When Bettina Shell-Duncan discusses her research, people wince. Or cringe. Or shift uncomfortably in their chairs. Shell-Duncan takes no offense. She understands that the topic of her research—female circumcision—often makes people squirm.

Shell-Duncan, assistant professor of anthropology, specializes in biocultural anthropology—how biology and culture intersect and influence people’s health. She was studying vitamin deficiencies among the Rendille, an ethnic group in northern Kenya, when the subject of female circumcision first came up.

	Bettina Shell-Duncan (right) with a Rendille woman in Kenya.

“I had an informal discussion with people in the community to see what they thought were their major health issues,” Shell-Duncan recalls. “They said all the expected things—hunger, malaria—but they also said, ‘We don’t have enough antibiotics for the weddings.’ I was puzzled by that. Then they explained that the first part of the wedding ceremony is circumcising the bride. I had heard of female circumcision, but I didn’t know the Rendille practiced it.”

Shell-Duncan assumed the issue would be sensitive, but she soon found otherwise. The Rendille were very open to talking about female circumcision and invited her to a wedding the next morning at which one would be performed.

“I was so ill-prepared for what I was going to see that I think I rather failed as an anthropologist,” Shell-Duncan admits. “I sat there stunned. I was silenced by the whole thing. I could not think of any questions to ask.”

That experience spurred Shell-Duncan to learn more about female circumcision. She and a research assistant spent a summer scouring all published studies on the topic. She learned that female circumcision can range from a mild procedure—essentially drawing a single drop of blood—to a very invasive procedure with serious health risks. (The Rendille practice a milder form, although it does involve cutting.)

“The activist literature focuses on the more extreme forms,” says Shell-Duncan, “but these are the least frequently practiced. The activist groups have a political agenda. I was interested in getting a more balanced perspective on it.”

Shell-Duncan headed back to Kenya, eager to ask the Rendille women more about female circumcision. She soon discovered that they had questions for her as well.

“When I asked them why they wanted to be circumcised, they would turn to me and ask, ‘How can you bear not to be circumcised?’ Shell-Duncan recalls. “I had to answer quite a few personal questions. The Rendille are very polite people, and they tried so hard to conceal their disgust at my not being circumcised.”

Through her conversations, Shell-Duncan began to appreciate the importance of the ceremony to the Rendille women. “They see it as part of their transformation from a girl to a woman,” she explains. “They see this as emphasizing everything that is female and related to female reproduction. And by enduring the pain, they prove that they can withstand any hardship that may come, including childbirth.”

Shell-Duncan’s first exposure to female circumcision, at the wedding ceremony, made more sense now. “I remember being surprised that the bride was beaming,” she says. “But now I understood why. We have a notion in our culture of good and bad pain. Childbirth in our country is an acceptable and good pain. This was the same thing. This girl was becoming a woman. It was cause for celebration.”

Although she now had a better understanding of the cultural reasons for circumcision, Shell-Duncan was still puzzled by the lack of antibiotics for the procedure—particularly since the government provides antibiotics, anesthesia, and medical personnel to perform male circumcisions in the same community. “Under Kenyan law, due to pressure from the international community, these same resources are not available for women,” says Shell-Duncan. “It’s felt that it will promote or legitimize the practice.”

Shell-Duncan began looking at the health consequences of female circumcision and whether antibiotics and other medical support could minimize the risks. She also questioned whether medical support derails efforts to discourage female circumcision. “I equate it with other examples of ‘harm reduction,’ such as giving needles to drug users or giving condoms to sexually active teenagers,” says Shell-Duncan. “You can reduce harm most by getting people to stop cutting altogether. But if they aren’t ready to do that, are we promoting circumcision by providing medical support? I don’t know yet.”

Shell-Duncan and anthropology graduate student Ylva Hernland recently co-edited a book on this topic, Female “Circumcision” in Africa: Culture, Controversy, and Change, with chapters by leading scholars in various disciplines. Response has been positive, even among activists.

“The activists swung the pendulum to an extreme to get political attention for the issue,” Shell-Duncan says. “They’ve accomplished that. So now they are on board with discussing it in a more balanced, objective way. What my work is about is having this become an informed discussion.”

[Winter/Spring 2001 - Table of Contents]