“Die man is die hoof en vat voor”1: Women's attitudes to land and farming in the communal areas of Namaqualand

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‘‘Die man is die hoof en vat voor’’1: Women’s attitudes to land and farming in the communal areas of Namaqualand K. Kleinbooi, E. Lahiff Programme for Land and Agrarian Studies (PLAAS), UWC, School of Government, University of the Western Cape, Modderdam Road, Cape Town, Western Cape 7535, South Africa Received 27 July 2005; received in revised form 21 August 2006; accepted 25 August 2006 Available online 1 November 2006

Abstract In the former coloured rural reserves of Namaqualand, land is held under an evolving form of communal tenure. This study, using in-depth interviews with both women farmers and non-farmers in Namaqualand, explores women’s attitudes towards land and their experience of agriculture. It finds that women gain access to land for residential and production purposes mainly through dependent relationships with husbands, fathers and sons, and that unmarried women find it virtually impossible to obtain land rights in their own name. In the event of divorce or widowhood, women are vulnerable to loss of land rights and other resources. Women were found to engage in a range of agricultural activities, both on land allocated for their own use and on land controlled by male relatives, while a few better-off women engage in independent livestock farming. While the South African government’s land reform programme has extended the area of communal land and attempted to secure the rights of existing land holders, this has largely benefited existing male farmers and appears to offer little to women farmers. Women’s attitudes to the patriarchal system of land holding were found to be largely conservative. Few are willing to challenge the highly gendered nature of land rights within families, and women generally feel excluded from public processes around land. Nonetheless, women in the study expressed a demand for more secure access to land and an interest in agriculture as part of wider livelihood strategies. r 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved. Keywords: Gender; Land reform; Property rights; Housing; Grazing; Inheritance; South Africa

Corresponding author. Tel.: +27 21 959 3733; fax: +27 21 959 3732. 1

E-mail address: [email protected] (K. Kleinbooi). ‘‘The man is the head and is foremost’’.

0140-1963/$ - see front matter r 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved. doi:10.1016/j.jaridenv.2006.08.009

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1. Introduction This paper explores the experiences of women with regard to land in the so-called coloured rural reserves of Namaqualand (see Map). These six reserves (also known as Coloured Rural Areas or Act 9 areas, after the legislation that defined them) account for 27% of the land area of the Magisterial District of Namaqualand, and under Apartheid (1948–1994), were reserved for the exclusive use of people defined by the racial classification of ‘coloured’. These areas have much higher densities of both people and livestock than the neighbouring white-controlled farming areas. Within the reserves, land has historically been held and managed communally, albeit with varying degrees of involvement by institutions of church and state (Archer, 1993, p. 7). Most land in the reserves was, until 1994, formally owned by the state, but allocated for the use of specific communities. Since 1995, while individual titles have been issued for some residential sites, arable plots and communal grazing lands continue to be administered by the elected local municipalities (see May and Lahiff, this volume). According to tradition, all community members are entitled to residential and arable plots, and the right to graze their livestock on the commons. These entitlements have generally been understood to rest with the institution of the household, which has been widely interpreted as a married man and his dependents (Lebert, 2004, p. 2). Women have not usually enjoyed independent rights to land, but have been able to access land through their relationships with fathers, brothers or husbands. Women do however, make a substantial contribution to the economy of farming household, both indirectly through home-based labour and directly through involvement in a range of farming activities, particularly in the context of widespread out-migration by men in search of paid employment. The subordinate land rights of women in Namaqualand form part of wider genderbased differentials within the society, and leave them vulnerable to loss or diminution of their access to land should their relationship with particular men change—through death, divorce or abandonment. Women who wish to farm in their own right face numerous challenges, including access to land, social exclusion from traditionally male activities such as commonage committee meetings and the herding of livestock, and difficulties in accessing government grants and commercial loans. Women’s role in agriculture, and women’s access to land and related resources, has emerged as a major concern for academics, social activists and development planners in recent years. Razavi (2003, p. 3) outlines the trajectory of international debates around women in less-developed agricultural economies, which became prevalent in the 1980s with the recognition by economists of the important contribution of women to the ‘reproductive economy’ and further developed in the early 1990s as the debates shifted to women’s direct involvement in agricultural production. By the late 1990s, emphasis was being placed on processes of democratization and decentralization, with specific attention being paid to weak land rights as a key constraint for the advancement of rural women, particular within customary systems of land tenure (Mann, 2000). Davidson (1984, p. 3) situates the position of women in agriculture in terms of broader social and economic relationships, using the concept of gender relations of production, defined as ‘‘socioeconomic relations between females and males that are characterized often by differential assignments of labour tasks, control over decision-making, and differential access to and control over the allocation of resources—including land and

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income’’. Davidson stresses the inclusive nature of historical patterns of landholding in Africa, but also the inequalities based on social status and lineage, of which gender is a key element: [W]omen’s access to land is often dependent upon their relationship to men and their marital status. While most women-as-wives had, and still have, access to some land, unmarried women who are prevented from inheriting property in most patrilineal societies, have little access to land. They must depend upon fathers or brothers to provide them with land or seek wage work elsewhere. While the needs of women cannot be separated from those of the communities in which they live, Meer (1997, p. 2) argues the need for a gendered perspective in order to reveal the ‘hidden’ nature of rural women’s lives, ‘‘in a world where women have less status, power, authority and access to resources, than men of their race and class, in the home, in the economy and in relation to the state’’. Particular attention should, therefore, be focussed on disaggregating the household and understanding the position of women within different types of households: Gender-blind conceptualisations of the household and the community tend to shroud women’s experiences. Academics and activists often approach households and communities as if they were homogenous entities, and this has served to mask differentiation based on income and gender. As a result, men’s experience is often taken for the experience of the entire community or household. (Meer, 1997, p. 2) A variety of arguments have been put forward as to why rural women should have independent and equal access to land. For Agarwal (1994, p. 27), these include increased welfare, more efficient use of land, equality and empowerment of women, and challenging male domination. To raise such issues, however, is to challenge much of the prevailing order: y to argue that women’s economic needs require a specific focus, distinct from those of men, is to challenge a long-standing assumption in economic theory and development policy, namely, that the household is a unit of congruent interests, among whose members the benefits of available resources are shared equitably, irrespective of gender. (Agarwal, 1994, p. 3) In the case of South Africa, women have, since 1994, been identified as a priority group within the land reform programme, both in terms of the need to strengthen women’s rights to land (particularly in communal areas) and to increase women’s access to land (as part of the redistribution programme) (Hall, 2004, p. 7). However, support for women’s land rights at the higher policies levels has not translated into effective implementation strategies, leading Walker (2003, p. 144) to speak of the very limited ability of current policy to target poor, rural women as a specific category of beneficiaries. The failure of land reform in South Africa to significantly impact on women’s land rights or land access, can in part, be attributed to a narrow focus on formal aspects such as legislative reform and ‘in principle’ commitments to meeting the needs of women. There is an increasing awareness, particularly among feminist scholars, that the factors inhibiting women’s access to land lie not only in formal institutions such as the law, but in a myriad

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of social practices that operate, often very subtly, in the realm of social behaviour and individual consciousness. Speaking specifically of land tenure reform in South Africa, Cross and Friedman (1997, p. 17) argue that legal reforms alone are unlikely to overcome the multiple obstacles faced by poor rural women: Tenure is best understood as a social and political process rather than as a system of laws or rules. A large part of the content of tenurial systems is determined by the values of the community, by prevailing power relations and by unspoken assumptions about how people ought to act, and so never needs to be stated in the form of official rules. Because of tenure’s base in unspoken social assumptions, it is not easy to attack gender disadvantage in tenure through legal processes. (Cross and Friedman, 1997, p. 17) While the communal areas of Namaqualand have received considerable scholarly attention over the years, particularly with regard to the land tenure system and farming practices, relatively little has been written on women and land, other than the recurring observation that women are widely discriminated against. In a review of the historical sources, Archer and Meer (1997, p. 87) argue that women had a relatively strong economic standing within traditional Nama society, specifically linked to their role in stock farming, although political power largely resided with men. The impact of the colonial state and capitalism on Namaqualand in the 19th and 20th centuries, particularly the loss of land and the rising dependency on mining, undermined the traditional agrarian economy and society of Namaqualand and led to a diminished status of women and women’s work: As survival became more and more dependent upon a cash economy y men were pushed into wage labour. They now had access to and control over the means of survival—jobs and income. The divide between productive and reproductive spheres became wider, with women becoming increasingly marginalized in reproductive roles. Reproductive labour was not seen as having value, and women’s status in society declined. Women, by and large, came to be dependent upon men, as even their productive work relied on cash earnings brought in by the men. Alongside this greater economic reliance on men, and the concomitant loss of access to natural resources, went an erosion of women’s status and worth in society. (Archer and Meer 1997, p. 90) Detailed treatments of the land rights of women, or women’s involvement in farming, are almost entirely absent from the literature. Only Archer (1995) and Archer and Meer (1997) offer any specifics, but even these are short on detail. There are certain people who are neglected when it comes to [land] rights. The most important group is women who may have virtually no rights, except commercial rights [the right to carry on a business, such as a shop], registered in their names y. Until recently it was virtually impossible for unmarried women and men to get a site in the Rural Reserves. After such a need was recently expressed, unmarried young people may now have such rights. In the Richtersveld a young woman was also allowed to hire a site from the management board—unheard of before 1993. (Archer, 1995, p. 47)

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Some more detail on the contemporary situation (circa 1994) is offered by Archer and Meer (1997, p. 92): Women have limited access to land in their own right, and therefore little security of tenure. Officially and administratively the rights of women in Namaqualand are undermined, because women only become registered occupiers of land on the death of husbands. Even through a widow can take over her husband’s rights, this does not always happen. In Kuboes, for example, there are more than 300 plots, but only three women have occupational rights. Most women in the Coloured Rural Reserves, therefore, do not have occupational rights in their own name. (Archer and Meer, 1997, p. 92) Some more recent work on land in Namaqualand makes references to demographics or life histories of men and women, but generally makes little mention of women’s land rights or access to land (Lebert, 2004; Rohde et al., 1999, 2001, 2003; Wisborg, 2002; Wisborg and Rohde, 2004). While none of these works deal specifically with gender issues, they do deal with the land reform process, which is, in theory at least, informed by a broader vision of social and economic transformation. The lack of attention in this literature to the position of women within the land reform process perhaps reflects the invisibility of women and women’s interests within discourses and practices of land reform in Namaqualand today. 2. Research methods This paper is based on fieldwork carried out amongst women in the communal areas of Namaqualand between October 2003 and March 2005. The principle research instrument was in-depth interviews with a total of 45 women drawn from five of the six coloured reserves: Steinkopf, Concordia, Komaggas and Leliefontein (including the villages of Kharkams, Rooifontein and Spoegrivier). Interviews were semi-structured and focused on five main themes: land rights, involvement in farming, gender relations within the household, awareness of recent land reform processes, and aspirations for the future. Informants were selected through informal networks and word-of-mouth (‘‘snowballing’’) and therefore cannot be considered as statistically representative. Efforts were made, however, to reach the widest possible variety of women, and so the final sample included married and unmarried women, young and old, those involved in arable and livestock farming as well as poultry and horticulture, landless women and women with a range of forms of access to land, from formal rights to squatting. All interviews were conducted through the medium of Afrikaans (the first language of all the respondents), digitally recorded, transcribed (in Afrikaans) and translated into English.2 Each interview lasted between 1 and 2 hs. In addition, three focus group discussion were conducted with women in Concordia and Kommagas, the results of which were similarly recorded and transcribed. These data were analysed using a range of techniques for the analysis of qualitative data, including coding of verbatim quotes and selection of key themes (Neuman, 2000, p. 420; Silverman, 1993, p. 90). Secondary data supplied by the Departments of Land Affairs and Agriculture (Northern Cape Province) and the Surplus People Project, a non-governmental organisation based in Springbok was also drawn upon to complete 2

Original sound recordings and transcripts are stored (in anonymous form) at the University of the Western Cape, and can be accessed by appointment with the authors.

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the study. This paper is the first output of the study and focuses mainly on women’s access to land. 3. Women’s access to land Land rights on the ‘old’ (pre-1994) commons of Namaqualand (i.e. the Act 9 areas) can be divided into three main categories—rights to residential plots (usually in the demarcated towns), rights to graze livestock on the commons (meentgrond) and exclusive rights (tantamount to ownership) to mixed grazing/arable plots (saaipersele). In addition, some land is available under long-term leases from mining companies, such as the Okiep Copper Company (OCC) and De Beers. Most of the discussion that follows relates to saaipersele, but reference is also made to residential and grazing rights. Prior to 1994, little ‘new’ land was available (e.g. through allocation, or relocation, by the authorities, or through purchase), and so intergenerational inheritance was (and largely remains) the principal means by which people in the communal areas of Namaqualand gained access to land. Inheritance is strongly associated with transfers ‘from father to son’, and widely held social conventions—often with religious overtones—discourage the bequeathing of land to daughters. Some women suggested that land is always transferred to a son, or to another male relative: ‘‘It never gets transferred to the daughter’’ (C6: 3).3 There was some indication that the choice of heir had changed over time from eldest to youngest son, but this was not widely reported: ‘‘Today land is transferred to the youngest son or the one son that shows the most interest in the farm’’ (S4: 3). This does, however, suggest that inheritance and other property relations are not entirely fixed but may be interpreted pragmatically in the light of particular household circumstances (see below). Considerable disagreement was expressed around the inheritance rights of wives, or widows. Some informants suggested that wives (widows) were bypassed and land would typically be transferred directly from father to son. Just two informants suggested that wives inherited land in their own right, with the freedom to bequeath it as they saw fit. Most informants however, took an intermediate position—that widows inherited a lifetime interest in family property with the condition that, on her death, it would pass to a pre-identified successor (usually a son). Family circumstances and preferences, can lead to some deviation from the standard pattern, and a variety of creative solutions to the allocation of property rights were reported. In one case in the Richtersveld, it was reported that the eldest son usually inherited a father’s livestock while the youngest would inherit the house (R3: 8). Both could then, in theory, claim access to the communal grazing, in an area where individualised ploughing fields are not the norm. In just one case in the sample, from Steinkopf, was there a report of subdivision of land as a pragmatic solution to rivalry between sons but, here as in many other cases, we see daughters being marginalized within their birth family: My husband has three brothers and his father decided to split the land and divide it between his sons and each one got a piece of land y He [also] had sisters but they were not considered for the land. (S5: 1–2) 3 This notation refers to original interviews scripts, by location, individual and paragraph number. Locations are Concordia (C), Steinkop (S), Richtersveld (inc. Eksteensfontein and Lekkersing) (R), Komaggas (K) and Leliefontein (including Kharkams, Nourivier, Rooifontein and Spoegrivier) (L).

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One woman from Leliefontein, who had herself, inherited land from her mother, offered her own view of the way in which women manage to occasionally defy the commonly accepted tradition of handing over land rights: The land will go to my daughter because she loves the land and the livestock and the house will go to my youngest son. That is how the tradition works. (L1: 10) There is a strong and widespread reluctance to bequeath land to daughters. This is typically justified by arguing that daughters will take land out of the family upon marriage, and that it is a husband’s duty to provide land for his wife and family. Informants put this in the context of a wider neglect of the interests of daughters on the basis that they will, ultimately, end up working for the benefit of another family. Such sentiments must, however, be seen in the context of relatively high rates of unmarried women, single parents, divorce, and landless men, all of which undermine the twin notions that women will ‘leave’ their birth family and that husbands will ‘provide’ for their land needs. Virtually identical sentiments regarding the status of daughters within families were voiced by women from across the different towns of Namaqualand. The dominant narrative amongst women was that fathers focus on their sons when it comes to farming, with the understanding that they will become farmers and household heads (‘breadwinners’) one day. Daughters tend not to be seen by the male members as long-term members of the household, as they are likely to get married into another family and might take the land out of the family by transferring it to their husband. It was further suggested that the same attitude applies to education and other areas of life: ‘‘Our parents believe they cannot invest in a daughter who will live with someone else’s son’’ (C1:3). According to this narrative, it is the responsibility of a husband to provide for his wife: ‘‘We consider ourselves lucky if the husband’s family has land’’ (C6: 2). The Bible was repeatedly referred to as the source of male authority and privilege, prescribing precise roles for men and women with the household. ‘‘It works exactly as the Bible says’’ reported one women in Concordia, while stressing her unhappiness with this situation: ‘‘That is the one thing that really upset me’’ (C6: 2). A woman from the Richtersveld provided a graphic illustration of her understanding of biblically-prescribed roles, with the suggest that some women, at least, may accept this dictate: Women believe they must be subservient to their husbands. Your only function in life is to support the husband, take care of the house, rear children, and washing and to cook while livestock remain the men’s domain. They took the punishment of Adam and Eve literally from the Bible and believe that men must earn their living by their sweat while women must bear children and be subservient. (R2: 35) Sometimes, women with a strong interest in farming are deliberately overlooked when it comes to involvement in farming, decision-making within the household and inheritance of land. Two sisters from Concordia told of how they worked on the family farm for many years but their father insisted that he would bequeath it to their younger brother who showed no interest in farming. In their view, the ultimate beneficiary would be a woman from another family: It really troubles me that I am not in line for the farm. I have it in my blood. I sometimes sit on that farm for hours and herd the sheep and the goats and I feel it is

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not fair that my brother’s wife will get the farm in which I have invested time. (C6: 11) In some cases, there appears to be a well-founded fear that fathers would prefer to bequeath land to another male relative, or even return the land to the municipality (for allocation to another household), rather than leave it to their daughters. In Steinkopf, a woman reported that fathers would give first preference to their sons, if they had any, second preference to another male relative, and only then consider bequeathing land to a daughter, ‘‘depending on how strongly they feel about the male line’’ (S2: 11). Similarly, a young woman in Concordia complained that a brother who had no interest in farming was first in line to inherit the farm, and that she was unlikely to be considered as an alternative: ‘‘my father often says that if my brother is not interested then he will have to go and talk to one of his brothers’ sons’’ (C6: 14). Although women are clearly discriminated against in terms of inheritance of land, they sometimes benefit from other forms of inheritance, either with respect to livestock or access to the family home. In the Richtersveld, one woman reported that she intended to leave her house to her daughter, who was currently living with her (R1: 23). In Concordia, one female farmer described how her (widowed) mother had divided the family livestock equally between two sons and two daughters, although the land went to the eldest son (C1: 4). Another women in Concordia, who was unmarried and had a child, reported how she had retained access to her parents’ land after their death, even thought formal rights passed to her brother: [My brother] inherited the house from my parents. There was always the understanding that he would take care of me and my daughter and I would take care of him y. Every weekend we go to the farm and I cook for him and the herder, and do the laundry yI’m not a farmer but I love the farm, that’s why I am there every weekend with him. (C3: 3–4) Great importance is attached to keeping land ‘within the family’, which is widely interpreted to mean bequeathing it to blood relatives with the same surname. This works to the disadvantage of women, and daughters in particular, who are expected to adopt the surname of their husband upon marriage. In the Richtersveld, one woman described how her maternal grandfather bequeathed all his property to her brother who shared the grandfather’s name, due to her mother having been unmarried at the time of his birth, instructing him to ‘‘take the family forward’’ (R2: 20). Thus, rights were in this case inherited via the female line, albeit by the grandson rather than the daughter, due to the continuity of surname. In other words, a woman and her off-spring could be considered as part of the (patriarchal) family, as long as she never married ‘out’. Belief in the importance of surname appears to be shared by at least some women. One woman in Steinkopf reported that she would not leave land to any of her daughters, despite their proven ability as farmers, precisely because of what she saw as their ambiguous position within the patriarchal family: ‘‘The only reason why a man is so important is to make sure the family maintains the right to the land’’ (S2: 12). This strong association between family and surname, combined with the assumption that husbands become the owners of their wives’ property, can lead to some elaborate strategies on the part of women themselves to retain land within ‘the family’. As the following case from Steinkopf illustrates, women may find their loyalties divided between

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their birth families and their marriage families (i.e. their husbands). In this case, the women effectively put the interests of their birth family above that of their marriage family, despite the fact that their marriage family is the one within which they reside and look to for their material existence. This was possible only because the eldest son of the eldest sister shared his mother’s, rather than his father’, surname (i.e. was presumably born out of wedlock): My father was a livestock farmer and we were all involved in the farm y I only had one brother who died young y. The land lay fallow and the sisters came together and decided that we have to do something with the land because it is very fertile and we didn’t want the land to revert to the municipality. Since we were all married it would have meant that the land would fall under one of our husbands’ families’ names and we wanted to prevent that. The choice fell on my eldest sister’s son. The land is now his and he can do with it whatever he feels fit as long as it stays in the family y Our husbands would have got the land registered [i.e. in their names] and it would have been the end of inheritance in our male family line. That is not how things should work. (S3: 3–4) Given the varied and flexible nature of tradition and the fact that women are denied rights which subsequently leads to difficulties with women inheriting land, many women are dependent on their husbands or other men in order to gain access to land, however limited this access may be. This reliance is widely reinforced through reference to tradition and gender roles. Women who marry a man with land are often described as ‘lucky’ and those who do not as ‘unlucky’ (S3: 5). Despite their relatively weak (and sometimes precarious) land rights, women play a vital role in the agricultural household economy, and many women see themselves as equal partners in family farming. Numerous respondents, from throughout the villages of Namaqualand, described how they participated fully in farming and considered themselves and their husbands as partners in a joint enterprise: ‘‘It is in his name but we farm together. We have a wonderful understanding’’ (S6: 2). While women look to men as their primary means of access to land, they can experience severe problems in cases where their male partners do not have land of their own, or lose what land they have. In Leliefontein, one woman described how she and her husband were obliged to give up their land because he worked away from home and no one was available to look after the livestock (L5: 9). In Concordia, the loss of a husband’s job obliged the couple to sell their sheep and cattle and to give up the land they had been renting from her husband’s uncle (C5: 1). Women, especially widows, may also give up their land, but in this they are no different to the men just described: When my father passed away the land was transferred to my mother y My mother wasn’t able to continue with the farming on her own and gave the land back to the council. (L4: 24) On the death of a husband, land rights usually pass to the widow, but this is not always straightforward. In some cases there is no formal documentation, such as a will, to ensure that widows inherit the family land, and women may experience delays or other problems in formally registering the land in their name. Inability to pay long-standing arrears in municipal levies was given as the reason why one woman in Kharkams had not been able to transfer land into her name 3 years after her husband’s death (K6: 22).

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There is a strong sense that widows take over land not in their own right (in the sense that they are free to dispose of it as they wish) but on behalf of their children (and particularly their sons). Three different women in Steinkopf insisted that the land would be transferred to their name when their husbands died, and would pass in turn to their sons: I will take the land right over from my husband. In turn, when I die, my two sons will get the land right transferred into both their names. (S2: 8–9) There were indications, however, from women in Steinkopf and Concordia, that women have not always able to inherit land from their husbands, but that this practice had become the norm relatively recently: It has become common to transfer land from husband to wife. (S3: 2) Land always had to be in the name of the husband. It was only later, in my father’s time, that they were able to leave the land to their wives. (C3:17) Some women expressed uncertainty about what might happen once their husbands passed away. Such concerns included doubts that the land would, in fact, ever be registered in their name, and anxiety around having to resolve potential rivalry between sons. A woman in Steinkopf was anxious that land would be transferred into her name as she feared the consequences if it went directly to one of her two feuding sons (S5: 6). Another, from Leliefontein, doubted her husband’s intentions, fearing that he would bypass her and bequeath his land directly to one of their sons: At the moment the land is registered in my husband’s name. But he wants to transfer it to one of the sons. My husband keeps on saying it is my insurance for the day when he passes away, but it is not on record. (L5: 13, 19) A minority of women in the sample had managed to acquire land in their own names. Usually this was through inheritance of land from parents, or some other familial link. What is particularly interesting is the ability of a few women to retain control of such land even after marriage. This suggests a reversal of the social order: a landless man marries a woman with her own land (i.e. the man marries ‘in’) and the land remains in the woman’s name. One case of such reversal was found, but it may be significant that this was on land under long-term lease from the Okiep Copper Company (OCC), and therefore perhaps not subject to the same customs and practices as meent land: In 1978 my father passed away and I got the farm from him y We were five girls and we were raised as good as boys. We harvested, sowed, ploughed, milled and did everything with the livestock that had to be done. In the end I was the only one left on the farm and I was also my father’s favourite daughter. I knew I would get the farm. (C8: 3) Cases were also found of women inheriting land, because there were no sons in the family or because the sons were not interested in farming. An unmarried woman and mother from Komaggas told how her father, although still alive, had arranged for his land to be transferred to her because her two brothers were not interested in farming and, unlike her, had no livestock (L3: 2). Women may also combine their own inheritance with that of their husband, but such land is likely to end up formally registered in the name of the man, as one case from Leliefontein illustrates:

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I inherited the garden from my mother and my husband inherited the ‘kameelgrond’ (pasture) from his father when he was 21 y. When I got married the land was transferred into his name because he was the head of our household. That is how it worked in those days. (L1: 3–4) In a rare case, a woman from Spoegrivier was able to apply to the Council (Municipality) for unoccupied land that had previously belonged to her parents. In this case, the woman’s application was successful, despite a rival application from an unrelated man. It also illustrates the ability of some women to apply for, and obtain, land in their own name, although in this case it would appear that a historical link to the land was of importance: When my father passed away the land was transferred to my mother y My mother wasn’t able to continue with the farming on her own and gave the land back to the council. . . . In 1996 I moved back here and I heard there was an application on the same piece of land. I applied and the same piece of land was registered in my name. That is where I am now. (L4: 2–4) Prior to 1994, it was quite exceptional for a woman to obtain a land right directly from the authorities in her own name, but it did happen for one woman in Spoegrivier, who obtained a saaiperseel as a single women in 1955. In her household, the land rights rest with the woman, not with her husband, who was an ‘incomer’ from Komaggas: When I was 25 years old I asked my father how he would feel if I applied to get occupational right to land. My father gave his permission and I got access to land. This piece of land was handed to me for occupation in 1955. y When this man married me I already had this land. My husband is an incomer. He is from Kommagas and is not originally from Spoegrivier. He won’t get land here. (L2: 2) Given the limited availability of land in the communal areas of Namaqualand, and the particular difficulties faced by women wishing to acquire land, it is perhaps not surprising to find that some women resort to unorthodox means of gaining access. One woman in Komaggas told how she identified a piece of unused land and erected her own stock post, without asking for official permission: I just invaded that land. Nobody gave it to mey I have never registered that land, I just use it. I must probably go to the municipality to get it allocated to me. (K6: 12) A more common arrangement, particularly for unmarried women, is to access land by entering into some form of land sharing arrangement, usually with a male relative. Such arrangements can be beneficial to the women as they are able to share the cost and risks of farming with the persons they are partnering with, and may also assist women to protect against stock-theft. A woman in Concordia described how she keeps her own livestock on land belonging to her brother (C3: 2). Another in Komaggas reported that she farmed with her brother-in-law, running stock together and sharing the costs: ‘‘The costs for medicines, the herder and animal feed are shared between the two of us’’ (K3: 14).

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4. Women’s involvement in farming Women play a significant role in farming households, both in terms of reproductive and productive activities. Unlike men, however, women in Namaqualand generally have to combine the two. Some women see themselves as equal partners in the farming enterprise, but others are clear that they play a subordinate role to the males in their household. Unmarried women are often involved in agriculture, in a range of capacities but, as discussed above, struggle to access land in their own right. Despite this, many women engage in relatively autonomous farming activities, ranging from small-scale vegetable production to livestock farming, and a few women see themselves as fully-fledged farmers comparable to their male counterparts. Many women start working as young girls on their parents’ farms, often with their mothers but also alongside their fathers. Amongst the tasks performed by girls are herding, milking, lambing, ploughing, planting and harvesting (C6: K1). Many older women were proud of the work they and their daughters did in their youth: My three daughters were very involved in the livestock, they herded the livestock, milked the animals, pulled the donkey cart when ploughing, they planted, they harvested. (S2:12) Later in life, many women get drawn into the farming activities of their husbands. Most commonly, married women describe the family farming operations as a partnership. Some see themselves as equal partners in the farming enterprise, sharing both the labour and the decision-making with their husbands. When we stay on the farm over weekends I cook, I bake bread, I help when he slaughters, and I help with the dipping of the livestock. I look after the livestock to give the herder a break and walk all around with my husband. (S6:5) Other women, however, were clear that their position within farming was a subordinate one: The wife is the labourer on the farm. The expectation is that you are able to do anything. I am able to milk the goats, I help with ploughing. I even helped with building. The men are the bosses. That is the tradition. The farm belongs to the husband. (K1:7) Where men work away from home, as is often the case, women have to take on additional responsibilities, but still tend to defer to men when making key decisions. One women in Komaggas reported that, because her husband worked fulltime away from home, she was ‘‘in charge of everything’’, looking after the livestock and paying the bills (K4:16). Another woman in Lelifontein had a similar experience, but stressed that when it came to important decisions, ‘‘we have to ask the men’’ (L1:21). In the Richtersveld, a woman described how she effectively acted as an independent farmer during her husband’s long absences from home: I had to brand the stock. I help during lambing. I helped with slaughtering and I sold the sheep when things got a bit tough. y I helped with dipping and I marked the meat that went to the butcheries. I sheared sheep if the shearers disappointed us and my husband wasn’t around to help. (R1: 21)

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Within farming households throughout Namaqualand, women reported their involvement in a range of productive activities which they consider to be relatively autonomous from their husbands or other male relatives, mainly in the areas of vegetable and poultry production (S4: 14) but also, in some cases, livestock farming (C4: 18). Unmarried women engage in similar range of activities, but generally on a relatively small scale. Vegetable and crop production may be carried out on home gardens or on saaipersele, sometimes on quite a substantial scale: On our own saaiperseel I tilled about 8 hectares with my own hands and I planted my garden and built my own bore hole. I plant there every year. (S2:6) While some women consider their agricultural activities to be subordinate to the more extensive activities of husbands, others—including unmarried women, widows and the wives of migrants—see themselves as the principal farmer within the household. One women from Komaggas reported that by the time she got married she had accumulated 30 sheep, and this had since grown to 68 (K6: 5). An unmarried woman from Lelifontein reported that she had 150 sheep (more than most male farmers in the area), as well as a fruit and vegetable garden (L: 8). Another women from Concordia similarly stressed her independence from her husband, who was not involved in farming at all: I did everything with the livestock, every single thing, probably better than most men. I wasn’t really a housewife even though I was also responsible for cleaning the house but I prefer to be a farmer. y. I did not have to discuss anything with [my husband]. I told him afterwards what I had done. He did not interfere in my farm. (C: 4–18) While many unmarried women emphasized the difficulties they face in gaining access to land and engaging in farming, others clearly relished their independence. One women in the Richtersveld reported how she had build her house with help from her children, who also assist with the livestock: Sometimes I’m happy I never had a husband so I am able to do everything for myself y.I do my own thing and I take my own decisions. I only take my children into account y I do not have to stand back for anyone because I am not married. (R5: 27) As with their male counterparts, women farmers in Namaqualand face numerous challenges. Access to land, skills and vehicles were recurring complaints within the study group, to which one woman in Komaggas added the lack of a driving licence (K3:13). Access to finance was, however, the most common complaint amongst women farming or wishing to farm, as illustrated by one woman from Concordia: Finances are the problem. You have to be able to pay for the inputs. If your sheep need medicines you have to be able to get it right away. You have to pay your annual taxes and grazing fees, transport, herders. (C1: 11) 5. Women and land reform Since 1994, Namaqualand has been the focus of major attempts at land reform, involving all three components of the South African government’s land reform

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programme—restitution, redistribution and tenure reform (see May and Lahiff, this volume). This section looks at the two areas of reform that have been most important in the communal areas in Namaqualand so far—the purchase of new farms under the Municipal Commonage Programme, and the implementation of the Transformation of Certain Rural Areas Act (Trancraa).4 The Municipal Commonage Programme assists municipalities (local government) to acquire land for use by the poor. More land has been acquired under this programme in Namaqualand than any comparable area in the country (Benseler, 2004, p. 21). Moreover, commonage elsewhere has generally been acquired in areas with little or no tradition of communal land holding, whereas in Namaqualand it has been acquired as an addition (and adjacent) to existing commonage, albeit under a somewhat different management regime. The aims of the municipal commonage programme in Namaqualand have been twofold—to relieve pressure on existing grazing lands and, more recently, to provide lands to larger herders wishing to expand into more commercial production (the so-called ‘stepping stones’ approach) (Lebert, 2004). Thus, the primary beneficiaries of the new commons are likely to be existing herd owners and, unlike in other parts of the country, relatively little emphasis has been placed on providing land to previously marginalized groups, of which women would be an obvious category. Women involved in this study showed little awareness of the municipal commonage process, and held little expectation of accessing land on the new farms. Many were of the opinion that such land was only available for men, and some felt that it was being dominated by better-off men in particular. Dissatisfaction was expressed over the great distance to these farms, which makes them inaccessible for women in areas such as Concordia, Leliefontein and Komaggas, and the grazing fees being charged by the municipality: I know about the new farms, but. I am not interested as they are too far away and if you do not have transport it is difficult. You also have to pay for your animals per head. I do not pay at the moment [on the old commons] and there is enough grazing. (K6:21) If women expressed interest in the new farms, it was largely linked to their husband’s involvement—no women in the study expressed an intention to apply for grazing rights on the new lands in their own name. A woman in Komaggas felt that it was not a matter for her, as her husband would decide everything: ‘‘We are bound to tradition and our husbands are very dominating’’ (K2:16). In Steinkopf, a group of women applied to the municipality for access to a small piece of land on the new commons for use as a vegetable garden, but complained about the length of time and the bureaucratic processes involved: I could see that many women were suffering in poverty. They didn’t have husbands as breadwinners and had children to support. I also knew we could live off the land. These women were all eager. I wrote a business plan. It took two years before we were informed by the municipality that it has been successfully granted to the women’s group. We got a piece of the new land that the municipality purchased 4 A major restitution claim on diamond-rich land in Richtersveld is currently before the courts, and, once resolved, will undoubtedly add a major new chapter to land reform in Namaqualand (see May and Lahiff, this volume).

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recently y. I felt I had to take all the responsibility to deal with the municipality and it wasn’t always easy. (S2:14) In Lekkersing (Richtersveld), a group of women were able to access meentgrond within the village in order to create a vegetable garden through application to the municipality and not directly from the land reform process. This appears to have pitted the women gardeners against the more numerous male stock owners in the area: ‘‘we had many arguments over their stock grazing in the garden’’ (R5: 8). The aim of Trancraa is to secure the tenure rights of occupants of the Act 9 areas, through transferring ownership of communal land from the national Minister of Land Affairs to locally-based institutions (such as a municipality or a Communal Property Association) and creating mechanisms that will manage the resource and safeguard the rights of current rights holders. Trancraa thus marks a significant moment in the history of communal land not only in Namaqualand, but also in South Africa, as it is the first major reform of communal land tenure anywhere in the country and therefore a precursor for much more extensive reforms planned for the former African ‘homelands’ (the 13% of territory formerly reserved for black South Africans). The implementation of Trancraa to date has largely involved an awareness campaign, coordinated by the Surplus People’s Project (SPP), and referenda that were held in five areas5 to choose between various options for long-term land ownership. Women in this study generally had some awareness of the process, and participated to varying degrees, but many reported that they had a poor understanding of what was going on. One informant in Lelifontein reported that women in her area fully understood the voting process (L4: 19), while another in Steinkopf said that, while she had participated in the referendum, she did not understand what was going on (S2:25). Another woman from the Richtersveld summarized the sense of exclusion and confusion expressed by many women in the study: We are afraid of the government, of politics, men and white people because our parents kept many things from us. Only the men were allowed to discuss politics. That is why I was so afraid to even vote, because we don’t understand how things work. (R3: 19) As with other matters related to land, many women deferred to their husbands or to other men in their community. A women in Lelifontein reported that she did not get involved with the Trancraa process because she felt she was fully represented by her husband (L5: 20). Another, in Concordia, stressed that while women participated in such processes, she saw their role as largely a supportive one: ‘‘as, with farming, women stand behind their husbands’’ (C1: 5). A woman from Richtersveld voiced a similar statement, describing how men did most of the talking in public meetings: ‘‘women just say ‘yes’ and ‘amen’’’ (R2: 40). Many women had strong views about the way the process unfolded, and about the outcome. Criticisms raised by women included mistrust of political parties, lack of confidence in various local institutions, including the municipalities, and a sense that better-off people in the community were dominating the process. Similar opinions were repeated across the various areas of Namaqualand (C4; S2; L5; K2). Support was 5

Referenda were held in Leliefontein, Pella, Richtersveld, Concordia and Steinkopf, but not in Komaggas.

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expressed for all the main options being promoted through the Trancraa process—transfer of the land to the municipality, transfer to another community structure, or leaving it in the hands of the Minister of Land Affairs. Few expressed a specifically ‘gendered’ opinion—that is, respondents did not see any particular implications (positive or negative) for women’s land rights in this process. It also appeared that opinions regarding the various political parties and public institutions were not based on their performance in the transformation process alone, but reflected long-standing political loyalties (whether to the African National Congress or the Democratic Alliance), possibly shared within households. Transfer of land to the municipality was the most frequently favoured option amongst women, particularly in Steinkopf and Concordia, seemingly because other communitybased structures were seen as more liable to domination by narrow interest groups (C1: 23) A recurring, and somewhat ironic, position was that the (elected) municipality—a state structure—was seen as less liable to be influenced by (party) ‘politics’ than communitybased structures: I would want the land to stay with the municipality. In Steinkopf there is a lot of infighting amongst people and some farmers only care about themselves. And politics will make families loose the land they have held for all these decades. (S2:26) Differing opinions were offered on communities themselves taking control of the land. A woman in Lelifontein felt that land should be placed under the control of the community, rather than a state body, because ‘‘it will make Coloureds feel that we have something of our own’’ (L5: 21). Other women, however, expressed fears that the ‘voorstanders’ [prominent individuals] would dominate community structures as they have in the past: ‘‘They would not care about the smallest farmers’’ (S5: 16). In Komaggas, women were critical of the ongoing infighting within the community, which had started out as a split within the church but after 1994 had been transferred to the political arena: ‘‘It [Trancraa] was supposed to create a better position for our people but it became a power struggle between political parties’’ (K2:19). Indeed, a strong streak of cynicism about all public institutions ran through many of the responses, as one women from Concordia demonstrated: I wasn’t sure what the right decision was. So I just closed my eyes and voted. I was still shaken over that whole process of the land survey and didn’t trust the municipality but I didn’t trust the CPA [Communal Property Association] either. The problem was also with political parties; you can’t trust political leaders who make promises and don’t keep their promises. (C4:21) 6. Looking to the future Women in this study responded in a variety of ways when asked how they viewed the prospects for women’s land rights and women farmers in the future. Many stressed how they value land for the contribution it makes to their livelihood and to their identity as Namaqualanders. There was a strong sense, however, that farming is a difficult and not particularly rewarding lifestyle. One woman in Lelifontein stated that she never wanted to touch another black pot, or carry another bundle of wood, or work the whole week in the field without payment: ‘‘We do not want to struggle any further’’ (L5:24). For some, the

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future looked more promising but, as one woman from Komaggas expressed it, women’s access to land was inextricably connected to their relations to men: There is a future but it is difficult for woman alone. We women are very dependent on our husbands. The men are always in the forefront. (K3:18) Despite the many hardships experienced by women, many were positive when asked about the prospects of their daughters engaging in farming. One woman in Concordia reported that the family farm would pass to her daughter and her daughter’s husband, who had already brought his own livestock onto the land (C4:15). Another women, in Leliefontein, however, took the opposite view, emphasising the constraints imposed by a traditional lifestyle: [The land] will definitely not go to my daughter. Farming is not profitable. She won’t be able to make a living out of it. It will only be a struggle for her. I only continue [with farming] because it is something that binds me to my parents’ tradition. It is something that our parents did. (L3:12–13) 7. Conclusions This paper has attempted to portray the views of a small group of women in Namaqualand on issues of land, farming and familial relations. It cannot claim to represent the views of all women in Namaqualand, or even a majority. The views it presents are highly subjective, and no effort has been made to cross-reference the opinions offered with other sources. Notably absent are the views of men, and while the opinions of men could be considered to dominate discussion of land and farming in Namaqualand, their specific views on gender relations remain largely unexplored and would be an interesting topic for further research. Despite these limitations, what is revealed by this study is a set of opinions, rooted in lived experience, which paint a reasonably coherent and consistent picture of the position of women within this rural society. Women have, historically, found it difficult to obtain and hold on to land in their own name, and, despite a decade of democracy, this situation does not appear to have changed significantly. Strong social convention dictates that, other than in exceptional circumstances, land cannot be inherited by daughters. Even young women in their 20’s are resigned to the fact that they will be passed over as fathers bequeath family land to younger sons or other male relatives. Widows generally inherit land rights from their late husbands, but there is a sense that they are merely minding the land of behalf of their sons, and land rights may not always be formally transferred into the name of a surviving wife. Prior to 1994, women were unlikely to be allocated land in their own name by the local council, and this is only slowly changing. It is clear that women make a significant contribution to farming households, both in terms of reproductive and productive activities, but generally occupy a position subordinate to their husbands or other male relatives. Women are involved in the full range of farming activities, from small-scale vegetable and poultry production to extensive grain and livestock farming. Some women consider themselves to be equal partners with their husbands, despite not having land or livestock in their own name, but others emphasise that they play a supporting role, and defer to the authority of their (often absent) husbands. On the basis of this study, it would appear that women are least

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involved in the ‘external’ aspects of farming—buying, selling, hiring of labour and participation in local committees. Some women, including unmarried women, widows and wives, are engaged in farming relatively independently of men, but face a range of obstacles—amongst them a lack of skills, lack of transport, poor access to finance, vulnerability to stock theft and the ‘double burden’ of domestic responsibilities. Nevertheless, some women in this study have acquired substantial herds, and are involved in a range of commercial activities. Such activity typically occurs on land to which women do not have formal rights, and so depend on a variety of sharing arrangements with men inside and outside their immediate household and, in at least one case, on land that has been informally occupied. Land reform processes in Namaqualand—especially Trancraa and municipal commonage—do not appear to be addressing the specific needs of women, and are likely to mainly benefit existing land holders and stock owners, most of whom are men. The specific needs of women do not appear to have been clearly articulated as part of the land reform process. These would centre around land for poultry and vegetable production, and livestock production on a relatively small scale, as well as strengthening the rights of women to ‘family’ land. Trancraa looks set to strengthen the position of existing rights holders, possibly using a ‘unitary household’ model, but does not address entrenched social practices such as inheritance in the male line. The newly-acquired municipal commonages may offer potential for improving women’s access to land, as long as such land is made available within reasonable distance, at reasonable cost and for a variety of purposes, including cropping. A narrow focus on commercially-oriented livestock farming is likely to exclude most women. Any improvements in land access for women would also need to be accompanied by comprehensive support services to new and existing women farmers, in terms of training, technical advice and access to credit. This study reveals that women value land and farming as an integral part of the life of Namaqualand, and even young women aspire to be farmers as long as conditions for access to land and support services can be improved. Women in this study spoke of the importance of land to their livelihoods and their identity, but recognized that farming is arduous and often unrewarding. Many saw farming as a potential career, but only if they could establish themselves on a firm financial footing—access to a vehicle, to finance, to hired labour, to markets and to adequate land were all mentioned, as was the desire to escape from the heavy manual work of the past. While some women would encourage their daughters to take up a farming life, others were adamant that their daughters would escape to a better life through education, relocation and a good marriage. The findings of this study suggest that women’s rights to land in Namaqualand are diverse and continue to evolve. The ‘traditional’ (and perhaps stereotypical) model of the male ‘head-of-household’ controlling all aspects of land and agricultural production still carries considerable weight, not least in the discourse of many women, but the evidence presented here suggests that the reality is far from uniform. Women actively negotiate with both male relatives and public authorities for access to land, even though they rarely manage to hold it in their own name. Women play a variety of roles within farming households, ranging from clearly subordinate positions to virtually complete autonomy. Women themselves are a heterogenous group, both in their personal circumstances—as daughters, mothers, wives and heads of their own households—and in their attitudes to land and agriculture. For some, it clearly represents drudgery from which they are eager to escape; for others, it represents economic opportunity, in a context of very limited

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employment opportunities for women and the need, for many, to combine employment with domestic responsibilities. As in other parts of Africa, the relationship of women in Namaqualand to men, to land and household economy is in transition, but in multiple directions and with a range of potential outcomes. Public policy clearly needs to support women’s independent rights to land and provide support for women farmers, while also creating opportunities for those seeking to escape the confines of a traditional lifestyle. References Agarwal, B., 1994. A Field of One’s Own: Gender and Property in South Asia. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Archer, F., 1993. Research about the Future of Namaqualand. A Preliminary Report: A working document on the role of women in Namaqualand. A discussion document. Surplus People Project, Cape Town. Archer, F., 1995. Research about the Future of Namaqualand. Current and Future Land Use in the Namaqualand Rural Reserves. Surplus People Project, Cape Town. Archer, F., Meer, S., 1997. Women, tenure and land reform: the case of Namaqualand’s reserves. In: Meer, S., Philip, D. (Eds.), Women, Land and Authority. Cape Town, Oxfam, UK, I. Oxford, United Kingdom. Benseler, A., 2004. The role of local government in common pool resource management: the case of municipal commonage in the Northern Cape. M.Phil, Mini-thesis, Programme for Land and Agrarian Studies, University of the Western Cape. Cross, C., Friedman, M., 1997. Women and tenure: marginality and the left-hand power. In: Meer, S. (Ed.), Women Land and Authority: Perspectives from South Africa. David Philips, Cape Town. Hall, R., 2004. Land and agrarian reform in South Africa: A Status Report 2004. Cape Town: Programme for Land and Agrarian Studies, University of the Western Cape. Lebert, T., 2004. Municipal commonage as a form of land redistribution: A case study of the new farms of Leliefontein, a communal reserve in Namaqualand, South Africa. PLAAS Research Report No. 18. Cape Town: Programme for Land and Agrarian Studies, University of the Western Cape. Mann, M., 2000. Women’s access to land in the former bantustans: Constitutional conflict, customary law, democratisation and the role of the state. Programme for Land and Agrarian Studies, University of the Western Cape. (Land reform and agrarian change in southern Africa occasional paper; no. 15.). Cape Town. Meer, S., 1997. In: Meer, S. (Ed.), Introduction in Women, Land and Authority: Perspectives from South Africa. David Philip and Oxfam in associationmwith the National Land Committee, Cape Town. Neuman, W.L., 2000. Social Research Methods: Qualitative and Quantitative Approaches. Allyn and Bacon, Boston. Razavi, S., 2003. Agrarian Change, Gender and Land Rights. Blackwell, Oxford. Rohde, R., Hoffmann, M.T., Cousins, B., 1999. Experimenting with the commons: A comparative history of the effects of land policy on pastoralism in two former ‘reserves’ in Namibia and South Africa. Programme for Land and Agrarian Studies, University of the Western Cape. (Land reform and agrarian change in southern Africa occasional paper; no. 12.) Cape Town. Rohde, R., Benjaminsen, T., Hoffmann, M.T., 2001. Land reform in Namaqualand: Poverty alleviation, stepping stones and ‘economic units’: Programme for Land and Agrarian Studies, University of the Western Cape. (Land reform and agrarian change in southern Africa occasional paper; no. 16.) Cape Town. Rohde, R., Hoffman, M.T., Allsopp, N., 2003. Hanging on a wire: A historical and socio-economic study of Paulshoek village in the communal area of Leliefontein, Namaqualand. PLAAS Research Report, no. 17. Cape Town: Programme for Land and Agrarian Studies, University of the Western Cape. Silverman, D., 1993. Interpreting Qualitative Data. Methods for Analysing Talk, Text and interaction. Sage Publications, London. Walker, C., 2003. Piety in the Sky? Gender Policy and Land Reform in South Africa. In: Razavi, S. (Ed.), Agrarian Change, Gender and Land Rights. Blackwell, Oxford. Wisborg, P., 2002. Re-constructing rights to land. From discourse to entitlement. Noragric Working Papers, No. 25. Noragric/Agricultural University of Norway. Wisborg, P., Rohde, R., 2004. Contested land tenure reform in South Africa: The Namaqualand experience. Programme for Land and Agrarian Studies, University of the Western Cape. (Land reform and agrarian change in southern Africa occasional paper; no. 26.). Cape Town.