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classroom, in the toilets and even outside the school. These findings resonate with HRW (2001) findings that documented and highlighted how the predatory behaviour of boys undermined girls’ sense of safety, causing them to experience immense psychological stress within South African schools.
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sexuality is constructed as dirty. Sifundo’s use of these words simultaneously highlights how verbal abuse works to capture girls’ sexualities for hegemonic demonstrations of masculinity.
Mpho is further unsettled by the linking of sexualised insults with race. ‘Black’ (even though she is black African in South Africa), ‘Nigerian’ and the reference to vagina and penis (or as Mpho puts it, ‘sausage’) functions to sexually objectify her within a racialised and class context and also reinforces how xenophobia connects with biological differences to alienate her as a female and to reinforce social differences. Racial differences in skin colour for example, between black South Africans and foreign Africans, is used as a tool to ‘other’ and further entrench differences and distance (Vandeyar and Vandeyar, 2017). Dauda, Sakariyau and Ameen (2018) also assert that a parochial mentality amongst some South Africans has led to the belief that foreign nationals in South Africa, in this instance, Nigerians, have usurped job opportunities, are responsible to the high rates of crime and disease in South Africa. These perceptions resulted in violence, hatred and ostracisation of foreign nationals. It is in this context that Sifundo casts Mpho as dark skinned, black, Nigerian and thus foreign.
This is a strategic way of marginalising Mpho through race, class, xenophobia, gender and sexuality while confirming his own masculine power. Mpho’s desirability within the
heterosexual compulsion is brought into question, as being ‘black’ and ‘Nigerian’ is seen as a move away from desirable femininity. However, Mpho resists being passive. Her fight is situated in her anger at being insulted, and her good standing in the school (Mpho is a prefect and an enthusiastic athlete who participates and enjoys success in athletics and netball) gives her the support of the teacher who assists in getting her desk back. While Mpho’s dignity is somewhat restored, the insults about her sexuality remain since her skin colour and her immigrant status remain unaltered. It shows how being cast as the ‘other’ erodes her power and dignity.
Other studies, too, have found that a familiarity with taboo words give them greater
emotional force (Garrido & Prada, 2018; Mncwango & Luvuno, 2015). These authors state state that vulgarity and swearing denigrates girls and women and works to reinforce gender inequalities and gender stereotypes. The perception and the construction of women (and girls) as inferior lends intensity and valence to sexualised verbal harassment. Furthermore, the potency of the meanings assigned to these words has cultural significance and power, and the words thus become powerful tools used to devalue girls and women. They belittle and
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contaminate females’ sexuality while simultaneously reinforcing gender inequalities and gender stereotypes.
In schools, language is thus a powerful medium through which boys exert their power over girls. Renold (2005) reports that verbal insults often take on a phallic form and that some pejoratives are directed at parents. Studies conducted in sub-Saharan Africa (Parkes &
Heslop, 2011; Chikwiri & Lemmer, 2014) and in South Africa (Bhana, 2008), have found that the words directed at girls are highly sexualised, for example, bitch, pussy, father’s dick, mother’s puss (or msunu ka nyoko in isiZulu) and vagina (ngquza). Neupane and Chesney- Lind (2014) and Garrido and Prada (2018) also argue that swearing is related to social power.
Thus, when the boys swear the girls, they carousel on patriarchal power that accords
hegemonic masculinity both social and cultural power. Other studies (Bhana, 2013; Conroy, 2013; Summit et al., 2018) also emphasise the link between sexualised swearing and
heterosexuality, arguing that it is a public performance through which boys establish either their heterosexuality or their misogyny, or both, to gain favour in the eyes of peers which, as Connell (2000) argued, works to create and maintain a dominant gender order. Given that the school is a place of authority and a place where boys and girls congregate, it thus provides a setting and a space for the contestation of power, where heterosexual scripts can be enacted and rewritten. It also creates platforms for hate speech. Furthermore, argue that when there is subjective familiarity with swearwords, when the words are understood as one of my
respondents, Mpho, understands them, and when the words hold negative meanings, as illustrated in the excerpt below, they create instantaneous anxiety because of the emotional intensity they elicit.
Another participant, St’bile, whom I introduced earlier (p. 38) is also isiZulu living in Umgudulu Road Informal Settlement and Mpho talked about how their bodies were also ridiculed by boys in the school. In the excerpt below, St’bile explains that she was ridiculed for having ‘three boobs’ because of the protruding bump of her navel visible through her uniform. The protruding bump is caused by an umbilical hernia that occurs in both children and adults but is more common amongst girls.9
9Uba, Igun, Kidmas and Chirdan (2004) note that umbilical hernias are less common among children that come from better off socio-economic backgrounds. Research on the stigma and discrimination associated with this disorder is virtually non-existent. In South Africa, that the majority of people are poor would suggest that a large number of children have this condition. Lopez (2013) cautions that the disorder should not be racialised and
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Body image is extremely important to the participants as they, too, objectify their bodies, wanting to look beautiful and desirable. St’bile, however, is highly self-conscious of the
‘bump’ and her efforts to conceal her body shows how she, too, colludes with the objectification of her body, suggesting that she also believes that she lacks heterosexual attractiveness. She considers herself unattractive and therefore conceals her body to prevent ridicule and harassment:
St’bile: The boys in class say that I have three boobs. My breasts and my… [She points to her protruding navel which causes a bump in her midriff. She is highly
self-conscious and remains silent thereafter].
Mpho: They [the boys] call me a man because I have big feet, because I play
rugby. They also say that I have hair like for scraping pots [meaning steel wool].
P.J.: What did you do when they told you these things?
Mpho: Nothing. Nooooo! [She shakes her head]. Because they were going to hit me.
P.J.: Have they ever done or said anything to you, Paleesa?
Paleesa: I wouldn’t say their name, he hit me on my backside, they swore at me, mam.
P.J.: What did they say to you?
Paleesa keeps quiet for a moment and laughs self-consciously: They say
‘izinkomo ekhanda’ – that means a “cow’s head”. [The other girls laugh but the laughter seems to be lighthearted].
This exchange indicates that when girls challenge territorial spaces, as Mpho did when she fought for her desk and, as has now been revealed, by playing rugby, traditionally a male sport, there are consequences. The boys’ references to her big feet as manly once again reminds her that she has interrupted a socialised gender boundary by playing rugby. She is also instantaneously relegated to the kitchen, as noted in the reference to her hair as a cleaning item “for scraping pots”. While Mpho’s actions (fighting for her desk and playing rugby) interrupt dominant discourses surrounding masculinity and femininity, she is quickly reminded that resistance will result in oppression. Similarly, Morojele (2013:143) found that
stresses that environmental and social forces that underlie and impinge on poor people’s access to health services must be considered.
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in Basotho communities in Lesotho, matlhare (ugly) is particularly insulting because heterosexual attractiveness is upheld as paramount by girls and by their communities. The implication is that girls who are not considered beautiful or attractive to the male gaze are punished through name calling. There is consensus that such misogyny maintains and safeguards boys’ positions within the patriarchal system (Dewaele, 2010; Garrido & Prada, 2018; Gruhn, 2016; Strauss & Allen, 2008).
Mpho’s challenge to conventional gender roles draws attention to how resistance can be a vehicle for change. However, resistance is precarious and there is always a price to pay. In this instance, it culminates in boys’ harassment that questions and taunts her femininity and her sexuality. The incident also underscores her vulnerability: while she is able to challenge a single perpetrator, she is overcome with fear when the boys collude in their harassment towards her. Hence her resistance becomes muted.
While St’bile, Mpho and Paleesa tolerated these harassing incidents and struggled with feelings of humiliation and anger during their disclosures, they found support from the other girls in the focus group who also began to share their experiences of being taunted, tainted and teased by the boys. For example, Paleesa’s disclosure that the boys referred to her as a cow’s head, generated laughter that worked to lighten the tone in the group discussion. In this way, the focus group worked to cement the bonds between the girls through their experiences at school. However, the emotional intensity of St’bile’s, Mpho’s and Paleesa’s responses indicates that the abuse hits home. In the next section I show how the words that the boys use subordinate and demean the girls, and simultaneously elevate the boys’ status.