Views From the Margins: Exploring How Vulnerability Contributes to Shaping Men’s Identities in Informal Urban South Africa

Abstract

Globally, the proliferation of informal settlements continues unabated, challenging us to understand life in these risk-prone urban ‘hotspots’. Although women and children are vulnerable to risks in these marginalised environments, young men are more often considered generators of risk while their own susceptibilities are disregarded. Addressing this oversight, this study, undertaken in informal areas of Cape Town, South Africa, using a range of qualitative methods, investigated the vulnerabilities of young Xhosa men. The findings reveal conflicted masculine identities, shaped by the complex environments young men encounter in navigating life on the margins. Demonstrating the tensions shaping their identities and behaviour, the nature of their vulnerabilities is shown to be constructed over time in response to the changing landscapes young men encounter. It also reveals how they develop individualised defence mechanisms and coping strategies to survive in these environments, contesting the hegemonic forms of masculinity they are more often labelled with.

Introduction

Anathi is 24, unemployed and living with his family in a densely populated informal settlement in Cape Town, South Africa. Shortly after his birth in the city, like many young Xhosa children, he was sent to the rural Eastern Cape, the traditional home of his ethnic group, to be reared by his grandparents. Here, he was inculcated with Xhosa beliefs and customs that invested him with traditional rights and privileges as a male. On starting school, he re-joined his parents in a crowded urban informal settlement, slowly adjusting to a precarious and at first unfamiliar urban lifestyle. As a young schoolboy, he committed petty crimes, helping to put food on the table, later becoming more daring, robbing local train passengers. In his final school year, becoming serious about his future, he studied hard to achieve a Matric. Today, despite his education, he survives doing piece meal jobs and volunteers at a youth non-governmental organisation (NGO).

Anathi shares his home, a cramped shack made of wood, tin and other recycled materials, with a large family. They are provided with communal water and sanitation facilities and a limited supply of household electricity by the local authorities.

Despite his hardships, Anathi remains hopeful of improving his life, continuously seeking opportunities to do so. He admits that when he drinks, he occasionally beats his girlfriend, but insists he will marry her once he can afford his own home. Perhaps surprisingly, given his traditional upbringing and ancestral beliefs, Anathi is devoutly religious, spending his Sundays in Church.

Anathi’s identity is continuously conflicted by the contrasting influences he encounters, a melange of traditional norms, strong Zionist Christian beliefs and modern city ideals. While his masculinity can sometimes be described as hegemonic, as in his domination of his girlfriend and the patriarchal privileges he references in their relationship, it is simultaneously shaped by his own marginality in this urban space. Anathi is typical of many poor young Black men, made vulnerable by the environment in which he lives.

In contemporary South Africa, poor young men like Anathi are being confronted with changes that are causing them to question their identities as men (Morrell, 2005; Walker, 2005). As Morrell (1998) suggests, colonialism and then apartheid ‘infantilised’ Black men, considering them ‘boys’ rather than men. This imprinting in their psyches I believe continues to influence the masculine identities they invest in today despite more than two decades of democracy that has sought to right these previous wrongs. Since democracy, however, state-led policies have shifted the balance of power yet again, enshrining women’s rights in a progressive constitution, simultaneously challenging Black men’s once unquestioned traditional patriarchal rights and powers. Amid social change, men are being made vulnerable by poverty underlain by high levels of unemployment, increasingly unable to perform their culturally prescribed roles as providers and protectors of their households (Meth, 2009; Morrell, 2001; Reid and Walker, 2005; Walker, 2005).

The masculinity of poor young Black men in South Africa is in ‘a state of flux, reconfiguration and change’ (Reid and Walker, 2005: 2), a ‘crisis of masculinity’ (Cleaver, 2002; Morrell, 2001). Meth (2009) argues that men living in informal living environments often feel powerless, irrelevant, confused and conflicted, unsure how to assert their manhood.

Typically, however, young men are believed to generate many of the risks prevalent in poor urban areas, while women and children are considered most vulnerable to them (Budlender, 2005; Chant, 2008; Goldblatt, 2009; Pelling, 2003). Although men’s role in driving risk in these marginalised spaces cannot be denied, their own susceptibilities to risk are generally disregarded or poorly understood (Diouf, 2005; Hunter, 2010; Seidler, 2006), presenting a critical gap in our understanding of human vulnerability in these precarious urban contexts.

Responding to Reid and Walker’s (2005) question, ‘What about the boys?’ (p. ix), this paper argues that if we are to influence change among young men to reduce the acknowledged risks they pose to others, we need to understand how they are made vulnerable in a changing society that challenges their identities as men (Lindegger and Maxwell, 2007; Walker, 2005).

Beginning with a focus on the concept of vulnerability, the paper explores how young men living on the margins cope with the precariousness of urban life, describing the factors that contribute to making them vulnerable, exploring their emotional geographies and how their identities are constructed. The paper concludes by reflecting how poverty contributes to shaping young men’s identities, demonstrating how different forms of masculinity appear to coexist.

Vulnerability as a conceptual lens of analysis

Employing ‘vulnerability’ as a conceptual lens, this study explores how young men are made susceptible to risk, shaping the range of masculine identities they invest in and their behavioural responses. Chambers (1983), in his analysis of rural poverty, was among the first to apply this concept, which was later taken up in many other disciplinary contexts. As a result, vulnerability has been variously defined (Adger, 2006; Hufschmidt, 2011; Manyena, 2006; UNISDR, 2017; Wisner et al., 2004). UNISDR (2017), for example, currently defines vulnerability as ‘conditions determined by physical, social, economic and environmental factors or processes which increase the susceptibility of an individual . . . to the impacts of hazards’. Kelman (2018) has similarly argued that vulnerability is a dynamic process. However, any truly holistic study of vulnerability should consider not only how people are exposed to threats but also how they cope with them (Wisner, 2016).

Understanding vulnerability necessitates considering both the tangible and intangible elements in its construction and how these change over time and in relation to space (Kelman, 2011; Manyena, 2006; Pelling, 2003; Wisner et al., 2004). It is also commonly considered to be socially constructed (Cannon et al., 2003; Pelling, 2003; Wisner et al., 2004), and while I agree with this framing, I believe it often discounts other less explored elements (Lewis, 1999).

In attempting to identify the building blocks of individual vulnerability, this study explores how young Xhosa men experience the vagaries of informal settlement life in the city, identifying the threats they are made susceptible to. Challenging the ‘hegemonic’ forms of masculinity (Aboim, 2010; Connell, 2005; Connell and Messerschmidt, 2005; Mac an Ghaill, 1994; Meth, 2009) often ascribed to them, the findings demonstrate the multiple, fluid and often competing identities young men assume to survive in marginalised areas of the city.

Materials and methods

The study was undertaken over 2 years with 46 young Xhosa men aged between 20 and 35 living in informal settlements in Cape Town. Site selection drew on my working experience in city settlements. Participants were initially recruited with the assistance of public library staff, a local pastor and a youth NGO, and continued through snowball sampling.

Adopting ‘vulnerability’ as a conceptual lens required the development of made-for-purpose research tools that would deliver both a longitudinal perspective and identify both tangible and intangible facets of vulnerability. Various qualitative research methods were employed as themes began to emerge.

Elements of vulnerability identified during a first phase of focus group and life history sessions were explored more deeply during a second phase, using adapted participatory mapping techniques, conversational sessions and diary-keeping, the latter undertaken by a smaller group willing to participate further. Encouraged to ‘journal’ only when feeling the desire to write, feedback from diary-keepers ranged from simple entries written several times a week, to longer infrequent descriptive narratives, poetic verse and even rap music lyrics, delivering richly nuanced information that provided deep insights into the young men’s lives. Gradually, their experiences and perceived vulnerabilities were revealed.

While my positionality as a middle-class White woman might seem questionable in a study of young Black men from a different culture (Meth, 2009; Visser, 2000; Walker, 2005), it was key to building trust among the young men. My distance from their living environments, physically, socially and culturally, encouraged them to take me into their confidence. As an outsider, and given my status as a grandmother, I became a trusted confidant they spoke with candidly about their lives. (As I will demonstrate, grandmothers play significant roles in the lives of Xhosa men.)

Seeking identity: no longer youths, not yet men

Life is precarious and uncertain for young people living on the margins of society (Brownlow, 2005; Frosch et al., 2002), Aliber (2001: 27) describes being poor as resigning oneself to ‘the low probability of ever escaping poverty . . . discouraging people from taking steps to increase their chances of living a more rewarding life’. Hansen (2008) more specifically notes the challenges faced by poor young people in the global South who ‘rather than waiting for adulthood, act out their lives in the here and now under circumstances that are not of their own making, but which they sometimes contribute to changing’ (p. 214). In South Africa, young people are also struggling with ‘the residual weight of the past’ (Shildrick and MacDonald, 2006: 3) as they adapt to changes engendered by democracy.

While young men commonly build masculinity around work or careers, marginalised youths tend rather to focus on familial responsibilities and anticipation of fatherhood. Confronted by poverty daily, they have a different perspective that ‘affects the way they view and act in the world’ (Shefer et al., 2007: 88), placing more emphasis on their role as fathers than providers. Fatherhood is a primary signifier of masculinity in a world where other expressions of manhood have become unachievable (Morrell, 2007; Ratele et al., 2012; Shafer et al., 2007). The value young men placed on family and fatherhood was strongly echoed in this study.

Alakhe, a self-employed artist brought up by older sisters, was upbeat but nervous about fatherhood saying,

My love will give like stream of water that goes to the community . . . When I get my first born, how will that affect me? I have built a house, went to college. I think I am prepared for anything. (Diary, 2018)

Mbuyiselo, a part-time driving instructor, reflecting on his parents’ absence during his childhood, insisted he would never abandon his child as he had been (Interview, 2018). Simphiwe, raised by an illiterate single mother, was quite definite about his plans to be a father saying ‘I wish I can get married. I also plan to have four kids in my life, two guys and two girls’ (Diary, 2018). Deprived of family life during their own childhoods, the romanticised reveries of the young men reveal deep-seated insecurities.

Reiterating the importance of fatherhood among African men, Miescher and Lindsay (2003: 8) insist that their need to affirm manhood ‘is a reminder of the gap between aspiration and achievement which provokes anxiety’. Despite their lack of resources and often strong religious beliefs, most of the young men studied were already fathers, though none was married. Local churches seem to accommodate sex outside of marriage, adapting perhaps to declining marriage rates associated with growing unemployment and poverty (Hunter, 2010), making it difficult for men to ‘assert their manhood through traditional avenues’ (Reid and Walker, 2005: 15). Although most of the young men desired marriage, this was contingent on working to pay lobola ¹ and support their households. Thus, despite the increasing uptake of modern values, they were still concerned to maintain traditional roles as the providers in their relationships, ‘fulfilling their perceived male roles with a sense of desperate manhood’ (Ratele, 2001: 248). Many were notably frustrated being unable to fulfil these roles given their limited means. Unemployment significantly shapes men’s identities and everyday practices (Cornwall et al., 2016; Morrell and Swart, 2005). Reiterating Shefer et al. (2015), many described how joblessness contributed to feelings of inadequacy and powerlessness. There are limited chances of formal employment, while unskilled work is hotly competed for. Many of those interviewed had never had a job, while others had only found poorly paid menial work that at best bought them a few beers and some meat at the end of the day. This undermined their feelings of self-worth and personal agency. Isivile, for example, (Interview, 2018), felt like ‘a loser’ because he could not find work, while Misumzi (Interview, 2018), believed unemployment denied him independence and personal agency.

Mthuthuzele (Interview, 2018) insisted that men do not cope well with unemployment and other disappointments in life, often turning to alcohol and drugs, and becoming violent. Revealing young men’s concerns about being judged by others, Anathi explained,

. . . if you are a man and not doing any effort for the family in terms of providing for them, he will be known as a useless man not only by women, even by those surrounding. The time that men is not working is not recognised as a man but when it first works that’s where the dignity start to grow among the people. (Diary, 2018)

Illustrating how this influences life choices, he described how young men in his neighbourhood dropped out of school to work for local taxi owners, seeking to provide for their families and impress young women, noting how this only delivered immediate dividends, denying them better futures.

Desire for credibility, dignity and respect strongly influences how young men perform masculinity in these impoverished settings (Shefer et al., 2015; Ward et al., 2017). Using life history diagrams to trace defining influences that shaped their lives revealed, among other things, the central role women play, discussed in the next section.

The role of women in shaping male vulnerability

You are my sun and moon, you are my words and tune

My earth, my sky and my sea

You are my light in darkness, you are my peace and happiness

My hope, my forever love. (Simphiwe’s diary, 2018)

This poem from Simphiwe’s diary reveals a perhaps unexpected tenderness towards women, an emotional vulnerability that contrasts most portrayals of African men. Many others similarly expressed deep feelings of love but were challenged in sustaining relationships by their lack of resources and limited prospects.

Echoing Meth (2009), the young men often expressed feelings of powerlessness in relation to women, who they perceived to be materialistic and demanding, only attracted to men who could provide for them. During his absence to attend college, for example, Mcebisi, caught his girlfriend and mother of his 2-year-old son, cheating on him ‘. . . with another guy who had his own car and a lot of money’ (Interview, 2018), providing things he could not. Feeling ‘disrespected’, he ended the relationship, though continuing to support his child. Anathi, on the contrary, feared his girlfriend would leave him, saying ‘Just wonder if she can say it’s over because I’m not working . . . what kind of man is this who cannot even buy a loaf of bread’ (Diary, 2018). His fears are compounded by the demands she makes on him, ‘When passing a shop or when interested in something she will ask you to buy it for her. Imagine she knows you are not working but she will ask you for something!’ (Diary, 2018). His feelings of inadequacy often manifest themselves in violent behaviour towards her, especially when he has been drinking and has the ‘courage’ to confront her. But while it is acknowledged that violent physical behaviour continues to reinforce male hegemony over women in contemporary South Africa (Dartnall and Jewkes, 2013; Morrell et al., 2012; Reid and Walker, 2005; Wood and Jewkes, 2001), young men insisted that such behaviour is expected and reinforced by women themselves, which is consistent with the literature (Frosch et al., 2002; Hunter, 2010; Ratele, 2001; Salo, 2007; Talbot and Quayle, 2010; Wetherall and Edley, 1999).

It is accepted that the increase in women’s rights in democratic South Africa is shifting men’s roles and their sense of themselves (Gibbs et al., 2014; Morrell et al., 2013; Reid and Walker, 2005). While most of those interviewed claimed a ‘modern’ outlook towards women and marriage, supporting gender equality, they still commanded respect from women. Again, this reveals how young men are grappling with the contradiction of a contemporary rights discourse empowering women and the simultaneous retention of traditional Xhosa cultural values important for defending their manhood (Meth, 2009; Morrell, 2001). This conflict is illustrated by Ndumiso, a part-time maths tutor and devout member of a charismatic church, who wrote ‘After thousands of years of male dominance we are standing at the beginning of the female era, when women will rise to their appropriate prominence’ (Interview, 2018). However, he also insists that

The woman must listen to her husband because the man is the master of the house. The first thing that you as a man should follow is the edict, a man should honour his wife more than he does himself . . . If the man does not fulfil his role, then it is the woman who must bring it respectfully to his attention. (Interview, 2018)

His ambivalence demonstrates the competing value sets he tries to accommodate – Xhosa traditions, Christian beliefs and democratic values.

Another way young men claim male privilege is through tradition, such as in the negotiated payment of ‘damages’ to the families of young women who bear their children out of marriage. In Xhosa culture, failure to pay damages denies men paternity rights, so that male children cannot, in accordance with tradition, be introduced to their father’s ancestors, become members of his clan or be initiated at his family home. This illustrates how tradition continues to provide signifiers of manhood among young men denied other forms of agency.

Many men today grow up without fathers or other male role models (Ratele et al., 2012; Richter et al., 2012). In their absence, many in the study were raised by grandmothers or single mothers who they also frequently identified as their heroes. These women play a significant yet often ambivalent role in shaping masculine identities (Cornwall, 2003; Hunter, 2005, 2010; (Morrell et al., 2013; Salo, 2007; Talbot and Quayle, 2010), providing both a feminine touch and perpetuating traditional male hegemonic practices. Ndumiso, for example, said his mother had taught him about Xhosa culture and ‘to understand the role of women in relation to men’ (Interview, 2018), suggesting that women themselves are entrenching traditional rights and practices that contradict the modern values young men encounter in the city. For those reared in traditional rural areas, accommodating contrasting value sets is challenging and confusing.

Life in transition – adapting to urban life

Many Xhosa children today spend their formative years in traditional rural homes, later moving to the city where they typically settle in informal settlements. This transition to urban life, noted in many studies (Bekker, 1974; Moolman, 2013; Morrell, 2001; Reid and Walker, 2005; Shefer et al., 2007), well illustrates the dynamic nature of vulnerability.

Several young men described their traumatic adaptation to urban life. Mbuyiselo (Interview, 2018) remembers his loneliness and fear, confused by the complex faster-paced city life he encountered. Similarly, Mcebisi (Interview, 2018) remembers his initial struggle adjusting to informal city life, unable to sleep because of the offensive smells and sound of gunshots, scared to venture out. He said, ‘I couldn’t adapt to the environment on how people live, the shacks that people are residing in, and they call them their houses/rooms. Back at home shacks are built for livestock’ (Diary, 2018). His negative impressions were later reinforced following a violent attack in which he lost an eye. Sipho, who spent his early years in the city living rough among woodcutters with his illiterate mother, remembered pining for his rural home saying,

I remember one day I even wanted to cry. I really longed to go back to Eastern Cape because I already thought that Western Cape or Cape Town wasn’t good for me. But there was no way I could go back. (Interview, 2018)

Now 31 and reclusive by nature, he remains deeply traumatised by experiences from this period of his life.

On arriving from rural areas, young men encounter many unfamiliar hazards in the city. Bongani (Interview, 2018) was reared by a single working mother and remembers being left to learn to navigate traffic on his own. He contrasted his experiences with young girls arriving from rural areas who were accompanied when venturing out, demonstrating gendered differences in ‘learning the city’. Similarly, Mncedisi (Interview, 2018) recalled his mother departing for work on his first day at school, leaving him to tackle this alone, admitting how scared he felt not knowing what to do. Whether this expected independence from such an early age represents rural traditions persisting into urban environments, a deliberate strategy to toughen boys raised in the city, or evidence of mothers lacking support in the city could not be determined.

In South Africa, crime and violence are more prevalent in informal areas. For young boys and men arriving from rural areas, this is a frightening revelation. Samkelo (Interview, 2017), an only child sent to high school in the city, recalled his shock witnessing street violence. Arriving at the age of 12, Rolihlahla (Interview, 2018) recalls traversing a gangster-ridden area on route to school. After several frightening encounters, he acquired a small gun that he concealed in his sock. His ability to acquire a weapon reinforces the inherently violent character of contemporary urban South Africa (Ratele, 2016). Even Mpendulo, born and bred in the city, is traumatised by the violence he witnesses (Diary, 2018), suggesting that even those accustomed to urban life feel vulnerable in these surroundings. This is not just a perception, however, as statistically, young Black men are the most frequent victims of crime in South Africa (Ratele, 2016; Silber and Geffen, 2009).

The examples above demonstrate how, from an early age, young men become aware of their own vulnerability (Meth, 2009; Rose, 1995; Ward et al., 2017), which contributes to shaping their identity and their behaviour in these urban spaces.

The contribution of ‘place’ in shaping identity and behaviour

Allen (2006: 445) believes that it is the character of a place ‘a particular atmosphere, a specific mood, a certain feeling, that affects how we experience it . . . both to encourage and to inhibit how we move around, use and act within it’. Similarly, Lynch (1988) suggests that the ‘imageability’ of a place determines our attitude and responses to it. Considered in the context of ‘masculine geographies’, Hopkins and Noble (2009) insist that ‘. . . spaces shape the very nature of the experience of masculinity’ (p. 814). Yet, although place has been acknowledged as key in shaping masculine identities in Western contexts (Gorman-Murray and Hopkins, 2014; Hopkins and Noble, 2009; van Hoven and Horschelmann, 2005; Ward et al., 2017), it has been less considered in informal contexts of the global South. Meth (2009: 856) suggests that South African informal settlements are ‘both containers and reflections of complex politicised emotions’. She finds that the qualities of these neglected spaces significantly impact men’s feelings of self-worth, making them feel inferior and irrelevant.

Young men’s perceptions of their impoverished living environments were quite unambiguously described in this study. Mcebisi, for example, referred to informal settlements as ‘filthy and unpleasant places’ (Diary, 2018), while Sipho said of his urban home, ‘The place itself looks miserable, people are always angry – and hungry . . . this is what I see on a daily basis’ (Diary, 2018). Anathi describes a typical morning in more direct terms:

You find pow pow [pooh] among the street in the morning. Imagine are you gonna have good through the day? Absolutely no. Jumping dirty water, alcohol bottles, plastics, papers, sewage, blocked drains etc. that’s not a good morning at all. (Diary, 2018)

These impressions shape place attachment and feelings of belonging . . . or perhaps of ‘not belonging’ in that space. As Rose (1995) insists, ‘part of how you define yourself is symbolized by certain qualities of that place’ (p. 89), suggesting that young men’s self-identity is tainted by their impoverished surroundings.

In contrast, rural areas were more positively etched in the memories of young men reared there, places of beauty, security and warm family relationships, representing another life elsewhere. Anathi spoke affectionately of his rural childhood home. ‘Home will always be home. When you at home you feel like you had been born again. No stress and nothing but the sweetest dreams’ (Diary, 2018), while even Fikile, a 30-year-old, born and bred in the city, described his traditional rural home as ‘a very peaceful place’ (Interview, 2018). Vuyo, already 21 on arriving in the city (Interview, 2016), felt safer in his rural home, finding people there respectful and men’s roles unambiguously defined. This hints that the attachment young men expressed for rural areas is also related to the deep Xhosa traditions practised there, which continue to shape their masculine identity.

The role of tradition and culture in shaping male identity

The continued importance of tradition in shaping male identity and defining men’s roles in the city has been noted by many (Miescher and Lindsay, 2003; Morrell, 2001; Ratele, 2013; Shefer et al., 2007). Most men in the study were fiercely proud of their cultural heritage, accommodating it to varying degrees in their urban lives. Mcebisi, for example, said, ‘I am a very traditional man and I fully respect my rituals as well as my tradition’ (Interview, 2018). Despite this, however, he found the tradition of abducting young women still practised in the Eastern Cape, quite repugnant. ‘In my opinion, as black people or Xhosa in particular, we should not embark on something that we can see it suppress other people’s rights even though we know it comprises part of our culture’ (Diary, 2018). Thus, despite democratic change that purports to uphold women’s rights, traditional forms of male privilege persist in rural areas that undermine them. Samkelo (Interview, 2018) explained that such contradictions were easily accommodated, with modern life providing one perspective and tradition another.

Thus, young Xhosa men today develop plural masculine identities, drawing on both modern and traditional roles, shifting between them as circumstances dictate. The confusion this creates was evident in the ambivalent attitudes they expressed. Alakhe, for example, descended from a long line of traditional healers, but now a devout church member, described his struggle to accommodate both belief systems. ‘I believe in education and also in spirituality, even though I am confused which side I must take, her side traditional or the evangelism’ (Diary, 2018).

Belief in ancestors is central to Xhosa tradition (Bogopa, 2010). Most men in the study believed in the power of their ancestral spirits to influence their lives, communicating with them when troubled or making important decisions. Anathi regularly burned mphepha, a traditional herb, saying, ‘It keeps me close to God and my ancestors’ (Diary, 2018), while Mzingisi, a 26-year-old student, conducted a ritual thanking his ancestors for his luck on being accepted to study law at university (Interview, 2018).

Links to the ancestors are reinforced during male initiation rites (Gqola, 2007), even for those born in the city like Kanelo, who with few remaining ties to the Eastern Cape, nevertheless travelled there for his initiation ² (Interview, 2017). Despite his modern city upbringing, he was very respectful of the process, which he explained was about much more than circumcision, teaching him the customs of ‘his people’, especially ‘how to be a good Xhosa man’. He stressed the importance of the process for his personal self-growth, explaining that young Xhosa men are said to see the world through ‘wooden glasses’ until they have been initiated (Interview, 2016). Field (2001) has similarly noted how initiation remains an important rite of passage, even for young urban men, shaping their identity through the indoctrination of age-old traditions.

Not all of those interviewed were traditionalists, and many were reluctant to ‘go to the bush’. ³ Mncedisi (Interview, 2018), for example, believed initiation taught young men important life lessons, but felt it was at odds with modern urban realities. Nevertheless, many upheld customs due to social pressure, concerned to be considered boys by other men, but also by women who will not marry uninitiated men (Field, 2001). Initiation elevates their status as men to whom others must be subservient. In environments of deep poverty, it remains an important signifier of male identity, providing men with self-esteem and personal agency.

Traditional male roles and values inculcated during initiation are taken very seriously and include relinquishing childish behaviour, becoming a responsible adult and ‘man of the house’. Failing to be initiated has consequences for household power dynamics. Bongani (Interview, 2018), who has not been initiated, cannot inherit his father’s house, this right passing instead to his sister. Similarly, Mpendulo (Interview, 2018), who spent funds saved for his initiation on furthering his education, will not succeed his father as man of the house or inherit the family home. Traditional rites of passage are therefore critical, not only in marking transition into manhood but also in determining male rights and privileges.

Globally, transition to adulthood is becoming increasingly protracted, particularly for poor urban youths (Furlong et al., 2003; MacDonald et al., 2005). While historically a somewhat natural progression from school into employment, transition to adulthood today is frequently delayed as young people struggle to enter the labour market, trapped in a form of extended liminality that the next section explores.

Powerlessness and struggle

The darkness had overcome me, and my life has turned into a joke. (Diary, 2018)

As another extract from Simphiwe’s diary demonstrates, young men’s feelings of powerlessness were consistently expressed in the study, echoing Meth (2009), who similarly discovered that marginalisation due to poverty engendered feelings of powerlessness among Zulu men. Anathi writes frankly about his frustrations:

Do I deserve all this shit which I’m going through? Why should I always feel the pain, which is caused by the people around me? Why can’t I live a normal life the same as people my age. (Diary, 2018)

Mfuneko, brought up by a single mother in a flood-prone settlement, expressed his anguish in his poetry:

I am the greatest witness of life cruelties, I am the greatest witness of life brutalities. (Diary, 2018)

These extracts illustrate how some young men experience periods of deep despair, reinforcing Cleaver’s (2002) argument that pervasive poverty has a ‘demasculising affect’ on poor men. Similarly, Meth (2009) found that informal living environments shape the complex geographies of men’s emotions. Illustrating this, Anathi, working with a youth NGO, noted the lack of commitment among young men in his community, who he said preferred to loiter all day rather than being proactive about their futures. Addressing them in his diary, he asks,

Tell me is that the life you wanna live for the rest of your life. Don’t you wanna see yourself as somebody one day, someone as a role model to every young child out there . . . why brothers you undermine yourself this much? (Diary, 2018)

Later, lamenting the failure of his own friends to attend a workshop, he says,

That’s exactly how young men are . . . for them everything is about money, they don’t wanna experience new things and explore the world . . . Do you think about your future when you waste every single second playing cards? Do you really love yourself when everything you do is just eat and sleep? (Diary, 2018)

Perhaps this noted indifference suggests young men’s lack of self-confidence and resignation to fate. During a focus group discussion, school drop-outs Zanemvula and Xola lamented how they were limited to poorly paid unskilled jobs, while Siya who failed Matric, similarly lived precariously from one job to the next. Ntonipho, however, had completed school and tried unsuccessfully to study IT, survived doing piece-meal jobs. Perhaps, unsurprisingly, none of these young men had any longer-term plans or personal aspirations.

Generally, those who had completed their schooling desired better futures for themselves and their families, mirroring aspirations expressed by young men in another South African study (Morrell, 2005). This selfless focus on family debunks the image often portrayed of young men satisfying narrow self-interests. Although many perceived education as a route out of poverty, others just wanted to earn people’s respect by starting their own businesses. Although most lacked resources to realise their ambitions, reliant on family or friendship networks to survive, Alakhe was different. Having funded his own education, he started his own photography business, could support his family and was independent. But his success had inadvertently made him the target of people’s jealousy. He explained, ‘In my community people when they see you as educated . . . the thing they want from you is a secret of making money. After they get jealous of me and I get to be a witch’ (Dairy, 2018). Thus, his success had perhaps made him vulnerable in another way, by engendering the contempt of those struggling to survive around him.

While young men are statistically the perpetrators of most violent crimes (Silber and Geffen, 2009; Wood and Jewkes, 2001), they are most frequently also victims, deeply traumatised by their experiences. Mcebisi, for example, was attacked and seriously injured one night during a robbery. After losing an eye in the ensuing struggle, he became depressed and even considered suicide. He explained that he had concealed his depression because Xhosa culture dictates that men should not express personal anguish. His college lecturers, noticing a change in his usually cheerful demeanour, insisted he attend counselling sessions, which he admits aided his recovery.

Other young men described their trusted support mechanisms. Anathi, for example, turned to his church for solace, while Alakhe had an older female friend who listened to him and gave him advice. For Mpendulo, adopting Rastafarian values, natural healing methods, and finding opportunities to commune with nature helped him to cope with the death, violence and disease described in his diary. These are contrasted with the peace he derives from watching waterfalls and gathering herbs in the mountains. Retreating into safe spaces provided by nature echoes Massey’s (2008) belief that we ‘replenish our souls in contemplating the timelessness of the mountains, by grounding ourselves again in “nature”’ (p. 131), perhaps explaining the attraction young men had for the rural Eastern Cape.

In navigating the landscapes they encounter, men seem to shift interchangeably between different identities as a coping mechanism (Gorman-Murray and Hopkins, 2014; Morrell, 2001) – a strategy to reduce perceived vulnerability in different spaces. The concept of ‘plural masculinities’ proposed by Aboim (2010) usefully explains how Simphiwe, orphaned early in life, developed contrasting identities for navigating different settings. For example, while attending high school in a gangster-ridden area, he projected a tough image, eventually becoming a gang member himself. In his own neighbourhood, however, he continued attending church with his aunt and uncle, presenting a very different persona. Befriending a group of young women, he adopted what he described as an effeminate character to earn their trust. Mfuneko, on the contrary, was raised by a strict mother whom he deeply respected, so when his friends became involved in criminal activities, he was conflicted. After being involved in the mugging of a foreign national one night, fearing violent community retribution and his mother’s wrath, he turned away from ‘his crew’, absorbing himself in his studies.

Family support and guidance, as Mfuneko’s story illustrates, is a critical factor in reducing the vulnerability of young men (Richter et al., 2012). Those from nuclear families had a stronger moral grounding than those without close kin. For example, Mpendulo explained how his strict mother kept him on the right track (Interview, 2018), while Bongani’s father was his stabilising influence. By contrast, Vuyo who had spent much of his teenage life living alone, admitted that avoiding the pressure to join local gangs had been hard, insisting that staying safe required constant vigilance (Interview, 2016). Simphiwe’s survival strategy was not to trust anyone saying, ‘Live as if you are alone in the world, don’t depend on other people’ (Interview, 2018). Many of the young men expressed similar misgivings about trusting people, preferring to keep to themselves, reiterating Giddens’ (1991) theories on the importance of trust in modern identity formation.

Conclusions: vulnerabilities exposed

In a departure from other studies of urban life that tend to regard men as the generators of risk (Dartnall and Jewkes, 2013; Wood and Jewkes, 2001), this study aimed to demonstrate how young men living on the margins of society in the global South are made vulnerable themselves (Clowes, 2013). Vulnerability describes not only the threats people are exposed to but also their ability to cope (Wisner, 2016). This can only be understood holistically by studying people’s everyday practices, their risk perceptions and the strategies they develop to protect themselves. Exploring several themes emerging from doctoral fieldwork, this paper related the perspectives and experiences of young Xhosa men living in informal urban environments, revealing how they adopt a range of identities in response to their perceived vulnerability in these precarious places.

In demonstrating how ‘both material and discursive forms of power’ are manifested (Pelling, 2003: 4) in the lives of marginalised young men, and how they cope, this paper demonstrates how, within the context of the global south, poor young men respond to their perceived vulnerabilities by constructing different identities. Often seemingly contradictory, these are shaped by culture, democratic change and the politics of power in the marginalised spaces they inhabit.