Evaluación final de la unidad

"What we (anthropologists) find depends on the questions which we ask and on the angle of vision from which we approach our material. If we ask different questions at different points in time, we may well get different answers" Caplan, 1988:

10, 12).

Ethnography, the basis of anthropological knowledge and theory, has been the subject of increasing debate over the past two decades. Central to such debate has been a recognition of the problems of language and translation (Assad, 1986). There has been an increased awareness that the absence of the ethnographer from standard anthropological accounts (as well as the political and cultural baggage he carried with him), has resulted in both lack of self scrutiny (Dwyer, 1982), as well as in essentialist and monolithic representations of the "other" (Marcus and Cushman, 1982). The conventional image of the anthropologist as a neutral and objective observer has thus been seriously challenged. It is now well recognised that observation is always mediated by the presence of the researcher and his/her interactions with the study community (Rabinow, 1977).

Acknowledging positionality in research, that continuously shifting context which shapes our realities and "from which values are interpreted and constructed" (Alcoff,1988, quoted in Geiger:171, 1990), has constituted a significant development in anthropology which gained impetus with the feminist movement. This move towards reflexivity has served to increase our awareness of both standpoint and the power dynamics of self and other, and to debunk the myth of the "neutral" researcher (see Caplan, 1988; Abu- Lughod,1993; Mohanty, 1988). As Abu-Lughod argues in her criticism of Bourdieu's notion of the "other": "The outside self never simply stands

outside, he or she always stands in a definite relation with the "other of the study....he/she is always in a position within a larger political and historical complex" (1993:41).

Acknowledging such positionality, however, has raised complex problems for (feminist) researchers with regards to how they can write about the "other" without either essentalizing or overlooking the implications of the position from which they speak (Moore, 1994b). Feminists have also specifically challenged the androcentric bias of much mainstream anthropological scholarship, and have further problematized the relationship between knowledge and power, arguing for the impossibility of separating epistemology from power relations (Harding; 1987; Caplan, 1988; Strathern, 1987a,b),

While raising similar concerns, recent critiques by Postmodernist anthropologists have specifically questioned the way in which interpretative authority is constituted in ethnographic texts. This has resulted in a call for researchers to experiment with new forms of ethnographic writing which is not

"homological, plagiaristic, positivist, essentialist or analogical."

(Caplan, 1988:9; Clifford and Marcus, 1986; Marcus and Fischer, 1986).

This chapter is written in light of these debates. It provides an account of my fieldwork, the methodological approaches informing it, and the limitations and pitfalls of my approach. My aim is to present the "angle of vision" which has influenced my choice of specific research questions, as well as to show how I grappled with the complex issues of positionality, location and representation. The chapter is divided into four sections: the first offers reflections upon my own positioning as an upper/middle class, Egyptian, feminist woman carrying out research among Egyptian men and women in low-income communities in Cairo, the city where I was born and bred; the second lays out my methodological approach and main research questions;

the third delineates methods and tools of inquiry, and the fourth discusses issues of interpretation and ethnographic representation.

Insider/Outsider: Fieldwork Encounters:1

“What one sees or experiences depends upon who one is, both individually, socially and historically" (Caplan, 1988:10).

As mentioned in my introductory chapter, the motivation for my research stemmed from my work experience in Egypt over the past 13 years as a women's rights activist, a professional in the social development field, and a founding member of a women's association supporting female-headed households in deprived neighbourhoods of Cairo. Working closely with women through various development programmes, I had become increasingly aware of the tensions and discrepancies between the agendas and priorities that we—largely educated upper/middle class women rights activists-were putting forth, and the concerns and priorities of many women in the communities I worked in. I began to wonder about the extent to which the issues we were voicing may have been circumscribed by our own class position and to entertain the possibility that our assumptions, strategies, and visions are largely a function of our specific social locations and lived realities, locations and realities often radically divorced from the majority of Egyptian women. My research was thus fuelled by a desire to develop a more situated understanding of gender relations and women's interests from the perspectives of "the poor" in Egypt. My ultimate aim was to contribute to the formulation of more nuanced and textured feminist analysis, practice and policies which are sensitive to class and other differences amongst women.

I thus began my fieldwork with a keen awareness of my complicated relationship to the study community. I was uncertain as to how that defined me in terms of my relationship to the community. A "native"? a "marginal native?" (see Freilich,1977 quoted in AITorki and EI-Solh,1988), an

"insider?", a "halfie?" (see Abu-Lughod, 1991), an "outsider?", due to the social distance created by my educational background and class position?

Anxious to locate myself early on in the fieldwork, I consciously chose to define myself as an insider, an indigenous researcher. However, as I

1 For a more detailed reflection on identities during fieldwork, see El-Kholy and Al- Ali (Forthcoming, 1998).

spent more time in the various low-income neighbourhoods, the difficulties and ambiguities of finding one identity or "location" became vividly apparent (Geiger, 1990). I was continuously shifting positions, and roles, from one context and set of discussions to the next (the good Muslim, the westernised Egyptian, the women's right's activist, the conservative Egyptian mother, the well-connected upper class Egyptian, etc.). Moreover, there were also sometimes discrepancies between how I wished and imagined that I would be perceived and how my interviewees actually perceived or positioned me. In the following section, I provide an account of how attempts at self­

presentation and perceptions of my identities were played out during the fieldwork.

Multiple Roles, Multiple Identities:

l began my wanderings in Manshiet Nasser on my own, unaccompanied by local informants or research assistants. These unfocused wanderings aimed at achieving a better feel for a community I had previous contacts with, but which had changed significantly. I was also interested in finding out the extent to which I would be recognised as an affiliate of the Association for the Development and Enhancement of Women (ADEW), which is active in this, and other communities, and of which, as mentioned in the introduction, I was a founding member. As I walked around, I shopped for tea, soap, and matches at the many small local groceries in the community.

This gave me a legitimate and relaxed context to start chatting with the owner, often a woman, or other women who also happened to be shopping there. Gradually I was invited to tea and lunch in some of the houses, and my circle of acquaintances started to expand. I felt a strange mixture of familiarity and strangeness during the first weeks, and was surprised at the extent to which my identity as an ADEW board member seemed irrelevant.

Very few people identified me with the association, and to those few who inquired about my current involvement in it, I explained that I had temporarily left the organisation to pursue my studies.

I was forthright as to the reasons for my presence in the neighbourhood, explaining that I was carrying out research (the topic of which I found myself defining differently depending on who I talked to), for my Ph.D., duktuura, in a University in England. Some did not quite understand what this meant or entailed, and their main concern was what type of job such an undertaking would enable me to get. Others likened me to the Ministry of Health and Ministry of Social Affairs personnel who had just been in the community collecting survey data for some development program. Yet others assumed I was training to be a physician (also duktuura in Arabic), and some asked if I could examine their children. It was often younger men and women with some education who came to my rescue, explaining that I was preparing to get a job as a professor in the university, just like the daughter of Om Sanaa in a popular Arabic soap opera2.

While I took time to explain to everyone who expressed curiosity about me, that I was a researcher, baahitha, I never used the work anthropologist, or ethnographer which do not even have Arabic translations; sociology, c//m il igtimaac, was the closest I could use. I found myself changing the way I defined my topic depending on my mood and who I was talking to.

Sometimes I was so tired, I did not want to engage in any lengthy discussions so I selected more banal and concrete topics like "small scale industries".

Other times, when I did want to provoke or engage a person, I used more hazy or controversial titles, such as the relationships between men and women. To those whom I interviewed in greater depth, I explained my research interests in detail.

In general, however, I explained that I was trying to understand how women were coping with their lives in this and other low-income communities in Cairo, both in terms of their family situation and their job conditions. "How is this going to help us", was a common reaction, to which I must admit I found my own attempts at explanation rather lame. I generally articulated the

2 Television soap operas are very popular in Egypt. They are watched regularly and are often a subject of discussions and debates. For a discussion of the role of Soap Operas in Egyptian society see Abu-Lughod (1995).

position, suggested by Geiger (1990) that as a researcher, I will probably not be able to help them change their conditions in any major way, but that what I hoped I could do is make their voices, experiences, and priorities more visible, and thus perhaps influence the way their livelihoods are interpreted and understood by those who may be in positions to support them.

After a few months of observation and exploration, I began conducting in-depth interviews with several women with whom I had established good rapport and who resided in different parts of the community. These were not women whom I selected, but rather they had selected me in the sense that they were the ones who first invited me to their homes and expressed their willingness to be part of my research. After a few interviews, I subsequently decided to focus my investigations on one haara, alley. Although the data I was getting from the interviews was rich, the fact that my interviewees did not know each other, made me unable to get a feel for the networks and mutual relationships in the community. The haara I selected is one which I happened to come across during my walks through the community, and for several reasons, it seemed like a particularly good place to start.

First, as an unpaved, narrow alley off the main paved road, it seemed physically representative of the smaller alleys and streets of Manshiet Nasser. Second, I was attracted by a charming woman in her 60's, Om Azouz, who later on become one of my key informants, and with whom I have developed a special relationship. When I first met Om Azouz on a hot summer day in July, 1995, she was squatting on the mud floor in front of her house hammering away upholstery tacks, which I subsequently discovered was a widespread type of sub-contracting job, performed solely by women, and sometimes children as well (see chapter seven). Squatting beside her, I started chatting informally, and when I left after a couple of hours I knew I had established one of my most important contacts.

During my repeated visits to this haara, Om Azouz embraced me with incredible generosity and warmth, despite her obviously meagre resources.

When I explained to her my interest in women's employment, she introduced me to several other women in the haara who worked both as sub-contractors

like herself, as well as wage labourers in workshops. The fact that this haara included women engaged in the two different types of employment that I was interested in made it even more appealing for me as a research site.

Third, the haara was relatively compact, comprising probably around 150 households. While i knew I would not be able to visit them all, I had hoped to be able to visit a significant number and thus assure a reasonable coverage of the entire population of the haara. Fourth, the haara had at least two Christian households, and I thought it would be interesting to look at Christian/Muslim relationships, particularly with regards to female networks, in this predominantly Muslim community.

I spent much of my first few months in this haara and conducted many in-depth interviews with haara residents. While I was convinced that this grounding in a particular geographical location was extremely useful, it also presented problems that I had not anticipated. There appeared to be much jealousy and friction amongst households, and more specifically competition over me (who I visit first, how long I spend with each person, etc.). I had expected that the more people I got to know in the alley, the more comfortable they, and I, would be but I had the opposite experience. As long as I was visiting Om Azouz only, people in the street seemed friendlier and less curious. Once I started developing relations with other people and visiting other households, I began to feel less at ease in my dealings, as everyone seemed to have something terrible to say about the others. I had to make an effort not to be drawn into haara conflicts, gossip and politics, began to be more self-conscious about who l visit first every day, and tried to ensure that I was not seen to be affiliated with one particular household. This was not easy to do because there were some women who I enjoyed spending time with more than others. When I began visiting one of the Christian households, speculation about my religion surfaced visibly for the first time, and as will be discussed later, religious identification became an important marker of my identity in the field.

My early experiences in the haara probably reflected how I think I was perceived by its residents. I initially thought that I had clearly articulated my

purpose as a researcher, during the first few months. However, it became increasingly clear that community members had their own agenda and consciously cast me in a specific role, that of a resource person, someone who could help solve the many problems they faced. The role and agenda I adopted were in effect being negotiated to accommodate the different agendas of the women I talked to. This attempt to treat me as a resource clearly had something to do with my being an educated, upper-middle class Egyptian, who was assumed to be knowledgeable about the mysterious workings of the bureaucracy in Egypt (which in fact was an accurate perception because of my previous work experience). It was also assumed that I had a network of influential family and friends in Egypt, a network of wasta{s), connections, that I could activate to mediate on behalf of the women I spent time with. I was continuously asked questions such as: Can your husband find my son a job in the textile industry (after I had mentioned that my husband works in textiles?); Does he know anybody well connected at the Saudi embassy, to get my brother a visa to Saudi Arabia? Do you know anyone in the police station who can help me issue an identity card?".

The perception of my being a possible resource affected my initial contacts and the information I was getting in critical ways. One of my research interests was extra-household, female networks. Although I was aware of such networks, both through previous fieldwork as well as the literature, and was prepared to explore extra-household forms of Co­

operation and linkages, my early discussions with women on these topics was met with persistent frustrations. Women often abruptly put an end to my questions, responding that relationships of Co-operation simply did not exist, that the community was fragmented, that there were no forms of mutual help and that people were greedy and selfish. The Arabic saying, "no one wipes your tears but your own hand", was often evoked to emphasise the lack of mutual support systems. As I spent more time in the community, observing the range of networks of mutual help that did actually exist and, more specifically, as I witnessed how the community activated them in response to

specific tragedies such as a fire or a death, I realised that I may have been purposefully misled3.

It was only upon reflection about the community's possible perception of me as a resource, both economically, but more importantly socially and politically, that I began to understand why I had become the object of intense competition. Individual women were probably purposefully projecting themselves to me as struggling on their own, so as maximise the individual attention they may command. Given my previous links with the community, as well as my social position, I should have been aware of the possibility of my being perceived as someone with power. I think I probably unconsciously blocked this possibility because of my desire to negate or diminish the social and economic distance between "me" and "them", and to establish a more egalitarian relationship with my interviewees.

This experience, moreover, made me reflect more critically on the findings of one of the earliest studies of poverty in Cairo. In her ethnography of 17 poor families in a Cairo neighbourhood in the early 1970's, Wikan (1980) finds that most social relations in that community were characterised by divisiveness, jealousy, suspicion and infighting, with little sustained Co­

operation. Wikan concludes that:

"The poor urban neighbourhood reproduces its characteristic social organisation: small divisive coalitions, and enmities in a sea of strangers; unstable scattered circles of acquaintances in spite of limited geographical mobility; a low level of integration..(p. 147)."

It would be interesting to consider Wikan’s conclusions in the light of whether she may have similarly been perceived as a resource (she mentions several times how she used to regularly distribute gifts of clothes and food in the community, donations which she collected from embassies and well to do people in Cairo), and the extent to which this may have influenced her findings and impressions of the community she studied.

3 It is of course also possible that community women were not constructing the arrangements I observed as forms of mutual help but as part of their daily realities.

In other words, the definition of mutual help may not have been a shared one between my interviewees and I.

Once I became aware of possible perceptions concerning my roles, I began to both discuss the limitations of what I could offer, and to simultaneously act as a resource, openly, when I could. I was generally not approached directly for financial assistance, (I was never asked to lend or give money for example), but more for acting as a wasta, connecting and mediating, largely with the local bureaucracies.4 I also went to great length

Once I became aware of possible perceptions concerning my roles, I began to both discuss the limitations of what I could offer, and to simultaneously act as a resource, openly, when I could. I was generally not approached directly for financial assistance, (I was never asked to lend or give money for example), but more for acting as a wasta, connecting and mediating, largely with the local bureaucracies.4 I also went to great length