Author biographies and reflections onparenthood

Deevia Bhana is associate professor in the Faculty of Education, University of KwaZulu-Natal. She specialises in the study of gender, education and childhood, and has published widely in her field. As a young mother of two boys (one now an adult), I find the testimonies of young women are not far from my own experience of mothering and being a young parent. The girls narratives of struggle and triumph are not far-fetched. They are intimately tied to the personal. So when the idea of putting together a proposal on researching boys, girls, sexuality, pregnancy and parenting arose, I knew immediately how intimately they were connected to my own gendered experiences and the experiences of so many other young women. Being pregnant and being a parent are not easy, but joyous nonetheless. Yet for so many South African young girls social turbulence complicates the experience of pregnancy and parenting, making it mostly not easy. Schools are not yet appropriate places where pregnant girls and young mothers are protected. But they can be and this book should be read as a move towards that hope.

Lindsay Clowes is a senior lecturer in the Womens and Gender Studies Department at the University of the Western Cape. She is currently working on one project exploring changing constructions of masculinities, and another reflecting on womens political leadership in the past. I have over four decades of experience as a (sometimes troublesome) daughter. My parents (and my brother) were critical in providing a variety of supports that enabled me to complete a doctorate in historical studies at the University of Cape Town in 2002. My PhD, which explored representations of race, sexuality and gender in the South African magazine Drum in the mid- to late 20th century, was ultimately dedicated to my father, who died long before it was even begun, let alone finished. Somehow, despite his absence, he loomed large over its completion. While it is easy to note glibly that ones parents play important roles in ones life, it is only as I get older that I have begun to appreciate just how powerfully their influence has shaped who I am, as well as who I am not. Unlike them, I have no experience of being a parent (unless being privileged to be the significant other of two wonderful border collies counts). As a historian, I am aware that I was fortunate to have been born into an era and social context in which it was possible to make choices about whether or not to have children, and if so how many and when. Many young South African women still dont have those freedoms despite the political and social changes that have taken place over the last decade or so. My research
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explores some of the ways in which womens choices are constrained. Earlier I was interested in questions about economic empowerment and the complex ways in which womens access to economic resources was marginalised. More recently, I have been asking questions about the ways in which femininities and masculinities co-construct each other, and the intersections and power relationships between these and other socially constructed identities, such as race, sexuality, and so on. Toni DAmant is a lecturer in the School of Education and Development, Faculty of Education at the University of KwaZulu-Natal. For many years she was a counsellor in high schools in KZN and was involved in educator development in rural areas throughout South Africa. She recently completed her PhD (Teachers in transition Towards becoming inclusive practitioners) and specialises in issues of diversity, inclusion and social justice. I spent seven years as the counsellor at a high school for girls in Durban. My responsibilities involved taking every class in the school from grade 8 to matric for guidance and counselling on a weekly basis, and having individual sessions with girls who for one reason or another were considered in need of counselling. Pregnancy was one of these reasons. It was always a traumatic time for girls when they suspected that they might be pregnant. I remember them feeling completely lost, not knowing what to do or where to turn, and generally feeling that they had this huge burden to shoulder alone. Some girls chose to try to keep their pregnancy a secret, putting off (at least for the day) the consequences they were so terrified to face. I can only imagine the turmoil and anxiety they had to endure every day. Most of the girls main fear was breaking the news to their parents (more so than the school finding out). Some girls fear of their parents reactions were realised. Parents sometimes disowned their daughter, turning her out onto the street to fend for herself and her baby. Parents sometimes even threatened to physically harm their daughter, and some actually did. Some girls mothers would organise abortions for their daughters, to save the familys good name and standing in the community, often without the girls father knowing anything about the entire situation. Other parents, after displaying initial shock, disappointment and anger, eventually ended up supporting their daughter through her pregnancy and motherhood. I could never understand parents long-term rejection of their daughter and their grandchild, as I am blessed with a wonderful relationship with my own mother, with whom I feel I can share anything. She has always been more like a best friend to me than an authority figure in my life. My years of counselling made me realise on a daily basis how rare was this deeply caring mother daughter relationship we shared, and how lucky I was to have such a mother. These unplanned pregnancies were understandably overwhelming to these young schoolgirls. Many felt that having a baby would have a negative impact

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on their lives in so many ways robbing them of their youth, posing a barrier to their schooling, further education and careers. Most of the girls seemed resigned to accept the judgement of having failed (failed their parents, failed their teachers and failed themselves), with a few eventually dropping out of high school completely. But there were a few who accepted the responsibility of motherhood, and were determined to juggle their dual roles of high-school pupil and teenage mother, and the conflicting responsibilities that these presented. In some cases, girls needed to repeat a year at school, but did so, determined not to drop out of school. A lot of this had to do with the support they received from their parents. Researching young mothers at school brings all these memories back to me. I believe in supporting young girls at every level of their pregnancy and motherhood. The greatest barrier to these girls further learning and selfdevelopment, in my eyes, is the rejection and isolation they inevitably go through feeling as if they have not lived up to the expectations of all the important adults in their lives, but have failed and disappointed them. This must be the hardest and heaviest burden to carry, the one that wears them down from the inside.

Richard Devey has headed up the Statistical Consultation Service at the University of Johannesburg since January 2009. He was a research fellow and lecturer in the School of Development Studies, University of KwaZulu-Natal, when the research for this project was initiated. The impact of parents on determining our attitudes, opinions and beliefs as children should not be underestimated. As Richard Dawkins notes, it is a telling fact that, the world over, the vast majority of children follow the religion of their parents rather than any of the other available religions. Similarly, gendered attitudes, opinions and beliefs are transferred to us from our parents, and many of these manifest as unacceptable behaviour that persists in society. The adage we are what our parents make us holds only partly true for me as an adult. My mother (my father passed away) and I have divergent opinions on many issues. Over time I have been influenced by an increasing number of external sources partner, peers, the media, and so on and by internal reflection. The influence of my parents has been diluted. As our opinions have diverged, respect for my parents has grown. It took me a while to realise what it means to be an adult and parent faced by the complexities of bringing up children. Prospective parents, including many of the participants in this study, must make measured decisions about becoming a parent, how they bring up their children and how they want to influence their childs attitudes, opinions and beliefs. The third of these decisions is likely to involve some reflection on their own attitudes and beliefs. If I were a parent, and I am not, (novice or experienced) wanting to promote gender awareness among my children, I
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would introduce them to initiatives such as PinkStinks PinkStinks wants to counteract the medias obsession with women who are famous, thin, rich or married to famous men, by celebrating those women that we see as inspirational, important, ground-breaking and motivating and the Men as Partners Program. Participation would be voluntary, the outcome unpredictable. But if my (hypothetical) kids had quality information, critical thinking skills, space to deliberate, a sound ethical grounding and limited interference from me, the outcome would be positive. Of course, the complexities of bringing up children are something of an unknown factor to those of us who chose to be childless. During the Easter period I said to one of our student administrative assistants: Im just going to the ref to get some food, to which she replied, Bring Easter eggs for your kids. I did. I guess I am a parent, of sorts. I am going to introduce my children to PinkStinks and the Men as Partners Program

Elron Fouten lectures in the Psychology Department at Rhodes University. He was formerly based at the University of the Western Cape, working in both psychology and gender studies. His research interests are social identities and oppression, psychology of men and masculinities, gender, stigma and HIV/ AIDS. His areas of teaching are social psychology, human development and research methods. I officially became a proud father of the most adorable son on Sunday 26October 2003, at 14h27 exactly. For me the fathering started six months before the birth of Evan. Several years on, and the memory of the entire process, starting with our first visit to the doctor in the first trimester of pregnancy, is still very vivid. My girlfriend, Vanessa, was just into her second trimester when she was in a car accident. Thank God, she was not visibly hurt, but because she was pregnant she had to go for an ultrasound. I was very concerned and prepared for the worst. However, the worst for me did not seem so bad because I had not started bonding yet. Besides, there was nothing to bond with besides a bump in a womans tummy. There is this knowledge of a pregnancy and a child growing inside the womb, but it is all very unreal. Then sitting next to the bed where Vanessa was lying, holding her hand, watching the ultrasound monitor and listening to the doctor, I saw this bean-like thing attached to a cord jump and move around. Everywhere the doctor would press, this thingy moved in the opposite direction as though it was trying to get away. I then realised that there was actually life. My heart leapt in my chest and I laughed and cried simultaneously. Also at that very moment I felt myself becoming very protective. I fought the overwhelming urge to tell the doctor: Stop doing that! For me that was the time I became a father, from then on I would speak to him (there was no doubt in my mind that it would be a him) and play with him to the point where his mom became annoyed with me/us. Before you could see the child move she would tell me, You know, whenever you touch my tummy then this child moves.

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I used to think she was just saying this to include me, but as the baby grew bigger inside her tummy and the movements became noticeable I started testing her hypothesis. I can now say it was the most pleasurable experiment I had conducted. Thinking back, that moment when I first saw life in the womb in the doctors office changed me. Every idea and notion of manhood and fatherhood I had was dispelled. All I knew was that I was going to be the best father to him and become the best example of a man for him. I thanked God then and promised that I was going to love him or her as much even if he/she was physically disabled or deformed in any way.

Ntsiki Manzini has a masters degree in development studies and has been working on sexual and reproductive health for over 10 years. Her research interests have centred on the sexual and reproductive health of young people. She is currently based at loveLife in Sandton. Until recently, I have been the daughter, aunt, niece, sister, cousin and, above all, the nullipara (a woman who has never given birth). The decision about having a child in my teens or out of wedlock was non-negotiable. When I was growing up my mother used to tell me that she had planned for me. As such, I grew up with this burden that since I had been planned for, I had to do likewise. This led to my interests in fertility and family planning, especially among young people. I wanted to be a positive role model. The irony of it all is that my son was a surprise. Hence the reason we named him Ntandoyenkosi (which means Gods will). He is hardly a year old and Im in my mid-30s. His arrival couldnt have come at a better time. Today I have a new name, mamawa Ntando (the mother of Ntando). I am getting used to it and loving it.

Nokuthula Masuku completed an MEd at the University of KwaZulu-Natal, in which she studied teenage pregnancy in an Umlazi township school. She has taught in township schools for over 20 years. Im a single mother of two kids. The first born is a 20-year-old girl and the last a 16-year-old boy. When I look back I realise that if I had known then what I know now, I would have done things differently, i.e. my children would have been much younger because I would have taken the responsibility to prepare for them emotionally and materially. This is how it all started. It was a few years after matric when I met the love of my life (my childrens father). I was then working as an unqualified teacher at a school where I matriculated. We met at a friends wedding and we hit it off there and then, probably thinking that well be the next to walk down the aisle. Nobody said anything about tying the knot and I assumed theres no point in stating the obvious. Three months down the line I missed my periods and I knew that meant one thing: conception. I knew all about contraception, but it was rumoured that if you dont have a child and you use contraceptives, you may become sterile. I
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couldnt risk becoming sterile, hence my partner promised to withdraw when he felt he was about to climax. In those days (it was 1986), the Department of Education used to terminate the services of unmarried women who became pregnant so I was compelled to resign. My father chased me out of home and I had to stay at my partners home until his family paid inhlawulo (compensation paid by paternal family to maternal family of the child) on his behalf. I was devastated because my condition dictated how I should live my life thereafter. Two months after my daughters birth (September 1986), I looked for a job as an administration clerk in a hospital closer to his home. My relationship with my childs father was still good and the only thing that kept me from living happily ever after was his inability to pay lobola because, out of anger and disappointment, my father demanded an unreasonably large amount. His reaction to my fathers demands put a strain on our relationship to the point that two years later I discovered he was having an affair. The affair was a wake-up call for me; it was then that I realised there was no future for us. I could not stay in his home any longer since I felt ridiculed beyond measure. My former principal suggested I should consider studying to take my mind off things. He then applied on my behalf through an alternative access programme at the University of KwaZulu-Natal. Studying became a survival strategy for me from 1989 onwards. When I moved to Durban, my partner suggested that we patch things up on the pretext that the affair was no more. Believing him was the biggest mistake of my life because I fell pregnant again and I had to move out of university residence the following year. I was shattered, thinking that the bursary would not pay for alternative accommodation. I felt alive again when I was told that pregnancy did not affect funding. When I gave birth to my son in April 1990, I had to find a childminder in order to continue studying. A cousin was sent from home and I continued to breastfeed my son until he was nine months old. My mother suggested I bring him back home since I was starting my third year. That support base from my family and the liberal policies of the university made my second pregnancy bearable.

Robert Morrell has worked in South African universities since 1982 when he joined the University of Transkeis History Department. For 20 years he lectured in the Department of Education at the University of Natal/KwaZuluNatal before joining the University of Cape Town, where he currently works in the Research Office and is an associate of the School of Education. He is editor of Changing Men in Southern Africa (2001) and author (with Debbie Epstein, Elaine Unterhalter, Deevia Bhana and Relebohile Moletsane) of Towards Gender Equality (2009).
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I became a parent when I was relatively young, relatively that is, in comparison to my white, middle-class, male South African cohort. I was 26 when Tamarin,

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my elder daughter, was born in Mthatha, in what is today the Eastern Cape, but what was then the capital of the Transkei homeland. My thoughts and feelings about becoming a parent were shaped by my own experiences, which included what my mother and father had told me about their childhoods. They also, naturally, included all the experiences I had had as a child being parented by two young, white, middle-class South Africans. It does not surprise psychologists when I tell them that I became a father when I was 26 and that my own father had assumed the same lofty status at exactly the same age. Being a parent made me feel proud, responsible and inadequate all at the same time. Somehow I felt as though Id grown older, become a grown-up, when I became a father. By this time I had already been to university and secured my first permanent job, a lecturer in history at the University of Transkei. But being a father seemed like another step on the road to becoming a proper man. Fatherhood was difficult. I felt insecure much of the time and exhausted all of the time. I never had enough sleep. I worried constantly about doing enough, sharing the load of parenting equally with my wife, Alison. Then there was all the learning to do the changing of nappies, the preparing and delivering of food, the need for eternal patience. Six years later my second daughter, Ashleigh, was born. By then, I had mastered some of the minimum requirements and parenting seemed a bit easier. And now, 25 years later, I look back and am thankful for all that happened and amazed that I survived.

Sisa Ngabaza is a PhD student and assistant lecturer in the Department of Women and Gender Studies at the University of the Western Cape. Her research focuses on motherhood experiences of adolescent schoolgirls in the Khayelitsha township in Cape Town. Her other research interests have included gender sensitivity in teaching and learning activities in co-educational schools. Sisa has taught in various high schools for 17 years. I became a mother (to Vuyani) at the seasoned age of 25. I guess I was more than ready to be one. After four years of motherhood I decided to return to university and study for a bachelor of education degree. It was in my second and final year that my second son, Monwabisi, was born. I did not enjoy the birth of my son, as I was anxious about the final exams. I managed my BEd exams a month after my second son was born. Four years later I registered for a masters in education and somehow my daughter (Mandisa) was born during my second year of the course. Two of my children were born to a student mother, and I know the worry of stressing over an assignment while dealing with a sleepless baby at the same time. Although this was a big parenting challenge, my family has always proved indispensable when it comes to support. Although student motherhood occurred in a different context and situation for me, my experience helped me in this project to empathise with and understand the young mothers whom I interviewed and
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who are an important constituent of this study. In my own life, I have found motherhood to be both a thrilling experience as well as providing major challenges. It has been thrilling because I have always valued the company of my three very different children, and challenging because I have always negotiated motherhood with other roles, those of wife, student and educator. My parenting skills are predominantly informed and challenged by my own upbringing. My religious and conservative parents always emphasised education and the value of being a responsible parent. However, I am realising that parenting in a completely different era and space has constantly rendered my own skills obsolete. More so, there are various other contesting factors that need negotiation in this whole motherhood matrix. Being part of this project not only exposed me to the dynamics of young parenting within the broad South African context, but was also a self-reflexive measure/journey for me asparent. Vuyo Nkani is studying part-time for a PhD at the University of KwaZulu-Natal, having completed an MEd (gender education) there in 2006. She has worked as an educator in Inanda secondary schools for the past 18 years. During my time as a secondary-school educator in the rural and povertystricken Inanda area, I have seen many learners get pregnant. Some of these learners dropped out of school due to lack of support, financial and otherwise, and this constantly reminds me of myself as a young, unemployed, struggling woman and a single mother without any support from the babys father. I lost my parents when I was seven and was brought up by my aunt. I became a mother when I was 22. Although by todays standards, I wasnt too young to raise a child, I was still inexperienced, emotionally immature and unemployed. At first I panicked and sought a backyard abortion and failed. I gave birth to a baby boy and I struggled a lot without the support of either the babys father or my aunt. Because the babys father failed to pay inhlawulo, he only verbally acknowledged the babys paternity. Sometimes I used to cry along with the baby when I didnt understand why he couldnt stop crying. Things became worse when the baby rejected breastfeeding. I then got a job in a clothing factory and my salary could only cover the formula and the payment for the woman who was looking after the baby. I became attached to the baby and grew to love him, but he passed away when he was 11 months. Words fail to explain the pain I felt after losing him. I then decided to go back to school to complete my matric and registered with the University of Zululand. I got my degree, became a teacher and continued studying part-time. In 1994 I was blessed with a loving daughter. By then I was more mature and financially stable, so with the support of her father I was able comfortably to support her. However, I really believe that the past experiences contributed positively to the kind of mother I became.

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Cedric Nunn is a professional photographer based in KwaZulu-Natal. He was born in Nongoma, KwaZulu-Natal, attended the Little Flower School in Ixopo and continued his schooling until standard 8 (grade 10). In the late 1970s, after leaving high school, he worked at Huletts Sugar Mill. During 1982 he moved to Johannesburg and then went abroad in 1983. Together with Paul Weinberg, Peter Mackenzie and Omar Badsha, he co-founded the progressive photographic collective, Afrapix, and set up an Afrapix agency in Durban. He documented the resistance against apartheid in the 1980s, and was part of a team of photographers who documented South Africas first democratic election for the Independent Electoral Commission. He was awarded the FNB Art Prize at the Johannesburg Art Fair in 2011. More than 20 years ago, I became a father, reluctantly, at the age of 27. My daughters mother wisely pointed out that I had some responsibility in this conception. Unfortunately, we were not able to sustain the relationship and parted when Kathleen, our daughter, was two years old. Kathleens mother married soon after, and I was denied access for four years. I did a lot of growing and maturing in these years, and when I was once again allowed access, I believe I cherished the relationship with my daughter all the more. For Kathleen, however, I was an absent dad, one she saw infrequently, and this fact has caused me, and no doubt Kathy, much pain. In a situation where parents have separated, and I think there is consensus on the desirability of separation in many instances, being absent is simply an unavoidable fact. Re-engaging with Kathleen, who was now six, was not easy. In fact she took it more in her stride than I did. I had not had much exposure to children that age, and it took a while and a concerted effort on my part to be able to connect with her and her world. Luckily for me, she seemed able to accept me once again as a father figure, and under the constraints of living apart, we slowly fashioned a reasonable relationship once again. She is now a 27-yearold Masters student at Wits, and Im proud to have had a role to play in her development, as well as a healthy fatherdaughter relationship. I believe Im fortunate to once again have the opportunity to get it right with the birth of another girl child, Lara Sophia, in March 2006. This time I have had the opportunity to focus on being as whole a father as I possibly can. In a country as socially troubled as South Africa, the role of parenting the new generations is a crucial one, to be administered with love and care.

Tamara Shefer is Professor and Director of Womens and Gender Studies at the University of the Western Cape. Most of her work, teaching, research and publications has been in the area of gender, HIV, masculinities and sexuality, as well as feminist and critical psychology. Like most people, I have a complex relationship with parenting and gender. For the past 19 years, I have been privileged with the greatest challenge of my life parenting two sons (now teenage boys/men) and a daughter (now nine)
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where the gap between theory and practice and the slipperiness of even just being a good-enough parent is ever present. On top of these challenges is my constant experience of trying to balance the load of care in the family with the demands of my academic life, and always feeling that I am not doing justice to either. No matter how much I understand these issues theoretically, it is difficult to avoid being subjected to them, since the world has not changed enough to accommodate women who are both actively parenting and actively working. Similarly, I find myself constantly undermining my ability to cope by the imperative to take on too much care work in both the work and home spaces. As someone with a long engagement in feminist theory and gender activism, I am aware of the power of parenting and the family as socialising agents for gender roles and relations and many other social attitudes. Therefore, I can also see how challenging it is to parent differently and to provide positive role models for boys and girls to do things differently, so as not to reproduce our patriarchal society. Since I have been both learner and teacher, and currently have children at all levels of the school system, I hold a special interest in schooling, and am convinced that responses to parenting at school will have a profound impact on the lived experience of both male and female learners who become pregnant and/or are parenting. Therefore, I welcomed my involvement in research that brings a gendered lens to bear on this issue. Although we know a lot about gender in South Africa today, the ways in which young schoolgoing parents experience pregnancy and perform their parenting, the extent to which this is gendered and their experiences in the school context are still relatively unexplored. The focus of this project raises many of my own areas of challenge, hingeing on my children in school, power struggles in the family, balancing multiple loads, and gender roles and inequalities. It is, therefore, not only an important terrain of knowledge production for me, but also interwoven with personal struggles.

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