveyed the actor’s assumptions of male supe-
riority, did I not only tolerate but encourage, though inadvertently, some
men’s unexamined objectification of women?
Evidently, when such behaviour leads to preoccupations during inter-

views, the research quality may be affected. Moreover, I had to carefully
gauge how the information they related to me was affected. What was
267
their true interpretation of events and data, and what was being exag-
gerated for different motives? Exaggerations went in the both directions:
in certain instances, respondents attempted to aggrandize their position
or role in events, while in other instances, respondents wanted to dis-
cuss only the difficulties and challenges they faced in their positions, in
an attempt, perhaps, to play on my sympathy.
In these contexts, it is not clear what the right path of action is.
Remaining passive seems both dishonest and contributing to unequal
gender norms and power dynamics. At the same time, speaking up
may be counterproductive to research efforts and, possibly, to individ-
ual safety. As Gurney (1985, p. 45), states, ‘[u]nfortunately, there are
no ready prescriptions for female researchers’ coping with such situ-
ations. Obviously, a modicum of tolerance is necessary with respect
to any behaviour respondents may exhibit, otherwise very little field
research would ever be accomplished’. It seems undeniable to me that
female researchers may ‘find that upholding traditional gender norms
in their presentation of self may aid in their research access and success’
(Ortbals and Rincker 2009a, p. 288). This may include maintaining a
soft-spoken demeanour to put interviewees at ease (see e.g. Townsend-
Bell 2009). As noted by Kleinman and Copp (1993, p. 3), ‘Scientists
are supposed to be experts: They control the research process. But
qualitative researchers know that the success of our work depends on
participants’.
However, where to draw the line remains a difficult question.
Gurney (1985, p. 45) recommends that, ‘[p]erhaps the best strategy is
to acknowledge the possible complications that could develop before
one enters the setting’. Though as Arendell (1997, p. 362) notes, while
one can prepare for eventualities in conducting field research, it is dif-
ficult to ‘sufficiently anticipate’ encounters affected by perceptions and
misperceptions of identity and position ‘before they are experienced’.
In terms of disclosure, best practice is likely to disclose particular views
when asked, but to omit them if they do not relate to the research sub-
ject per se. While omitting information may feel deceitful, it is more
fundamentally important to remember the objective of the social
research, which, unless it is of a more explicitly engaged variety, is more
likely to be to understand a social environment, rather than to overturn
268
V. van den Boogaard
the conventional gender hierarchy. In so doing, it is nevertheless impor-

tant to continuously critically examine how worldviews or biases may
influence how we interact or respond to research participants. As
Arendell (1997, p. 349, italics in original) explains, ‘I had no illusions
that I was free of biases or personal values, but I viewed my feminist
understandings as offering sensitising concepts (Blumer 1969), not the
ultimate interpretive paradigm’.
Researchers thus need to critically examine how the objectives of con-
ducting social research may sometimes, and sometimes unexpectedly, vie
‘with our personal viewpoints’, recognizing that ‘our objectives as social
agents are multiple and sometimes incongruent’ (Arendell 1997, p. 363).
However, doing so does not sufficiently answer the question of what obli-
gations and responsibilities we have as researchers to disclose our per-
sonal politics, feminist or otherwise (Arendell 1997, p. 343), to creatively
engage in conflicts with alternative perspectives (e.g. Gold 2002), or, at
the very least, to maintain our emotional, psychological, or physical safety.
Challenges for Informed Consent
There are ethical concerns about gaining informed consent when the
research subject does not or cannot fully understand the study’s full
impact. This challenge is well considered in other circumstances, particu-
larly in low-income countries. As explained by Cumming et al. (2006,
p. 64), the process of informed consent ‘needs to address the subject’s
understanding of the information’, though definitions of informed con-
sent within ethics approval processes tend to ‘concentrate on the giving
of information by the researcher rather than on the understanding by the
subject’. These challenges are particularly well considered in contexts of
low-income, low-education populations by methodological literature of
different social scientific fields and within medical ethics in particular
(see e.g. Cumming et al. 2006; Oduro et al. 2008; Krosin et al. 2006;
Flory and Emanuel 2004; Fitzgerald et al. 2002; Denny and Grady
2007; Molyneux et al. 2004; Bhutta 2004; Kelman 1972; National
Commission for the Protection of Human Subject of Biomedical and
Behavioral Research 1978; Thomson 2013; Wood 2006).
269
Studies on informed consent tend to focus on the understanding

of informed consent in relation to education and literacy levels, rather
than on how understanding may be influenced by other aspects of the
subject’s position. Nevertheless, there are challenges related to whether
educated or elite research subjects understand the nature of consent
because of their position or their understandings of your position. Can
a research participant give informed consent while at the same time believ-
ing that the researcher is powerless? Recalling several interviews conducted
with mid- to high-ranking government officials in different locations,
I was often presented with a dilemma when interviewees insisted that
confidentiality was not a concern, but then proceeded to signal that
they did not believe that my research could have consequences. For
instance, it was not uncommon for me to be referred to, usually affec-
tionately, as ‘little girl’ or pikin, Krio for ‘child’.
In these contexts, the understanding and meaning of consent raises
novel ethical considerations of power that are not typically accounted
for within research design. Current recommendations are inadequate
to address these types of challenges with informed consent. As noted,
existing studies on the challenges of informed consent tend to focus
on levels of education as a structural barrier to informed consent, and
offer solutions such as providing ‘user-friendly subject information’
(Cumming et al. 2006), ‘designing and administering the informed
consent document in a manner that pay special attention to the vul-
nerable and those with special needs’, and spending ‘more time talking
one-on-one to participants’ (Oduro et al. 2008). However, there is no
discussion or agreement, about how challenges of informed consent
should be addressed in situations where the power dynamic is reversed,
warranting further discussion among qualitative scholars.
Conclusion
Whatever our efforts to disclose our positionality, it ‘can never fully
express the complexities underpinning a research relationship’ (Gold
2002, p. 223). Thus, while we can carefully consider the potential chal-
lenges and ethical considerations that may arise during field research
270
V. van den Boogaard
because of our positions, a more valuable perspective is to maintain a

continuously and consciously reflexive approach to our research, to
the extent possible given the limitations of our own awareness of our
position. Critical self-awareness and reflection of our position and
the power dynamics integrated within our research relationships is an
important first step towards better research.
These reflections point to several key lessons learnt. First, intersec-
tional identity and power dynamics shape research access and outcomes.
Positionality of gender, race, religion, age, and citizenship accordingly
need to be incorporated into more reflexive and self-critical research
designs in order to prepare for the realities of the field, which have
important implications for research validity and outcomes.
Second, while gender identity may be both a limiting factor and an
opportunity for female researchers, identity in researcher often pre-
sents ethical dilemmas that should be considered prior to engaging with
research subjects. Thinking through different scenarios of discomfort
or insecurity as a female researcher may better prepare for moments
of action. At what point should you speak up about something you
are uncomfortable with, and at what point would doing so affect the
objectivity of the research method? When are lies of omission necessary
for the objectivity of the research, and when do such omissions con-
strain the necessary connection between researcher and research sub-
jects? Evidently, it will not be possible to have concrete answers to these
questions prior to embarking for the field, though the very exercise of
considering them and imagining how your identity could shape your
research will ensure your methods are more reflexive—or at least not
putting you in harm’s way.
Finally, the discussion of power dynamics and gender within research
methods makes clear that certain elements of informed consent may
not be well communicated because of the researcher’s own identity. This
reinforces the need to carefully consider not only the context within
which informed consent is being communicated and the manner of
communication, but the medium of communication as well.
In reflecting on my experience of conducting research in West Africa
as a white female, I highlighted key issues and ethical considerations
that are insufficiently addressed by the methodological literature or by
271
standard methodological training. Accordingly, this chapter contributes

to a wider discussion about researchers’ responsibilities and obligations
to research participants, the academe, and oneself.
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14
Historiography of African Market Women
Mutiat Titilope Oladejo
Introduction
In this chapter, the narratives are accounts, events, contexts and phe-
nomenon related to my lived experiences as a researcher and young
female historian in women and gender studies, specifically research-
ing and writing about market women. Historical writing in Africa was
standardised from the teaching and research from Ibadan University
Department of History, ‘Ibadan School of History’ (ISH), Nigeria. The
motivations for the evolution of ISH were a response to challenge the
colonial and European perceptions of Africans as not civilised or liter-
ate. Writing history became prominent in the 1950s using oral tradi-
tions to trace Africa’s past. Based on this, my experiences as a female
researcher tended towards scholarship in women’s and gender studies to
reiterate the power status of women in Africa and identify the problems
of powerlessness.
M. T. Oladejo (*) 
Department of History, University of Ibadan, Ibadan, Nigeria
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-94502-6_14
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M. T. Oladejo
Most research on African women centred on their roles in challeng-

ing patriarchy and its constraints on the development of women, mostly
in the nineteenth and twentieth century.1 Studies on African women
have revolved around the question: what constitutes women’s power?
When do women really exercise their power? And to what extent has
the powers of women reflected in the scholarly writings and documen-
tation on African women? The challenges are profound as few women
have been involved in the academia from the 1950s. The exceptions of
Bolanle Awe, Nina Mba and others organised conferences and evolved
a documentation plan through Women Research and Documentation
Centre (WORDOC) who shaped analytics on the discourse on Africa’s
women experiences that define and make gender studies in history vital.
Being a female researcher, I found sources vital in the writing of his-
tory and what comprises the sources and how it is deployed remains the
work of a professional historian. The scholarly interrogation of ‘why,
what, and how’ in historical writing entails a thematic, contextual and
narrative that transcends various disciplines. Unravelling the depth of
women’s participation in public space in Africa entails objectivity and
multidisciplinary application in the writing method.
Engagement with the markets, older market women, politicians and
development actors to study women elicited different experiences for
me as the researcher. Their responses shaped the methodologies and
ultimately, the historiography. The responses also implied the relevance
of oral interview to historical research in African women studies. The
historicity examined here encompasses the multiple trends of pre-colo-
nialism, colonialism, post colonialism and decolonisation. Furthermore,
the themes and context of African market women’s power and leader-
ship was a function of colonialism and urbanisation. Patriarchy and
gender discrimination possess the dynamics that affect women’s par-
ticipation. This work flattens the diversity of constraints and upholds
the articulation of market women as a vital standpoint in reconstruct-
ing the status of women in African societies. Invariably, I attempted
to interrogate the fact that bravery and determination are subjects of
power in the theme of market women’s activities in public sphere
because they are outspoken and ready to dialogue even though they are
not literate. The development of knowledge on African market women
14 Historiography of African Market Women
279
admits African historicity and thus, the relevance of literature, that is,
books and journals, are analysed considering the sources and perspec-
tives of writing and specifically, its impact on historical explanation.
Writing by African scholars has shown that African women and par-
ticularly market women in West Africa have considerable power.
Experiences as a Female Historian

The narrative of a female historian researching Africa can be understood
from the realities of African experiences in world history. The motives of
research are to construct an African identity of a woman. Women’s stud-
ies in Yorubaland are a novel aspect of historical research and as a histo-
rian it constantly recurs new paradigms of understanding class, identity
and power in African societies. As scholarly writing of African history
started in the 1950s (Ade-Ajayi 1991), research on women’s history
revolves around the conceptualisation of experiences and encounters in
the pre-colonial, colonial, and post-colonial era.
In the colonial era, little documentation existed on African history
beyond the writings of European explorers and missionaries. Of these
writings, it would have been bogus or scholarship extraordinaire to
expect studies on women and gender in historical perspective. The writ-
ings offered by Europeans only gave an eye witness account of events
during their stay. Within Africans, oral histories were documented
through everyday enactments, which obviously made the past recur
(Fage 1956). Hidden, or latent, myths, legend, folklore, songs, poem
and others embedded a sense of history as it were in African societies.
For this, African historians such as K. Onwuka Dike organised the
writings of African history. He called off the academic bluffs of foreign
scholars to write based on oral and indigenous sources resulting in Trade
and Politics in Niger Delta 1830–1855 (Dike 1956). The landmark suc-
cess made by Dike and also Professor J. F. Ade Ajayi (ISH), emerged
with various strategies to decolonise African historiography. Professor
Ade Ajayi’s efforts led to the establishment of Historical Society of
Nigeria (HSN) in 1955 and the publishing plan which metamorphosed
into the Journal of Historical Society of Nigeria. The duo of J. F. Ade Ajayi
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M. T. Oladejo
and K. Onwuka Dike instituted plans and programmes to promote

African history. The latter was involved in the formation of the West
Africa Institute for Social and Economic Research and the Nigerian
National Archives, Ibadan. Specifically, the establishment of the archives
proves the centrality of documentation in historical research.
As a graduate student of history, my first encounter with viable his-
torical writings was A Thousand Years of West African History edited
by Ade Ajayi and Espie (1966). This book made me realise the vast
and versatile nature of history. Professor J. F. Ade Ajayi’s historiogra-
phy class, coded HIS 701, is compulsory for all graduate students in
ISH. Being the only female in the class, I had mixed feelings about my
opportunities to pursue research and felt academic loneliness in the
midst of male colleagues. From the 1950s, the need for more women to
engage in women and gender studies was obviously imperative. Other
fields such as in politics, economic and social histories tended to inter-
est male colleagues. The course Women in Development (HIS 704) was
taught by a male lecturer, Professor Samuel Ademola Ajayi. HIS 704
prepared our minds to question the roles, authority, power and power-
lessness of African women. Studying women was mostly mainstreamed
and a sense of gender bias depicted stereotypes as most men do not
bother to engage in women studies and do not want female historians
to deal with other themes of research.
Another required course was the ‘Seminar in African History’ (HIS
789) where I presented my seminar on the status of ‘Women in Pre-
colonial Nigerian Societies’. Here the crux of my discourse centred
on issues of political economic power possessed by women. Then,
Dr. Onyekpe from Department of History and Strategic Studies,
University of Lagos, on sabbatical as a visiting professor in Ibadan, lis-
tened to our presentations and constantly nodded to the facts presented
in HIS 789. The implication of being the only female graduate suf-
ficed to affirm that few women are interested in humanities research.
Often, stereotypic nature of perceptions on women’s education affects
enrolment or interest in certain disciplines except in professions such
as teaching and nursing where women are dominant. The challenges
prompted me to develop ‘Women’s Education in Postcolonial Nigeria
281
since 1960s’ (Oladejo 2017), to explain the extent of stereotypes that

have conditioned education for women in Africa.
Encounter with Professor Bolanle Awe
Professor Bolanle Awe was the foremost female historian who worked
in University of Ibadan in the 1960s before she moved to University
of Lagos. She instituted the formation of WORDOC. WORDOC
received the support of male and female faculties at the University of
Ibadan. A former Deputy Vice Chancellor of University of Ibadan,
Professor Bade Onimode stated that:
It is not out of our creativity or our cleverness that we wanted the

Women’s Studies. We were doing it to support WORDOC and to give
recognition to what we saw as a good programme, particularly after we
visited India and we went to the University of Chandiga. The wom-
en’s studies programme at the University of Chandiga is as large as our
Faculty of Social Sciences. It had everything and we convinced ourselves
that if India could do it, Ibadan could do it even better. In that sense, we
were building up WORDOC. (Onimode 1999, p. 27)
Within the University of Ibadan Campus, WORDOC strategically

prescribes the direction of research in women and gender studies.
Often, there may be criticism that WORDOC projects feminism but it
is equally important to understand the marginalisation of women which
necessitates equity and justice. Thus, the establishment of WORDOC
was part of a process to ensure equity. Professor Bolanle Awe noted:
… to be able to provide the best solution to alleviating the deplorable

situation of Nigerian women, we must address specifically the Nigerian
situation. This is where a Documentation Centre becomes significant.
It helps to put data together. Accurate and up-to-date data is essen-
tial if women and the society at large are to know the needs of Nigerian
women. Data gathering is important not so much for itself, as for the
information it gives. It is not enough to talk about the marginalization
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M. T. Oladejo
of women. We must be able to show evidence of it in concrete terms to

demonstrate that there is a problem. (Awe 1999, p. 43)
Professor Awe’s conception of WORDOC was a veritable research

point for students of women and gender. In the course of research
conducted on textile trade, the WORDOC library was very useful for
data collection. Professor Awe’s edited collection Nigerian Women in
Historical Perspective (Awe 1992) provided a template to trajectories of
research in women’s studies. The book was useful in determining style
and structure to deploy in historiography.
Being an activist of women’s rights, Professor Awe was engaged in
community service by governance of education and trade in the west-
ern region of Nigeria in the 1970s.2 Initially, her work rarely com-
missioned on women issues, but by recourse to the academia in the
1980s, she realised the necessity. In her home at Bodija in Ibadan
city, she analysed the role she played leadership and administration of
National Commission on Women (NCW). Specifically, the vision of
NCW recognised the role of market women, hence its campaign for
women’s empowerment was anchored on the interest of women in
the markets. As a researcher in women’s studies, interviews conducted
with Professor Awe in her residence described market women in Africa
a staunch participant in the development process, whose patriotic and
nationalistic tendencies could not be overlooked. She encouraged me to
take up elaborate research in women’s studies.
Writing Market Women into History
Writings on market women and business networks in Western Nigeria

are symbolic and a representation of what constitutes an order of rev-
olution. Therefore, Scott argues that ‘radical potential of women’s his-
tory comes in the writing of histories that focus on women’s experiences
and analyse the ways in which politics construct gender and gender con-
structs politics’ (Scott 1988, p. 27, emphasis in original).
The task of a female historian writing women into history in
Africa is to provide alternatives to masculine-centred writings that
283
dominated the knowledge repositories. Thus, destroying the myth of a

masculine-centred system, also involves proper security of sources and
methodology which led Bolanle Awe’s to state that:
the reconstruction of the African past with the attendant problems of

writing the history of non-literate peoples posed for them a particular
challenge. For this purpose, many African states, on becoming independ-
ent, established institutes and centres of African Studies which adopted
a multidisciplinary approach to the study of African history and culture.
(Awe 1991, p. 211)
Historical writing on women in Nigeria survived in the multidiscipli-

nary structures described by Bolanle Awe. Therefore, writing women’s
history in Nigeria could not survive in main stream history depart-
ments of Nigerian universities because most male scholars believed it is
not a relevant branch of history worth researching; political and eco-
nomic history were considered worthier of study. However, my inter-
est in women’s studies research in a mainstream history department was
based on global significance and local relevance of research on gender
and women.
The historiography of African market women as it evolved from my
research from a mainstream history department indicated a change in
perception of male historians. The challenges of women’s studies in his-
tory departments were identified in 1986 at the congress of HSN. At
the Congress, Nina Mba’s paper titled: ‘The Introduction of Courses
on African Women’s History into History Departments of Nigerian
Universities: A Proposal’ the presentation made a case for teaching and
researching women’s history. Subsequently, by 1988, panel on Women’s
History was set up at HSN Conference to create networks and collabo-
ration for teaching and researching Women’s History (Awe 1991).
Mentorship Experiences
Being mentored by men became vital and pivotal to my understanding

of historical research within ISH. My Masters Thesis advisor suggested
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M. T. Oladejo
topics on market women which led to the title ‘History of Textile Trade
in Ibadan’. In the search for a viable topic, he gave me two books to
read—African Women: A Modern History and Courtyards, Markets and City
Streets (Vidrovitch 1998; Sheldon 1997). These books—by non-African
female historians—gave insights into the paradigms of research in African
women’s studies. My choice of research into textile trade in Ibadan
exposed the lacuna to study market women. Previously, scholarly works
on African women objectively considered market women as an economic
group to reckon within the pre-colonial era and this reflected also in the
colonial and post-colonial era (Genova 2002; Falola 1984, 1995).
In the research on textile trade in Ibadan, it was discovered that
market women of the 1930s had encounters with Lebanese male mer-
chants at Old Gbagi market. This led to a series of research articles. At
the International Conference on Inter Group Relations since 1960,3 I
presented a paper called ‘Market Women and Inter Group Relations
in Ibadan since 1960’ which later became a chapter in an edited vol-
ume (Oladejo 2012b). Furthermore, the historical writing on market
women was expanded and it became visible at the Joint International
Conference on Migration, Globalisation, Citizenship and Identity.4 My
historiography of market women was presented on ‘International Trade
and Women Merchants at Gbagi Textile Market, Ibadan’. This presenta-
tion defined my academic scholarship to focus on women’s studies as
suggestions and criticisms offered shaped my initiatives in the craft of
historical writing (Kareem-Ojo 2008).
Mentorship by men improved my research experiences and writing
style through encounters with Professor Olutayo Charles Adesina who
supervised my doctoral thesis through the ISH. As an economic histo-
rian who bombarded us with questions and discourses on development
and African economic history, he affirmed for me that research in his-
tory is not gender-biased and no format of writing is gender exclusive.
Archival and Library Encounters
Of all disciplines in the humanities in Nigeria, historians are the most

conversant with Nigerian National Archives of Ibadan, Enugu and
285
Kaduna. Files on market women in Yorubaland featured prominently

from the 1910s.5 As it is rare for women to pursue historical studies
beyond graduate level, constant visit to the archives made me appear
a ‘loner’ to the archivists in the search and request for files, beyond the
purview of women and gender studies. One staff member commented
in Yoruba that: ‘Eyin ni obinrin ti ma koko ri ti o ma n wa si ibi yii ni
gbogbo igba wa search ’ or ‘You are the first woman, I will encounter that
is very constant in archival search’. This statement suggested that few
women took an interest in archival search. In 1986, Nina Mba6 pre-
sented a paper at the Conference of HSN titled ‘The Introduction of
Courses on African Women’s History into History Departments of
Nigerian Universities: A Proposal’. This paper set the agenda for teach-
ing and researching women’s history. Invariably, my lived experience
of uncommonness of female researchers on women at the archives was
based on the research gap Nina Mba had discovered in the 1980s. In
furtherance of the agenda on teaching and researching women’s history,
she advocated for a panel on women’s history in 1988 conference of
HSN to create a platform to understand the pattern of interpretation
and for an effective network of scholars.7
Having read through some of these papers at the WORDOC Library,
my search in the Archives focused on files pertaining to women. In a
broad range, I discovered files related to market women, taxation,
protests, petitions, domesticity, agricultural work, electoral politics
and so on. Earlier scholars on women’s history in Nigeria had already
worked on these themes, but it still featured scholarly areas that could
be revised, re-thought and reiterated in a form of shared legacies, the
archival files on these themes to engage in a form of revisionist his-
tory. When observing the male archivists, and being a female researcher
constantly engaging the archives, I was not initially encouraged.
Subsequently, my constant presence appealed to their sensibility to
offer to help anytime to access files. While I wrote my thesis on Ibadan
Market Women and Politics, 1900–1995, I discovered that the male
archivists were very conversant with the various research themes.8 Given
the dearth of female researchers in historical studies, receiving mentor-
ship from women was rare.
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M. T. Oladejo
One of the foremost Nigerian nationalists and politicians—Chief

Obafemi Awolowo was a focal point in the themes discussed in my the-
sis.9 An educated lawyer, and Premier of Western Region, and a busi-
nessman with a newspaper media, he understood the significance of
documentation and this accounted for the establishment of Sopolu
Library.10 As a researcher, my engagement with Sopolu Library,11 gave
me a personal conviction to call it ‘Sopolu Archives’.
As a female researcher of African history, the search for sources has
been vital, while the creative historical writing is also important. And
thus, to maintain a balance in sourcing and writing, the process of
hunting for sources was an everyday life event that could occur any-
where. This feature of stumbling on sources made me a relatively curi-
ous, anxious and adventurous research fellow. This feature was imbued
in me by one of my Professors at the University of Ibadan during
African Studies 722 (AFS 722)—Oral Tradition and African History
was a minor course for graduate students in history offered at the
Institute of African Studies, University of Ibadan. Professor Olufemi
Olaoba emphasised that historical research should not only mean ques-
tioning details in books but also in events in everyday life.
Just from AFS 722 class, the curiosity brewed a female researcher
who eagerly visited all the libraries to search primary and secondary
sources relevant to my research themes. In a faculty seminar delivered
by Professor Afis Oladosu of the Department of Arabic and Islamic
Studies, which was the first in the series of Academic Seminars of the
Faculty of Arts, University of Ibadan held in 2015, his conception of
‘madness’ was that which academicians would be seen as mad by oth-
ers outside the university campus. One day I bought fried beans cake
from a vendor and spotted a relevant caption on the newspaper on
the package. I told her I needed it and there came the response—Ki le
fi se, se bi newspaper ti won ti ka ni, ko wulo mo or ‘what do you want
to use it for, it has been used and read, it is no more useful’. To the
bean cake seller, I may be seen as a ‘mad’ person because she won-
dered what relevance it is for me, because she uses it as a scrap paper
to sell in her everyday life. On the reverse, I used it as a source in his-
torical writing.
287
Fieldwork in Ibadan Markets

In a multidisciplinary perspective, Professor Olufemi Olaoba published
a canonical work Rural-urban marketing in Yorubaland: Bodija Market
in Ibadan, 1987–1995 (Olaoba 1999) where he deployed, the principles
of history and anthropology. The book became a focal point of research
reasoning that exposed the lacuna in the history of African markets.
This book was a pathway to understanding the typologies of interview-
ing and eliciting information from market women. As a male historian,
he relied on ethnographic research to discern the contemporary social
and gender relations that enabled my understanding of gender dynam-
ics of the market. However, difficulties were encountered in sourc-
ing the desired historical information. Specifically, most of the market
women were born in the 1970s, thus they had little sense of history of
the markets. Their contemporary mindset was of sustainable livelihood
by trade.
Professor Olutayo Adesina insisted that there should be interviews
with old market women. At this point, ‘Professor Olaoba’s research
techniques’ of curiosity became relevant. Also relevant were biogra-
phies of famous market women such as Humani Alade, Humani Alaga
and Humani Apampa who partook in the nationalism and party poli-
tics. These women shaped the events of the colonial and post-colonial
era. Though I did not get their information directly from contempo-
rary Ibadan markets, the location and structure of the old Ibadan mar-
kets lends credence to the historic facts presented in their biographies
(Akinola 2001).
Still, as emphasised in historiography courses, oral interviews are
necessary. There were interviews with market women Chiefs known
as Iyalaje in various markets about their lived experiences for about
three decades, especially in relation to politicians, administrators,
non-governmental organisations and so on. This information gave me
a comparative advantage to study the changing roles of market women
in Nigerian politics, economy and society, though their changing roles
from pre-colonial to colonial times became manifest in the epilogue of
my book (Oladejo 2016a). Dissimilar to other markets in West Africa,
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M. T. Oladejo
Ibadan market women are contemporarily engaged in a form of shared

power structure where market men seemed to be more in control. In
fact, it appeared as a good example of gender equality as there is the
phenomenal gender distinction of Babalaje (male head trader) and
Iyalaje (female head trader). The narratives that formed the life histories
of market women explicitly affirmed this.
Life Histories of Market Women: Two Generations

of Traditional Textile Traders
Field work interviews give the descriptive experiences of the life his-
tories of market women. These interviews reflect the trajectories of
socio-economic features in Nigerian history. I cite some examples from
interviews from 2007 to 2009 during my graduate studies.
Madam Alice Ajibola was one of the earliest traders at Oje market.
As a witness to the merry making night activities along the Ayunre tree
(The tree attracted agglomeration of traders for night markets in the
nineteenth century before it was cut down for urban planning in the
twentieth century. The site of the tree still exists for concentration of
traders as it were). She was an apprentice to her uncle Ayodele Oladeji,
one of the indigenous men that were both traders and weavers of Aso-
oke, in 1950s.
Madam Olufunke Bolarinwa joined her mother at her teens
(Madam Alice) in the 1960s, precisely 1965. This was at a time when
scores of men from Iseyin and Ilorin joined on market days to sell Aso-
oke. She described the presence of men as very germane to supply of
Aso-oke and development of the market because they initiated the exten-
sion of their stay beyond market days in the 1970s. The extension of
their stay was born out of the need to consolidate trade relations as pro-
fessional weavers. The consolidation of trade relations made migrants
allotted trade spots (iso ) in front of family compounds (ojude ) to them-
selves and paid a token to the Mogaji (family head), which gradually
made the market a daily market. According to Alhaji Yusuf Sa’ad an
Ilorin migrant, his father was one of the early migrants who supplied
Madam Alice during their life time. According to Madam Olufunke
289
Bolarinwa, her mother hawked in the 1960s as far as Ife, Akure and
Ekiti. She specialised in the sale of Sanyan because it was the most
widely accepted for marriage ceremonies.
Madam Olufunke Bolarinwa started as an apprentice to her mother.
Then, there were no extra-lineage trade apprentice so as the eldest
daughter, she hawked around Dugbe and Ogunpa (old Gbagi market)
within Ibadan. They also moved to sell on market days at Ife and other
parts in eastern Yorubaland. She observed that they had to migrate
to those places because the effect of western civilisation was not pro-
nounced as it was in Ibadan and Lagos. Therefore, there was demand
for traditional textiles in those areas. In addition to their early exploits
was the use of village exploits (oja oko ). To establish their presence, they
contact the Baale/Bale depending on the size of the village. To entice the
village head, they present one of Alaari or Sanyan to the village head.
The implication of this was that the head would bless their presence and
make the necessary arrangements for their spots at the market.
Given the nature and structure which gained prominence in the
1980s as a daily day market, there came series of relationships. These
relationships by the nature of men might be cordial or stale; it depends
on the context of relations. It is a characteristic feature of markets to
be engrossed with one form of supportive relations, social conflicts or
problems of security. In a way, the success Ibadan has recorded in all
spheres of growth and development would not have made forces of sub-
jugation or destabilisation indispensable at one time or the other. The
social background of Ibadan as described by Olaoba from the point of
transformation to an industrial city has made it a centre of ‘peace and
conflicts’ anchored with business transactions.
Since 1987 the words ‘peace and conflicts’ were part of the roles:
Madam Alice Ajibola played in the development of the market as
the market head (Iyaloja ). Much as the nature of trade is largely inter-
twined with production that is weaving of Aso-oke; most of the conflicts
as narrated by Madam Olufunke Bolarinwa ensued from the relations
between the traders and weavers. About two decades ago when the tra-
ditional patterns were solely in vogue, it was competitive because the
weavers were in the habit of leaking secrets of patterns entrusted to
other traders. At the market it creates rancour, usually a trader dictated
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M. T. Oladejo
a pattern and expects the weaver to keep it a secret until it is produced

and delivered, so that the trader possesses the monopoly to such pat-
terns. The implication of this was that such traders stand the chance of
more profitable sales than other traders.
The stand point in the roles of the market head was to ensure amica-
ble resolutions. Furthermore, shortage of quantity demanded by trad-
ers for production from weavers and inability of traders to meet up
with the cost of production are the conflict issues she had to contend
with. Part of the successes in the roles played according to her daughter
was the ability to settle conflicts without police intervention or media
broadcast.
Modern Textile Traders
Madam Humani Alaga was one of the women that witnessed the chal-
lenges posed by the presence of Lebanese. After her marriage in 1925,
she started hawking textiles and other goods at the present Old Gbagi
market in Ibadan because she was considered too young to own a shop,
but between 1928 and 1929, she established her shop at number 30,
Lebanon Street, Old Gbagi with the sum of one hundred pounds
(₤100) and became a dealer with big companies such as G. B. Ollivant,
John Holt and United African Company. By 1933, she had become
one of the most successful merchants and employed the services of ten
clerks. In 1934, she was made Iya Egbe Alaso (the leader of textile deal-
ers) in Gbagi Market. She maintained good accounts by employing the
services of a book keeper and a secretary who interpreted for her. With
her new position, she settled disputes on market, land and family mat-
ters relying strictly on her Islamic knowledge of alternative dispute set-
tlement methods.
Market women organised themselves into associations according to
their trade and there were over thirty markets in Ibadan, each with its
own leader. Gbagi being the central market, Alhaja Alaga was the over-
all leader. In 1938, Alhaja Alaga led the Women Cotton Traders Union
in protest against the Lebanese merchants who sold in bulk to women
traders and still sold in retail at reduced prices thereby undercutting the
women traders.
291
In 1953, she led a delegation of the Ibadan African Textiles

Association to Mapo Hall, seat of the municipal government, to protest
against imposition of a street trading ordinance which restricted trading
activities to a distance of fifty feet from the road. After keeping with
the order, the police were reported to have continued incessant arrest
of the traders. In 1964, she led the market women to protest the move-
ment of the market to a new site. They matched barefooted and without
their head ties to Olubadan Yesufu Kobiowu’s palace and gave a three-
day ultimatum to change the decision. Though they succeeded in their
request because the market site was not moved until 1990, it is likely
the Omiyale flood disaster would not have occurred if the market had
been changed earlier.
Madam Fatima Muritala started as a house maid to large-scale
women traders at Agbeni and Amunigun who sell imported consumables
such as detergents and beverages. At the beginning she described hawk-
ing beverages to areas around Dugbe, Ogunpa and Sabo as an oppor-
tunity to meet different kinds of people and their methods of trade. It
was in the 1970s that she met the Lebanese and a few Yoruba women
with textiles loaded in big shops. At Dugbe, it was a common place for
young women hawkers to meet each other and discuss personal situa-
tions, most importantly the amount of profits realised and possibilities
of making more sales.
By 1976, she married and stopped trading as there was no capital and
she had to do house chores. After her first child, she resumed her trade
in textiles, learning to be entrepreneurial from co-hawkers. According to
her (Alhaja Fatima), hawking as it is perceived in contemporary times
was the best means for young women of her calibre about thirty years
ago because prices could be excessively inflated and it was a source of
capital. Once the actual price expected to be delivered was intact, the
remaining excess profit was for the hawker. But she described the wide-
spread of western education and urbanisation as developments that have
made hawking repulsive and needless in contemporary times.
The advantages and gains from the 1990s uplifted her to the extent
of being able to attend holy pilgrimage in Makkah on three occasions
in the years 1999, 2001 and 2003. Though she described the 1999 pil-
grimage as the initial one used to observe all the acts, the subsequent
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M. T. Oladejo
pilgrimages were used as an opportunity to purchase laces and jeweller-

ies from Saudi Arabia because strict custom policies were affecting regu-
lar supply for the laces.
Madam Ranti Adedigba, a retired teacher, had no experience of the
nature of trade at the Old Gbagi market nor had trade relations with
the Lebanese. However, her former occupation assisted her as a new
shop owner at the New Gbagi market along with other connections in
the women’s wing of the Muslim Association of Nigeria, who were also
members of Federation of Muslim Women’s Association of Nigeria in
Ibadan. Her entrance into the market could be attached to networking
within socio-religious Muslim women’s organisations (Asalatu groups).
She started by selling gift materials, unbreakable plates, kitchen uten-
sils among others. Her experience in the first three years at the mar-
ket informed her decision to switch to trade in textiles most especially
gele (head tie). Juxtaposing teaching profession and textile trade, she
emphasised that both are important, but textile trade provides the
opportunity to embark on huge investments such as buying of shares,
building houses, unlike in the teaching profession where the salary was
meagre and could hardly provide basic need talking less of investment.
However, problems of inadequate supply of textiles or lack of capital
to replenish stock, meant a trader might be worse off than a salaried
worker. Madam Adedigba opined that for an entrepreneur to succeed in
textile trade, a person must be steadfast and prayerful.
Given the roles market women played in the administration of the
markets and other activities of goodwill, it is apt to uphold that before
the 1990s, gender dynamics of power in the market favoured women
more than men. However, as a female historian and researcher, I dis-
covered that the differences in time and generations of market women
accounted for the power shift to allow men in market administration.
Also, the interpretations of religion as in Islam and Christianity have
affected the way of life of women in the markets and retail spaces such
that authority defers to men in public engagement. This is unlike the
market queens of Ghana who firmly order the directions of market–
society relations.
The historical approach in studying and writing about market
women exposed the dynamics of power. During fieldwork, it became
293
evident that though women dominate the markets, they preferred to

place authorities in the hands of a few men in the markets. I realised
that contemporary gender relations in the market rendered women
powerless. Despite being female, market women were not willing to
grant interviews directly, unless on the authority of male administra-
tors in the markets. These observations are buttressed by the work of
Robertson (1984) on women traders in Accra.
These experiences as observed through historical analysis remain
evident in contemporary times. The market women fail to recognise a
female gender rather; they prefer the authority of their male counter-
parts. The dynamics portends for a female researcher that masculinisa-
tion of market space brewed from 1990s and it overrides the radicalism
expressed by market women in the 1950s. On the other hand, history
departments of Nigerian universities domicile the studies of women to
female researchers and attempt to discourage female researchers to study
other fields of history based on arguments of incompetence.
Most gender historians concentrate on women; thus I agree with
Miescher (2007, p. 255) that:
In order to understand more fully the complex dialectic between gender

and historical transformations, scholars need to expand their focus: they
must unpack the multiple constructions of masculinity, look at the diver-
sity among men, and recognize men as gendered social actors too.
Writing for Women’s Empowerment

Invariably, it is expected that a historian writes to analyse the past as
it were and is not expected to make recommendations. However, my
career as a female researcher in African history with the specificity in
women’s studies necessitated a wide horizon to understand women
beyond the confines of historical research. Writings on issues related
to women’s empowerment by a focus on education were explored.
According to Human Development Index (HDI), education remains
pivotal to empowerment. Bearing the fact that my first university
degree was a combined Honour of Arts and Education, it was desirable
294
M. T. Oladejo
to adopt advocacy by writing (ABW). My passion for ABW led me to

examine the status of women’s education in Saudi Arabia, Nigeria and
Pakistan (Oladejo 2012a) and then a history of vocational education in
Western Nigeria of the colonial era (Oladejo and Suberu 2016).
Western education was an import of colonialism and that of mis-
sionary enterprise in Nigeria but it is a means of empowerment for all,
irrespective of religious affiliation. While Islam has its own brand of
education through Arabic Language medium, the variety was just the
adoption of English Language in the projection of Western education.
Hence, Muslims adopted western education by virtue of colonial expe-
riences. In northern Nigeria, female education was usually not taken as
important as that for males. Islamic education was undoubtedly wide-
spread, while women attended the Islamiyya schools, there was less
gender disparity, but, there was discrimination in female enrolment in
formal schools (Oladejo 2016b).
To consolidate my flair for ABW, I explored other research climes
to expand the horizon of women’s development and enrolled in the
Professional Masters of Business Administration (MBA) programme
at Obafemi Awolowo University, Nigeria. My MBA project was also a
form of advocacy, where there was evaluation of the application of ICT
among women entrepreneurs in Ibadan Garment Industry (Oladejo
2015; see also Denzer 1992, 2003).
Conclusion
Efforts to write women’s history as a female historian researching
on women are rarely ordinary. Research supports for writing have
remained a daunting task that an individual female historian must be
obliged to sort out for effective breakthrough. My book Ibadan Market
Women and Politics, 1900–1995 (Oladejo 2016a) examined various
gender dynamics in the relationships between market women and
men. From there, the discussions encompass factors that made or mar
women’s power. The book in itself a form of documentation contrib-
uted to the making of the historiography of market women in Africa.
Various scholars within the humanities, especially anthropologists
295
wrote on market women, but by the interpretive position of ISH, I

studied the market women’s relation with thematic issues in Nigerian
society such as party politics, electoral politics, local governance,
state governance, tax revolts, economic-based protests, petitions and
demonstrations. In a way the encounters of market women in the
aforementioned themes expressed a form of gender relations, because
most of the encounters of market women were with men. And as a
researcher of women, it was imperative to vividly expand my research
into what I term ‘gender dynamics’ and ‘gender dimensions’ in the his-
toriography of women.
Furthermore, future implications for research in women’s studies for
female students ought to be enhanced by collaborative academic net-
works within University of Ibadan. Studying market women is a spe-
cific subject of study; there are other aspects that make it imperative to
encourage female graduate students to take gender-oriented courses in
other departments and institutes of the university. For instance, courses
in gender, feminism, masculinity and development should be enlighten-
ment courses that facilitate research.
Notes
1. Historians of women’s studies aggregated these views in their writings,
See Awe, B. (1977) ‘The Iyalode in the Traditional Yoruba Political
System,’ in A. Schlegel (ed.), Sexual stratification: A Cross-Cultural View,
New Haven; Yale University Press. Denzer, L. (1994) “Yoruba Women:
A Historiographical Study,” The International Journal of African
Historical Studies 27(1), pp. 1–39.
2. Oral interview with Professor Bolanle Awe at her residence, 5 August
2012.
3. Department of History, University of Ibadan in 2006 in honour of
Professor Obaro Ikime at 70.
4. This conference was organised in the triad collaboration of SEPHIS,
Kennesaw State University, USA and the Department of History,
University of Ibadan in November 2007.
5. As at the 1930s, market women specialising in textile trade petitioned
the colonial authorities on the domineering influence of the Lebanese
296
M. T. Oladejo
in Old Gbagi market. Also, Lagos market women mobilised in 1908

against the imposition of water rate.
6. Dr. Nina Mba, now deceased, was from the Department of History,
University of Lagos.
7. Panel on ‘Women and History’ at the 33rd Annual Congress of the
Historical Society of Nigeria, Bayero University Kano, March 28–31,
1998. Six Scholars presented at the panel they were Bolanle Awe;
Nina Mba, LaRay Denzer, Judith Byfield, Adesola Afolabi, G. Thomas
Emeagwali.
8. Mr. Abraham and Mr. Gboyega of the Nigerian National Archives,
Ibadan was very upright in sensitising searchers and his knowledge
made it easier to access pictures of nationalists in the colonial era.
9. Chief Obefemi Awolowo mobilised market women for party politics in
the era of internal self-rule in the 1950s.
10. This Library is located in Chief Obafemi Awolowo’s home town and
residence, Ikenne, Ogun State.
11. In western Nigeria, it has the largest repository of Tribune Newspapers
which covered events of the colonial era.
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15
Women Researching Africa: Linking
Experience to Practice
Max Kelly and Ruth Jackson
This volume asked women who have conducted research in and of

Africa to reflect on how their gender impacted on their research expe-
riences or on how their research impacted on them as a woman. This
chapter explores the cross-cutting themes that have emerged from the
resulting reflections. The topic and its evolution through the process
of pulling together an edited volume have provoked some exceptional
responses. The propensity of a significant number of fieldwork manu-
als to discard the gender of the researcher as a required comment in an
overall review of researcher positionality, or the focus of a risk-based dis-
course, in terms of safety in the field, or even as a potential benefit in
regards to access to research spaces that may exclude men, does little
to further a discourse around field research that seeks to move beyond
the objectivity of a positivist heritage. This volume seeks to challenge
M. Kelly (*) · R. Jackson 
R. Jackson
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-94502-6_15
300
M. Kelly and R. Jackson
the conceptualisation of a researcher as ‘Anyman’ (Gurney 1985), and to

provide a gendered lens on researching.
What has emerged is a critically reflexive collection of stories demon-
strating significant engagement with power, representation, patriar-
chy, identity and politics, decoloniality, culture, anthropology, and
feminism, among other themes, from the perspective of the research
conducted. The volume has also provided the space to reflect on the
relationship with those with whom we research, the participants,
co-researchers, subjects of research, and issues around ethical engage-
ment, with relationships, trust, reciprocity, friendship and distance. As
writers, researchers, students or professionals who live in, or who have
travelled to Africa to conduct research, our focus is often on the outputs
of our research—essays, academic papers, Ph.D. theses, reports, occa-
sional media pieces, books or edited collections—with very little oppor-
tunity to go outside disciplinary boundaries. The opportunity to do so
provides a window into an area that is often overlooked, asking whether
and how our gender impacts our research, and how our research as
women impacts us.
Firstly, this chapter reflects on the overall topic area of women
researching in Africa, and then considers the three main themes of the
book: gender and identity as a female researcher in Africa; relationships
with ‘others’; and methodological challenges for female researchers in
Africa. It concludes with the key findings, and questions raised in delv-
ing into the gender of the researcher as an essential aspect of researching
in Africa.
This book is neither about research on women nor is it about gen-
dered relationships. It is made up of stories of research by women
who consider the gender of the researcher in Africa. We argue that the
gender of the researcher is not a neutral construct as the socially con-
structed roles, behaviours, activities and attributes for women and men
in any society are never absent—and that the term ‘gender, rather than
sex, signals an awareness of the cultural and geographic specificity of
gender identities, roles and relations’ (Reeves and Baden 2000, p. 30).
We recognise that gender inequality is the outcome of social processes
that can be challenged rather than a biological given. Gender sensitive
research acknowledges that women’s access to power and control of
15 Women Researching Africa: Linking Experience to Practice
301
resources can greatly influence the views of females and males under-
taking the research as well as the research participants. This means that
in addition to ethical concerns, the gendered position of the researcher
influences how research is designed, conducted, analysed and reported.
Additionally, researchers considering gender ask questions such as:
‘What works, for whom, in what circumstances, and why?’ (Pawson
2013, p. 15).
Reflexivity, or an emergence of a self-consciousness regarding ‘self
and other’ in the last 25 years of last century (and now in the present
century), has ‘altered the way anthropologists and sociologists write
ethnography and deal with data and representations of others’, so it is
now impossible to ‘produce texts without considering the relation of
authors to their subjects’ (Armstrong 2008). Following Letherby et al.
(2013, p. 81), we suggest that the significance of researcher involvement
should always be considered—to inform us about how we are ‘posi-
tioned in relation to the research process, not least with reference to the
choice and design of the research fieldwork and analysis, editorship and
presentation’.
Negotiating researcher identity effectively starts prior to enter-
ing ‘the field’ when the researcher is formulating their theoretical and
methodological knowledge. However, the concept of ‘becoming’ a
researcher, or constructing a researcher identity, suggests transforma-
tion and ‘a becoming other than what one is already’ (Barnacle and
Dall’Alba 2014)—in this case, a woman doing research in Africa. This
notion—‘becoming ’ a researcher (Giampapa 2011; Lee and Roth 2003;
Mertkan and Bayrakli 2018; Yates 2012)—or being a researcher—
impacts the research as
the worldview and background of the researcher affects the way in which
he or she constructs the world, uses language, poses questions, and
chooses the lens for filtering the information gathered from participants
and making meaning of it, and thus may shape the findings and conclu-
sions of the study. (Berger 2015, p. 220)
Further, researcher identity is not just about learning research tech-

niques; researcher identity is contextualised and ‘embedded in the
302
social…we must always take into account where learning is taking

place, and its role in the on-going means of social production and
reproduction in that particular time and place’ (Lee and Roth 2003).
Characteristics such as gender, race, ethnicity, class, nationality and
achieved characteristics such as education and social position come
into play adding to the complexity of researcher identity. Moreover, the
researcher’s social location in society is reinforced by interacting with
others relative to their position—which differs depending on whether
one is from a subordinate or dominant group (Muhammad et al. 2015).
Research positionality incorporates ideas of power and privilege—
especially for feminist and post-colonial researchers and—‘doing fem-
inist research’ highlights ‘the problems in taking an epistemological
position’ that ‘acknowledges that judgements about [truth and material
reality] are always relative to the context in which such knowledge is
produced’ (Letherby 2002, Section 4.3). While it is important to dif-
ferentiate between ‘descriptive reflexivity’ and ‘analytical reflexivity’:
‘descriptive reflexivity is clearly a description of one’s reflection. Analysis
means breaking something down into its constituent parts or elements
and examining the relationship between them so analytical reflexivity
involves comparison and evaluation’ (Letherby 2002, Section 5.1). So
for the authors in this book—taking gender into account should benefit
from theorising about how the research takes places including the gen-
dered identity of the researcher as an ‘outsider’ or ‘insider’.
There is a substantial literature on ‘gender’ and on women but there
was no expectation in this volume that the authors’ research be on or
about either. Yet, the experience of researching as a woman has con-
siderable impact on how women in research are engaged. For Oladejo,
much of the historical research on African women has centred on
their role in challenging patriarchy and its constraints on the develop-
ment of women, mostly in the nineteenth and twentieth century. And
for Lyons, also in this volume, researching the roles of women in the
anti-colonial liberation struggle and their subsequent experiences in
the post-colonial Africa state (Zimbabwe) in the mid-1990s was also
problematical. Would men have gone to interview women about their
experiences of war? At the time, they did not, and it has only been in
recent years that some male academics included a gendered lens in their
303
examination of war; in Lyons’s research the women represented them-

selves as ‘Guerilla Girls’ and challenged their subordinated status in the
discourse of war.
We recognise that the geographical locus of this volume may cause
concern for some. Africa as a continent is incredibly diverse and any
attempt to essentialise it can be problematic. Yet as a continent there
is some shared sense of identity, but also a shared sense of colonisa-
tion, of injustice, of representation and misrepresentation. Much of this
was driven by a western research tradition emanating from outside the
continent, and frequently a male-dominated endeavour. Researchers,
anthropologists, international development practitioners, historians,
political scientists and many more seeking to understand the human
condition have used the metaphor of Africa as the ‘Dark Continent’
thus continually ‘(re)making and representing the continent as Other’
(Jarosz 1992, p. 105). In some ways there has been a revolution in
research and knowledge, with decolonising discourses, and an explo-
sion in research from within the many academic institutions across the
continent, as well as Diaspora researchers across the globe. There have
been significant advances in research methodologies that focus on eth-
ical research, on research that is not extractive in nature, that creates
shared value, and considers at all stages of the research the impact on
those who are the focus of the research. However, what is missing from
any advances is the impact of gender of the researcher, on the research,
on the researched, and in particular the voices of women. This volume
seeks to explore the experiences of women researching Africa, from
within, from without, and all points in between. In Chapter 9, Murrey
asks that we consider not so much ‘women researching in Africa’, but as
part of a broader project of ‘women doing research differently’. This is a
challenge that we hope to contribute in part to.
Research is a fundamentally political process. How research is con-
ceptualised, designed and how data is collected is inherently under-
pinned by power. The hegemony of western methodologies, and
knowledge imbued with western academic discourse and associated
power relations in terms of voice, of representation and of power
has been a core focus of this volume. All the contributors have grap-
pled with the weight of responsibility associated with researching
304
others, from the postmodern turn and crisis of representation touched

on by Amman to the growing body of indigenous works which
challenge western hegemony in research (see Hirsch and Dieng’s contri-
butions, for example). The history of research across Africa is framed by
a colonial and imperial past and its contemporary reenactment.
There are diverse approaches to methodological concerns. van den
Boogaards research utilised positivist and interpretivist methodological
frames. In this volume, she highlights the need for reflexivity, embrac-
ing the situated knowledge, and the primacy of positionality, both our
own, and that of the researched. The anthropological and ethnographic
research of Botta Somparé and Vitale, and Woods, also in this volume,
extends the discourse on the ethics of engagement, issues of privilege,
access and relationships. Feminist research and feminist fieldwork fea-
ture, with Lyons questioning whether any woman researching in or on
Africa can challenge dominant colonial and post-colonial discourse.
Murrey, embracing feminist political geography, challenges the very
notion of the discrepancy between the field and home. This theme is
further unpacked by Dieng who returns ‘home’ to do fieldwork as a
diasporic researcher. Disruptions to the very notion of research embod-
ied in these contributions sit at the heart of discourse on research in, on,
or of Africa. This predicts the decolonial discourse and methodologies
of Hirsch, Dieng, and Murrey, providing a much-needed engagement
between gendered research and decolonial approaches, which Hirsch
argues is still predominantly driven by the image of the neutral male
researcher.
As Woods notes, there is a need to acknowledge the gendered iden-
tity, which is primarily individual while being embedded in power
relations and principles of the external setting. Dieng (this volume)
challenges decolonial and feminist research, aiming to unveil the gen-
der of power. Her methodology sought a middle ground that was
decolonial enough, bridging a complex position between insider and
outsider, between being local, and being a feminist scholar living in
the UK. Atobrah’s ethnographic study on family care for patients
diagnosed with cancer and other chronic non-communicable diseases
gave her unique opportunities to do ethnographic field research and
to consider the theoretical controversies and debates raised about the
305
compatibility between ethnography and feminist research—mostly by

those in the global north ‘with hasty generalisations of feminist research
tenets across time and space (Chapter 4). African realities and the expe-
riences of female researchers in Africa do not seem to be captured in
this debate, hence the relevance of this book. For Atobrah, gender
stereotypes favour women and being an indigene and a female gave
her ‘increased access to the lived experiences of participants, but also
required a particular kind of participation in the lives of participants,
an expectation which would not be made of my male colleagues’. As a
feminist female researcher trying to manage gender expectations and to
fulfil feminist research ethics, she found that the ethical requirements
of patient-centred methods mediated and worked to dismantle hierar-
chies in the research process and any possible exploitations of patients
in the ethnographic process. However, she also found the process physi-
cally and emotionally draining: ‘I got emotionally involved in the pain,
fears, deterioration and helplessness. I must have been too empathetic
and immersed in the issues of respondents to their comfort albeit at my
own expense’.
Social interactions as the basis of research and how we manage these
is central to the outcome, both for the researcher and researched. The
methods chosen for research were primarily qualitative, with van den
Boogaard employing some positivist approaches. The empathetic coop-
eration of Lyons, Jacksons’ walking, van den Boogaard’s interviews,
Hirsch’s partial immersion, Woods ethnography, Kelly’s participatory
research, among others all require the establishment of some kind of
relationship, one of trust, or reciprocity, or interest, or benefit.
Access to participants in some cases highlighted highly gendered
and patriarchal space. This is even beyond the patriarchy embedded
in entering the research space as an academic, as Oladejo (this vol-
ume) struggles with and then draws on, by expanding her interests
to undertake a Professional Master of Business Administration; she
argues strongly that writing for women’s empowerment has expanded
her research on the historiography of women. Networks, contacts, and
family connections were frequently of use in negotiating access, as was
association with more powerful or respected members of the commu-
nity. However, not all associations were positive, requiring caution in
306
engagement, with Dieng confronting attempted control over research

by company representatives who had a vested interest in the research.
Being able to withstand pressures from stakeholders, and others with a
vested interest, particularly in political or other sensitive topics, is chal-
lenged by the holding of existing networks and relationship. The role of
men in field access was highlighted by researchers, both diasporic and
national. van den Boogard notes her frustration at having to have male
research partners to access interviewees, noting the complex interac-
tion of age, ethnicity, nationality and other factors with gender. Hirsch
notes the challenges of researching as a young single black woman,
without family connections, and the lack of privilege associated with
either whiteness or male relatives, researching in Zambia. Dieng retro-
spectively appreciated the impact that meeting a gatekeeper for the first
time in the company of her husband bestowed a sense of respectabil-
ity. Somparé (in Botta and Somparé, this volume) was the wife to be
of a local highly respected family, and this contributed to a privileged
social position, despite initial perceptions being tainted by association
of foreigners with development and humanitarian work. Amman identi-
fies the relational aspect of being a woman in the field, remarking upon
efforts, while living with a local family to be a ‘good’ daughter, in the
collaboration with research assistants striving to be a ‘good’ sister and
research partner, and during interactions with men aiming at not being
perceived as a ‘sex object’.
Humility as a researcher embodies much of the discourse around
decolonial methodology. Yet there are limitations to this. Hirsch notes
that humility is less expected of men than women. The role of insid-
er/outsider research (as unpacked by Smith 2012) identifies a need to
have authority as a researcher, to say no. Yet, as Hirsch found, humil-
ity can reduce distance with research participants and others in the field
leading to unwanted sexualisation. Authority is at odds with decol-
onising research. The complex factors that underpin our perception
and access to the field are undeniably gendered, in a complex dance
with ethnicity, age and cultural norms and expectations of the field.
The role of a woman in research is fluid and is often represented as
occupying a kind of third space between male and female to be a mem-
ber of a ‘third gender’ or ‘third sex’ (Schwedler 2006). Being a woman
307
can allow greater access to parts of a society that would be tradition-

ally more difficult to a male to access, giving a more complete vantage
point. This is a reference frequently made in relation to the gender of
the researcher. Yet at the same time as Botta and Somparé note, some-
times being a foreigner can seem more important than being a woman;
enabling them ‘to trespass at least some gender-related social barriers.
In fact, as women and researchers, we could access spaces generally
regarded as exclusively masculine or feminine’. Although access to tra-
ditionally male spaces is possible for some, this is not necessarily a priv-
ilege accorded all women equally. Both Dieng and Hirsch (this volume)
make explicit reference to the more complex space inhabited by dias-
poric female researchers, where even being foreign but without the priv-
ilege of either whiteness or maleness meant they occupied a significantly
different space.
How one behaves and is perceived can also be strongly influenced by
a combination of gender, age, and colour among other aspects of one’s
positionality. Dieng felt pressured to use the anthropological technique
of partial immersion to conform to some patriarchal norms and dress
codes, and even having to rely on a male introduction to access par-
ticipants (as noted above). Hirsch, working in Zambia, a country with
which she had no family and therefore no male relatives to protect her
reputation, had to navigate being defined more as daughter, wife and
mother, than as a feminist and a researcher.
In recognising the differential privileges accorded researchers based
on aspects of our identities, particularly gender and colour, this must
provide a point of active reflection. Additionally, while preparing for the
field, one cannot expect that as a female researcher one will always be
neutral, or an invisible researcher, the ‘Anyman’ frequently assumed, or
that access to women will be easy as a woman. Generalisations made
are often more problematic than not, as they tend to leave assumptions
embedded in the research design. It is these very assumptions that we
need to challenge.
The link between the researcher and the research is unsurprisingly
highlighted as fluid, essential, and frequently fraught with ethical and
practical questions. Dieng (this volume) highlights the feeling of being
on a stage, when out in the ‘field’, and draws on Goffman’s (1959)
308
dramaturgical metaphor to express a desire to go ‘backstage’ with par-

ticipants, through total immersion, or participatory research. The desire
to move beyond initial performance, closer to participants, is a desire to
reposition the researcher, to build a non-exploitative relationship.
Familiarity, or closeness with people in the field is pursued by many
authors in this volume. Yet at the same time, this increased familiarity
can lead to the abuse of patriarchal power and create vulnerabilities for
the researcher (Hirsch). Building relationships and trust is essential, yet
there can be tension created by high levels of familiarity. Reciprocity
caused some dissent, with some of the contributors noting the inter-
actions of ethics of research, and the frequent identification of reward
for participation in research being problematic, yet the individual chal-
lenges that researchers felt in wanting to acknowledge contributions to
research through various mechanisms. Both McBrien and Lyons utilised
books and sources of knowledge as well as research findings distributed
to participants. In McBrien’s case, the participants became co-research-
ers in contributing their stories to a published volume, not as repre-
sented by McBrien, but in their own words.
Conclusions
Being a ‘female researcher in Africa’ is different from just being a
‘researcher in Africa’. While being ‘female’ raises questions of gen-
der and identity, relationships with ‘others’, and methodological chal-
lenges for us as women, these themes in turn point to other issues for
researchers in Africa (and elsewhere): for example, race, methodological
approaches, access to resources to do research, audience and publication
and so on. As researchers we have a responsibility to
carefully consider and share how the research we conduct—from data

collection through analysis and write up—is imbued with complex
power relations, and has the potential to reinforce, leave untouched, or
positively transform inequities in the short or longer term…We have
responsibility to document and develop platforms and to encourage
methodological rigour and share the ethical dimensions and dilemmas
encountered in our work. (Theobald et al. 2017, p. v3)
309
The methodological challenges for female researchers in Africa (or

anywhere for that matter), can be different than for men. In critically
reflecting on the researcher as a part of the research we argue it is essen-
tial to revisit the assumptions of a white male researcher (Okley and
Callaway 1992). Women may have to contend with unwanted sexual
advances or men not taking them seriously because of their gender.
Diverse aspects of positionality influence our relationships with par-
ticipants and others in the field, including gatekeepers. Perhaps one
challenge is to decide whether to acknowledge this in our research and
whether to write about it or not.
Alternatively, we might choose to accept this as Murrey does in
Chapter 9, arguing that the ‘possibilities, challenges and tensions of
woman-researchers in Africa’ draw further attention not only to ‘race
in research in Africa as part of a larger project of women doing research
differently ’, but also when considering our ‘home’ audiences. And as
‘women researching [in] Africa’, are ‘we doing more than research(ing)?’
As women researching Africa, who is our intended audience? African
or non-African? As Murrey states, our research should not avoid ‘the
messy, tense, noise, and/or polemic confrontations with the herit-
age and on-going realities of coloniality in contemporary life’. Perhaps
as women we can do research better by critically reflecting on gender
as a researcher, and perhaps we should also do research differently by
breaking away from the colonial knowledge frames which traditionally
enforce gender anonymity.
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the Individual Interacts with the Contextual Power Dynamics. Higher
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Muhammad, M., N. Wallerstein, A. Sussman, M. Avila, L. Belone, and
B. Duran. 2015. Reflections on Researcher Identity and Power: The Impact
of Positionality on Community Based Participatory Research (CBPR)
Processes and Outcomes. Critical Sociology 41 (7–8): 1045–1063.
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Index
A age 8, 9, 32, 52, 57, 60, 62, 64, 95,

access/gaining access 3, 6, 8, 9, 14, 101, 102, 106, 136, 141, 146,
16, 19, 28, 33, 38, 52, 62–64, 147, 153, 154, 158, 159, 161,
87, 95, 96, 113, 119, 121, 162, 167, 219, 220, 225–227,
139, 142, 155, 158, 163, 166, 229, 249, 258, 259, 261, 263,
187, 219, 221–223, 229, 237, 270, 306, 307
245, 246, 249, 257, 259–264, anthropology 5, 53, 55, 147, 178,
299, 304–308 186, 230, 287, 300
Africa 1, 2, 4–7, 9–12, 15–19, 55, Anyman 52, 300, 307
59, 61, 64, 71, 74, 77, 79,
86, 87, 93–96, 98, 100–103,
105–107, 109, 111–113, 116, B
120–123, 132, 139, 155, 168, black 9, 93, 94, 96, 100, 102, 103,
171–180, 182–184, 188, 189, 105, 107, 110, 114, 189, 207,
194–197, 200, 201, 205, 209, 306
210, 220, 236, 237, 258, 270,
277–282, 287, 294, 299–305,
308, 309
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2019 313

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-94502-6
314
Index
C ethnicity 8, 52, 57, 64, 88, 94, 102,

child/children 7, 18, 32, 37, 38, 43, 229, 246, 302, 306
44, 53, 56, 62, 63, 70, 75, 77, ethnography/ethnographic studies 8,
79, 80, 84, 139, 146, 156, 15, 53, 54, 70, 72–77, 86, 87,
157, 160, 166, 169, 174, 197, 238–240, 248, 301, 305
198, 200, 205, 206, 208–210,
220, 225, 227, 231, 245–247,
249, 251, 265, 269, 291 F
class 9, 32, 33, 35, 88, 111, 113, female researchers 7, 9, 12, 61, 64,
120, 147, 158, 159, 162, 196, 65, 146, 167, 218, 225, 226,
220, 263, 279, 280, 286, 302 248, 260, 262, 264, 267, 270,
colonial 5, 9, 28, 97, 98, 102, 104– 285, 293, 300, 305, 307, 309
106, 110–112, 116, 120, 122, feminism 6, 72–74, 86, 110, 123,
123, 134, 144, 154, 174–188, 171, 181, 182, 281, 295, 300
199, 277, 279, 280, 284, 287, feminist research 2, 4, 70, 71, 74,
294–296, 302, 304 123, 302, 304, 305
culturally sensitive research 70, 146 field/fieldwork/in the field 2, 6–10,
culture/cultural 10, 32, 34, 70, 13, 14, 19, 30, 31, 33–41, 43,
74–76, 86, 104, 162–164, 45, 52–55, 57–65, 71–74, 76,
166, 196–199, 201, 206, 78, 80, 87, 107, 109–113,
208–210, 219, 238, 246, 260, 116, 118–123, 131–133,
264, 283, 300 135–142, 145, 146, 153, 154,
156, 157, 160–164, 167, 169,
171, 173–175, 180, 183–186,
D 188, 194, 196, 198, 201–203,
decolonial research 31, 94, 99, 100, 205, 217–227, 229, 230, 236,
103, 172, 181, 185 238, 246–248, 257–259, 264,
diaspora/diasporic 93–96, 98, 267, 269, 270, 287, 288, 292,
102–104, 303, 304, 306, 307 299, 301, 304, 306–309
dramaturgical metaphor 308 foreign/foreigner 7, 29, 32, 43, 107,
111–113, 120, 132, 141, 146,
147, 154, 156, 157, 164, 187,
E 223, 228, 231, 251, 260, 262,
empathy 72, 79, 87, 199, 205 263, 279, 307
ethics 11, 12, 70, 131, 168, 171, friend/friendship 8, 40, 59, 72, 76,
184, 185, 203, 268, 304, 308 159, 196, 197, 208, 210, 221,
300
Index
315
G 263, 264, 267, 270, 279, 284,

gatekeeper 306 300–304, 307, 308
gender 1–3, 6–18, 28, 29, 32, 41, insider 31–33, 94, 98, 99, 105, 202,
52–55, 58, 65, 70, 71, 75–80, 245, 302, 304, 306
82, 84–87, 94–97, 101, 102, international development 27, 28,
105–107, 115–117, 123, 132–136, 139, 142, 144,
132–134, 136, 138, 142–146, 146–148, 242, 303
148, 153–156, 161–167, 194, interpreter 136, 138, 142, 159, 161,
196, 204, 218–230, 241–243, 169
245, 246, 248–250, 258–264,
266–268, 270, 277–285, 287,
288, 292–295, 299–309 M
gendered research experiences 2, 6, male 3, 7, 8, 14, 16–18, 32, 42,
19, 197 52–54, 56–64, 87, 96,
gender equality 15, 16, 133, 288 102–106, 110, 112, 119, 133,
136, 138, 139, 142, 143, 155,
158, 159, 165, 174, 178,
H 195, 203, 204, 221, 223–225,
health 6, 8, 15, 16, 18, 19, 69, 71, 228–230, 249, 258, 260–266,
196, 197, 201, 236–240, 242, 280, 281, 283–285, 287, 288,
243, 245–249 293, 302–307
history 5, 9, 18, 34, 53, 77, 115, masculine/masculinity 18, 54, 70,
117, 121, 122, 166, 173, 179, 73, 76–78, 83, 85, 87, 155,
197, 199, 250, 277–280, 156, 161, 168, 174, 282, 283,
282–288, 293–296, 304 293, 295, 307
humility 99, 100, 104, 105, 107, methodological challenges 7, 12, 13,
205, 306 300, 308, 309
methodology 1, 3, 4, 28, 31, 34,
36, 52, 54, 56, 116, 119, 136,
I 137, 140, 141, 148, 153, 162,
identity/identities 3, 6–11, 15, 30, 167, 283, 304, 306
32, 33, 39, 44, 45, 52–59, mother 7, 8, 32–34, 36, 44, 45, 62,
62–64, 74, 78, 79, 87, 93, 96, 77, 79, 96, 155, 157, 160,
97, 105, 110, 111, 120–122, 161, 166, 167, 169, 186, 187,
131, 137, 142, 156–158, 163, 219, 220, 225, 227, 231, 237,
167, 174, 184, 185, 206, 210, 244, 288, 289, 307
217, 218, 221, 223–225, 227,
229, 230, 241, 247, 257–261,
316
Index
O 104–106, 114–116, 120,

objectivity 3, 34, 35, 45, 63, 140, 132–137, 140–148, 154, 168,
270, 278, 299 173, 175, 176, 180–184, 187,
outsider 33, 51, 63, 94, 98, 99, 102, 188, 204, 228, 249, 257–261,
105, 137, 140, 148, 202, 224, 263–267, 269, 270, 277–280,
225, 245, 258, 260, 262, 302, 288, 292, 294, 300, 302–304,
304, 306 308
powerless 6, 15, 135, 263, 269, 293
power relations 3, 7, 53, 73, 100,
P 115, 116, 132, 133, 137, 140,
participant observation 15, 31, 35, 141, 145, 173, 176, 250, 264,
159, 167, 236, 238, 242, 303, 304, 308
245–248 privilege 6, 11, 32, 57, 94, 102,
participatory research 140, 143, 207, 104, 115, 116, 143, 155, 180,
305, 308 183–185, 194, 196–199, 202,
patriarchal/patriarchy 6, 18, 32, 33, 208, 302, 304, 306, 307
41, 44, 58, 79, 96, 97, 104,
106, 122, 174, 204, 278, 300,
302, 305, 307, 308 Q
political/politics 4, 9, 11, 14, 16, qualitative research 4, 10, 11, 15, 52,
17, 28, 30, 34, 35, 53, 64, 77, 60, 65, 132, 140, 198, 206,
81, 94, 95, 97, 101, 105, 107, 238, 257
110, 112, 115, 117, 118, 120– quantitative research 140
123, 171–177, 180–186, 188,
210, 219, 221, 223, 226, 227,
237, 258, 263, 268, 279, 280, R
282, 283, 285, 287, 294–296, race 11, 32, 94, 105, 106, 136, 172,
300, 303, 304, 306 183, 184, 246, 258, 261, 263,
positionality 1, 8, 10, 32, 33, 63, 270, 302, 308, 309
78, 80, 87, 98, 106, 113, 132, reciprocity 35, 71, 72, 76, 87, 99,
133, 136, 137, 139, 142, 143, 100, 103, 200, 239, 259, 300,
147, 148, 183, 184, 257, 259, 305, 308
264, 269, 270, 299, 302, 304, reflexivity 3, 4, 8, 9, 13, 30, 33, 54,
307, 309 78, 87, 98, 99, 103, 107, 135,
postcolonial 9, 97, 105, 112, 113, 147, 184, 218, 229, 240, 241,
115, 120, 122, 123, 183, 280 245, 246, 259, 301, 302, 304
power 2, 3, 7, 10, 15, 17, 18, 28, relationships with ‘others’ 7, 9, 300,
33, 35, 36, 41, 61, 73–75, 308
77, 78, 94, 97, 98, 100–102,
Index
317
representation 4, 6, 115, 118, 143, V

144, 217, 282, 300, 303, 304 vulnerability/vulnerable 6, 60, 75,
research assistant 35, 37, 41, 69, 84, 94, 104, 269
136, 229
research ethics 71, 163, 172, 181,
183, 305 W
respect 6, 8, 69, 71, 72, 74, 75, 80, western 6, 9–11, 32, 51, 57, 59, 63,
96, 104, 141, 144, 146, 159, 65, 97, 109, 110, 113, 114,
166, 168, 181, 194, 200, 228, 116, 120, 121, 132, 134, 140,
242, 260, 261, 267 143, 148, 154, 155, 157, 160,
risk 42, 74, 131, 156, 177, 195, 299 162–164, 174, 180, 181, 183,
198–202, 207, 208, 210, 211,
224, 236, 241, 282, 286, 289,
S 291, 294, 296, 303, 304
safety 31, 78, 131, 142, 206, 209, white 9–11, 28, 29, 32, 52, 58, 59,
257, 267, 268, 299 93, 95, 97, 102–107, 110,
semi-structured interview 15, 35 111, 113–116, 120, 132, 135,
sex/sexualised/sexuality 61, 77, 85, 136, 148, 154, 156–158, 173,
142, 147, 158, 182, 196, 209, 174, 177–179, 183–185, 188,
219, 228, 229, 265, 300, 306 194, 196, 198, 199, 202, 207,
single/marital status 45, 57, 58, 62, 219, 220, 224, 226, 228, 231,
96, 107, 136, 139, 153, 154, 251, 258, 263, 270
161, 162, 166, 167, 263, 265, white male 174, 199, 309
306 women’s education 280, 294
women’s empowerment 15, 18, 249,
282, 293, 305
T women’s studies 6, 18, 197, 279,
third gender/third sex 155, 262, 264, 281–284, 293, 295
265, 306
trust 11, 59, 131, 137, 139, 141,
162, 206, 207, 209, 224, 228,
300, 305, 308

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ISBN 978-3-319-94501-9 ISBN 978-3-319-94502-6 (eBook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018946157

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2019

Cover image: © Tuul & Bruno Morandi/Getty

Printed on acid-free paper

The medical school at Jimma University where I earned my medical

Jimma, Ethiopia Tirsit Retta Woldeyohanes, M.D.

1 Women Researching in Africa: The Impact of Gender 1

Part I Gender and Identity as a Female Researcher in Africa

2 ‘Gone Native?’: Reflections of a Feminist Tightrope

3 Identity and Experience in Malawi: Challenges and

4 Navigating Gender Performance: Ethics and Culture in

5 When in Rome…: Navigating Decolonial Research as a

6 Reflections on the Dilemmas of Feminist Fieldwork in

Part II Relationships with ‘Others’ as a Female Researcher

7 Researching the Rural: A Mzungu Loose in Africa 131

8 Women and Anthropologists in West Africa:

9 Constant Questioning On-and-Off the Page: Race,

10 Lessons Learned on Research Methods and Researcher

Part III Methodological Challenges for Female Researchers

11 Challenges and Opportunities of Doing Fieldwork

12 On Walking Alone and Walking with Others: Framing

13 Gender and Positionality: Opportunities, Challenges,

14 Historiography of African Market Women 277

15 Women Researching Africa: Linking Experience to

Carole Ammann is a Postdoctoral Researcher at the Institute of

the charity sector in France, at the UNDP Mauritius and as a research

(2012–2017); and Senior Lecturer in International Relations at Flinders

Vanessa van den Boogaard is a Ph.D. candidate in Political Science

ABW Advocacy By Writing

UNESCO United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural

their research impacted on them as a woman, we have deliberately

In conceptualising research, Fife (2005) notes the importance of

Feminist Methods in Social Research

into account (Oakley 1981), and by attempting to define the femi-

In an earlier version of her paper for this volume and elsewhere,

theoretical needs of our Western counterparts and answer the questions

Gender and Identity as a Female Researcher

researcher’s female identity that enables access to various spaces of inter-

For Lioba Hirsch in Chapter 5, being a black African woman from

relationships, how we position ourselves, and how we begin to under-

progressive participation in the daily life of African women challenged

Methodological Challenges for Female

Box 1 Does gender matter?

Whatever the method used to collect data, the contributors to

Box 2 Dealing with intimate relationships in the field

meeting potential informants. Peticca-Harris et al. (2016, p. 379)

Carole Ammann found gaining access to interview women a major

In Chapter 12, Ruth Jackson explains how she returned to Ethiopia

Why (Else) Should We Care About Gender

As a historian, Mutiat Titilope Oladejo (Chapter 14) has spent a

Maes, K., S. Closser, E. Vorel, and Y. Tesfaye. 2015. A Women’s Development

Reinharz, S., and L. Davidman. 1992. Feminist Methods in Social Research.

Introduction: Setting the Scene and Context

engendered as a colonial enterprise from the West to the Rest, has

Who owns what?

I was also interested in the gender of power: most of the popu-

1. A case concerning a small-sized farm involving European and African

To me, this comparative logic holds the potential to uncover the

Situating Myself: Bringing My Research Persona

I am the second born Senegalese daughter of a polygynous Muslim father.

The use of Goffman’s metaphor in this article allows me to make

Part II Relationships with ‘Others’ as a Female Researcher

Part III Methodological Challenges for Female Researchers

Feminist Methods in Social Research

Gender and Identity as a Female Researcher

Methodological Challenges for Female

Box 1 Does gender matter?

Box 2 Dealing with intimate relationships in the field

meeting potential informants. Peticca-Harris et al. (2016, p. 379)

Introduction: Setting the Scene and Context

The Final Curtain? Thoughts on Researching

Performances of Cultures of Femininity

When in Rome, Do as the Romans…