Article note [1]

This article examines the politics of family by focusing on the politics of reproduction. These politics are brought into focus when family members or 'dependents' require care; when individuals or couples want to 'start a family;' or when families are forcibly broken apart. In the examples I've chosen to illustrate these issues, I have centered on family choices that are associated with the white middle-class—hiring childcare, entering into surrogacy, or international adoption—and I have drawn from media representations in order to do so. This is because, as Laura Briggs recently wrote in S&F Online, in order to make sense of the differential values attributed to infants and adult women from the same Third World nations, one must analyze them alongside the value placed on the white, middle-class women who adopt the first and employ the second.[2]

Caring for a Family

I will first consider the challenges of caring for one's dependent family members, wherever they may live. I use the example of childcare, but many of these points are also applicable to those who care for aging parents, parents-in-law, or other disabled family members. The classic example anthropologists of reproduction use to illustrate this comes from the work of Shellee Colen, who studied childcare workers from the West Indies employed in Manhattan.[3]

Colen tells us that white, middle-class New York women saw West Indian women as phenomenal nannies, perhaps due to their upbringing in a cultural context where child-raising and children are highly valued. This fact, along with the hiring of the women themselves, has three important implications. First, if children are highly valued in the West Indies, it is probable that most of the migrant women have left behind children on whose behalf they are quite explicitly laboring (relying on the good will of female relatives to care for the children, most likely, and hence, they too are struggling to care for their dependents as best they can). Second, if the Manhattan moms were hiring childcare workers, it is likely because many of them planned to work outside the home. This speaks both to the devaluing of reproductive labor in the Manhattan context (in that women, to be fulfilled, needed to find paid work rather than be 'just a mom') and to the economics of reproduction. In other words, it can cost less to 'outsource' childcare to an employee than to give up an income. Finally, a further implication of hiring childcare workers is the existence of a child—and here, we can note that despite the devaluing of reproductive labor, there is still something of a cult of motherhood in which babies are a fashionable and necessary commodity.

The concept that Colen comes up with to explain this chain of unequal reproductive decisions is "stratified reproduction." By using this term, she draws our attention to the ways that reproductive labor is differentiated, and differently valued, according to inequalities of gender, class, race, nationality, and other cross-cutting strata. When West Indian women work as nannies for white children in Manhattan, they are performing stratified reproductive labor. They are caring for someone else's children. The reason they're caring for the kids of Manhattan moms, and not the other way around, has to do most of all with globalized inequalities between nations. That means, for example, that you can make a lot more money in Manhattan than in the West Indies. But race and class are also implicated. When the female relatives of the West Indian nannies care for those nannies' children back home, they are also involved in a chain of stratified reproduction, in that they are lower in the global hierarchy of nations, and they didn't have the capital (economic or social) to migrate themselves. The transnational system in which different households have vastly different access to resources stratifies experiences of reproduction for workers and employers.

In the remainder of this article, I examine how Colen's insights about stratified reproduction can shed light on two other aspects of the politics of family: making a family, and disassembling one. In both of those projects, how are the different roles that people occupy when making or disassembling a family differently valued depending on the various inequalities and hierarchies within which they occur?

Making a Family

Making a family doesn't, on the surface, sound complicated. But for those couples suffering from infertility, whether medical infertility or "social infertility," as in when gay or lesbian couples or single individuals want to reproduce and require some kind of outside physiological involvement in order to do so, there are an increasing number of technologies, both new and old, that come into play. Many of these technologies can be interpreted using Colen's framework of stratified reproduction.

Take, for example, surrogacy. In late 2008, a New York Times article on surrogacy caused a great deal of fervor on the mommy blogs. In the accompanying images to "Her Body, My Baby," the white reporter Alex Kuczynski is pictured with her baby and her "baby nurse," a woman of color, conspicuously in the background.[4] The surrogate, also white, is shown barefoot, sitting on her porch. Hundreds of enraged letters to the editor followed. Joanne McCarthy, for example, wrote, "What decision maker is responsible for showing the surrogate barefoot? This one picture belies all the careful respect the article seems to afford her choice. She is the hillbilly who needs to 'rent her womb'—the barefoot-and-pregnant stereotype."[5] Public editor Clark Hoyt responded to readers the week after Kuczynski's piece appeared, noting that Kuczynski "came off to many readers as a rich woman in a rarefied world of servants and multiple homes, able to enjoy skiing, whitewater rafting and the Super Bowl while her surrogate was pregnant." He added, "the article focused almost totally on the wealthy Kuczynski and her feelings without giving a voice to Cathy Hilling, the substitute teacher who bore her son. The article glossed over their class and economic differences, but the accompanying photographs seemed to emphasize them."[6]

The irate New York Times readers perceived this to be a case of elitism, of stratified reproduction. This response is partly grounded in its cost. Surrogacy is not an option for those without significant means; one recent estimate indicated that legal and medical expenses can run between $80,000 and $120,000.[7] At the same time, surrogates repeatedly state, in a context where commercial surrogacy is prohibited, that they do not do it for the money but rather, as Cathy Hilling, Kuczynski's surrogate, remarked, the "'incredible high' of knowing 'you can make someone's dream come true.'"[8] Anthropologist Helena Ragoné found that surrogates' apparently altruistic actions were best explained—almost paradoxically—by their desire to both transcend the limitations of their domestic roles as wives, mothers and homemakers, while at the same time very powerfully attesting to the importance of those roles.[9] If Ragoné's argument is convincing, then being a surrogate is empowering for working-class women. Describing it as altruistic, as Cathy Hilling did, lets them sidestep any questions about the autonomy and personal power (as well as money) that they can get from being a surrogate.

So perhaps surrogacy is more complicated than the label "stratified reproduction" might suggest. But let's take one more example, commercial surrogacy in the transnational sphere, with India as a controversial case study. Media reports indicate that the cost of surrogacy in India is one-third its cost in the U.S. or U.K., including airfare. Yet global income disparities mean that the actual value of the amount paid to a surrogate might be much more in India than in the contracting parents' home nation. Where commercial surrogacy is allowed and surrogates are no longer in the position of having to frame their work as altruistic, and where observers don't have to pretend that the money paid to the surrogate is not a significant aid to her household, then surrogates don't have to be interpreted as 'empowered.' Instead, they can be viewed as the recipients of benevolence.

A doctor at an Indian fertility clinic, interviewed in connection with her work on behalf of the reproductive project of a gay Israeli couple, told a New York Times reporter, "Surrogates do it to give their children a better education, to buy a home, to start up a small business, a shop. This is as much money as they could earn in maybe three years. I really don't think that this is exploiting the women. I feel it is two people who are helping out each other."[10] In other words, the doctor is arguing that employing Indian women as surrogates is a method of helping them (much like humanitarian aid, development assistance, tourism, or many other practices of complicated ethical makeup) rather than exploitation.

These depictions of U.S. surrogates as 'empowered' and Indian surrogates as the recipients of 'benevolence' draw on fears of what the shadowy alternative might be. If the underside of 'charity case' is 'exploited,' it is reasonable that both those who extend a humanitarian hand and those who can be characterized as exploiting prefer the former descriptor. Similarly, empowered surrogates win out every time over their own shadow selves, mercenary women (gold-diggers with wombs), in a narrative contest. (Yet it also won't do to draw the distinction between empowered and charity recipient too starkly; these strategies can and do overlap in both settings.)

Articles in the popular press about Indian surrogacy often barely conceal their skepticism of such claims and their scorn for those who choose to reproduce via this ethically murky path. For example, the BBC reported on one surrogate mother who "says her employers told her to eat certain kinds of food only. She was also ordered not to travel by auto-rickshaws."[11] Here, restrictions on the surrogate's behavior that would clearly not be acceptable in a U.S. or U.K. context of ostensible reproductive choice and freedom are used to imply the controlling and perhaps exploitative nature of the relationship. The New York Times reporter paraphrased the Indian doctor as noting that, "The surrogate mother does not know that she is working for foreigners ... and has not been told that the future parents are both men. Gay sex is illegal in India." Here, the reporter suggests that withholding information about sexuality and nationality that may affect the surrogate's choices in the Indian context is problematic and, perhaps, exploitative—despite the doctor's and the future fathers' claims to the contrary.[12]

These examples of surrogacy clearly illustrate what Colen described as stratified reproduction: one person "outsources" the work of gestation to another person who is willing to give over her body to the first person's reproductive project for nine months or more. In other words, one aspect of reproductive labor—gestation—is being transferred to someone who is "lower down" on the global hierarchy, whether in terms of social class (as in the Kuczynski case) or national power (as in the Indian example).

New reproductive technologies are particularly illuminating through their sheer science-fiction-like appeal, but there are also the "old reproductive technologies," such as adoption. If technology is not simply bells and whistles but also knowledge, tools, and strategies, then adoption is a kind of technology used to facilitate reproduction. In adoption—whether domestic or international, private or from foster care, open or closed—one person gives birth, and another person is granted legal responsibility for that child. As in surrogacy, an aspect of one person's reproductive project is achieved through the labor of another.

Disassembling a Family

It may be more comfortable to imagine that adoption happens because the "reproductive laborer," or the person who worked to bring the child into the world, is deceased, or in other words, that all adoptable children are orphans. However, the overwhelming majority of children adopted today do have at least one living parent. This became all too clear during the response to the Haitian earthquake of 2010, when some adoptions were facilitated even as U.S. Baptist missionaries' efforts to "rescue" children with parents were vilified. The New York Times cited a UNICEF spokesman who noted that "In orphanages in Haiti there are an awful lot of children who are not orphans."[13]

In the absence of orphans whose parents are dead, the transfer of reproductive labor that adoption represents is regulated by the state, the federal government, and international conventions and agreements. In this highly regulated context, the person who gave birth to the child is for some reason determined not to be capable to take care of him or her (further discussion on this below). Meanwhile, the person who is receiving a legal relationship to the child has been for some reason determined to be able to take care of him or her. Once again, this is stratified reproduction in action. Some larger entity—perhaps a national government represented by a social worker—has identified one person as an unfit parent and a second person as a fit parent.[14]

To identify someone as an unfit parent is a crucial piece of the politics of contemporary reproduction. It is also a process which is complex and difficult to clearly analyze. On one hand, it is essential to raise the possibility that good parents are being mislabeled as unfit—by state representatives or even by themselves—due to racial, cultural, or class prejudices deeply embedded within governments and local social structures.[15] On the other hand, it would be disingenuous to forget that many parents are, indeed, unfit by any reasonable measurement and that many adoptions are thus not fodder for an analysis of stratified reproduction but rather measures that protect children.[16] In what follows, I hope to maintain this sense of ambiguity and complexity.

Racial, cultural, and class prejudices have historically been closely tied to policies and administrative decisions that are ostensibly in a child's best interests. One particularly compelling example comes from aboriginal and Native history. In the U.S., Canada, and Australia, indigenous children were removed from their families on the premise that Indians could not be suitable parents, and that the children would be best off if placed in boarding schools or with white couples.[17] Along with child removal, child abandonment can also often be shown to be related to such prejudices. For example, at the beginnings of international adoptions in the 1950s, children were available from Korea not because they had been orphaned by the war but because neither their Korean mothers nor their U.S. soldier fathers were able or willing to raise them. Korean women who had been in relationships with GIs were stigmatized by a society which valued ethnic purity, and their mixed children were no exception to this.[18] Thus, even parents who abandon their children may be doing so in a context where there is no social, moral, or economic support for their parenting.

When adoptions are not making the news courtesy of corruption-related scandals in Haiti or Guatemala, they do so in the tabloids and magazines that cover celebrity reproduction. An analysis of reporting around Madonna's most recent adoption reveals something about the politics of disassembling families.

In March 2009, Reuters reported that Madonna was hoping to adopt her second Malawian child, Chifundo Mercy James. This was immediately controversial for two reasons. First, Malawi does not officially allow international adoptions. For Madonna to initiate proceedings was seen by some as special treatment.[19] Second, almost immediately, a man named James Kambewa identified himself as Mercy's father and stated that he did not want her to be adopted. He claimed that when Mercy's mother became pregnant he had no money to marry her, and had to move to live with extended family, hundreds of miles away. He was informed that the child died, and he stated that he had never met Mercy, all of which is plausible, if not provable.[20]

In May, the Malawi appeals court ruled that Madonna could not adopt Mercy due to the residency requirement for adoption.[21] Judge Esmie Chondo stated that, "By removing the very safeguard that is supposed to protect our children, the courts could actually facilitate trafficking of children by some unscrupulous individuals who would take advantage of the weakness of the laws of the land. I must confess that there is a gripping temptation to throw caution to the wind and grant an adoption in the hope that there will be a difference in the life of just one child. However, it should be borne in mind that inter-country adoptions may not be and are not the only solution."[22] The following month, the Malawi Supreme Court overruled the appeals court and allowed Madonna to adopt Mercy. The court's ruling included the statement, "In our judgment, the [child's welfare] will be better taken care of by having her adopted by the foreign parent rather than for her to grow up in an orphanage where she will have no family life, no love and affection of parents."[23]

What is particularly interesting about this case is the way that the media reported what had happened to cause Mercy to end up in the orphanage. CBS reported that Mercy's mother died in childbirth. Her maternal grandmother, Lucy Chekechiwa, raised her for several months but eventually Mercy "was put in the orphanage because there was no one to breastfeed the baby."[24] The way that Mercy's grandmother relied on the orphanage to take care of her reminded me strongly of what I had seen in Peru, where I conducted two years of research on adoptions and orphanages. I learned that orphanages are not exclusively places where government or philanthropic workers raise children whose parents have died. In very poor countries, where families often cannot afford to quit working and take care of a child, or to feed every child that is born, orphanages are often used as a safety net. In Peru, people could leave children with the orphanage for up to six months as a relief measure, and adoption proceedings would not be initiated unless the parent or guardian did not visit the child at all during the six-month period. So "orphanage" was really a misnomer—many of the children residing there were there temporarily, and two-thirds of the children in orphanages that recorded numbers of visits had relatives who came to visit them.[25]

One example I saw in Peru was of a mother who had an opportunity to work harvesting coffee in the jungle, a place not suitable for children but the only job available to her and the only way she could make some money to be able to feed her child. Another case I read about was of a man whose wife died in childbirth, like Mercy's mother. The man didn't know how to take care of a baby, so he gave her to the orphanage to care for until she grew old enough to be somewhat self-sufficient, perhaps three or four years old in the Andes. Leaving a child at an orphanage must be viewed in the context of a country where people are so poor that in their desire to take care of their children, they determine that the only way to do so is to take this drastic, but temporary measure.

Similarly in Malawi, according to CBS, Mercy's grandmother thought the orphanage would help lighten her load until Mercy was old enough to go to school: she was quoted as saying: "the discussion that we had was that after 6 years I would be able to get Mercy back into the community, so that she could be integrated back." In the interviews she said, "I did not want my granddaughter to be adopted." She added that she hoped for Mercy to visit often and return home to live in Malawi when she finishes school. James Kambewa also told CBS, "I do not want my baby to be adopted."[26]

These revelations about family members who potentially do not want Mercy to be adopted sketch a picture of stratified reproduction. To put it bluntly: in a poor African country, an overwhelmed grandmother and an alleged father estranged from his child's family are ostensibly pressured by the orphanage to legally renounce the child so that a wealthy, powerful, white celebrity can sweep her up and take her back to one of her several well-appointed houses. Like the fertility clinic doctor in the Indian surrogacy example, Madonna frames her adoption of Mercy as potentially contributing to Malawi's development: "And it's my hope that she, like David, will one day return to Malawi and help the people of their country."[27]

Yet we cannot simply take James Kambewa's and Lucy Chekechiwa's words at face value. What they describe might be exactly what happened; or it might also be that they are representing their actions and decisions in the best light possible, knowing that they are now part of a global media event, and they may be exaggerating their desire to keep Mercy close to them. According to Madonna's spokesperson, Liz Rosenberg, "No family member has ever come forward to claim this child."[28] Between Chekechiwa's hopes for Mercy's future in the community and Rosenberg's point that no one had come forward to claim Mercy lie many unanswered and unanswerable questions: did family members maintain contact or communication with Mercy while she was in the orphanage and before Madonna's interest was apparent? If not, was this due to disinterest and abandonment, or to social and cultural pressures? In either case she appears to have been brought to the orphanage and available for adoption; both possibilities are tragic, but only the former prefaces an adoption without ambivalence over what could have been done differently.

Conclusion

Popular representations of such cases beg us to consider what is in the best interests of the child. This powerful phrase ostensibly guides social workers, psychologists, and judges when they make determinations about where and with whom a Native American child in the U.S. in the 1950s, or a Malawian child in the 2000s, should grow up. What we think is best for that child is key in legal thinking about the disassembling of families, removing children from their birth families. But my focus here is not on the politics of children—it is about the politics of modern families. So I offer here a mildly radical suggestion—what if, instead of or alongside the idea of what is in the best interests of the child, we consider what is in the best interests of the family? Or what is in the best interest of the nation? Or the world? What if we think about some alternative people, groups, collectives, or ideas that we also value, along with children?

I don't think that reconsidering the way we make these decisions will solve everything, of course. Prioritizing the best interests of a family is just as much a political choice. And a family may not be a unified entity: if women still have a "second shift" in two-income heterosexual couples, members of a single family can surely have opposed or divergent interests.[29] But perhaps taking that variety, hetereogeneity, and diversity of the family into consideration—as well as the broader questions of social justice that we must also consider—will help us to make better decisions at individual levels, and policies at political levels, for our modern families.

Talking about family in this way is often unpopular with feminists, not only because it rests on an assumption that family is a women's issue which we usually try to contest, but also because focusing attention on the power inequalities underlying "choices" like surrogacy, international adoption, or hiring a nanny can be upsetting to women who are convinced that these "choices" are the only ones that will allow them to do what they want to do. Seeing the shadow side of those "choices" can reveal that one woman's choice is made at the expense of another woman's reproductive integrity. And because people assume family is a women's issue, drawing attention to the sometimes exploitative implications of family choices—to the ways that reproduction is stratified—can end up placing blame on women, which is far from what I want to do here. Instead I want to ask us to think a bit about how what we've been taught to see as family choices may seriously affect other people's lives.

Many white, middle-class families eagerly embrace the narratives of the new kinds of families that are emerging as empowering, positive, choices. But this self-congratulation comes with a reluctance to confront the ways in which such creative family configurations as in-home child care, surrogacy, or adoption are constructed on global hierarchies of inequality. I want to suggest that we should, in the words of Roger Sanjek, "be suspicious of analyses in which everyone benefits,"[30] like those of the Indian fertility doctor or of Madonna speaking of the positive outcomes of their own reproductive strategies. I want to suggest that we try to re-think some of our assumptions about reproduction as apolitical, or certain choices as unproblematic. But we also need to recognize that these are real decisions that people must face every day, and there is no perfect answer.

What are the broader, political and economic constraints that push some mothers into situations where any choice they make is going to be viewed unfavorably, or where they truly have no choice in the matter, while other mothers get to make choices without fully understanding the implications and consequences of their choices for other people around the world? These are hard issues for present-day feminists to deal with, I think, but in order to really confront the politics of modern families we have to consider both how these politics constrain what (white middle class) women can choose or feel like they can choose, and in what ways these politics may be constructed on the unstable foundations of other people's suffering.

Endnotes

1. This paper was first presented to the Fortnightly Women's Study Club in Eugene, Oregon. I thank the members of that group for their invitation and comments. I am also grateful to Rebecca Young and Gisela Fosado for the invitation to join this issue and their comments on earlier drafts. [Return to text]

2. Laura Briggs, "Adoption, Immigration, and Privatization: Transnational Transformations in Family," S&F Online 7:3. [Return to text]

3. Shellee Colen, 1995. "'Like a Mother to Them': Stratified Reproduction and West Indian Childcare Workers and Employers in New York," In Conceiving the New World Order: The Global Politics of Reproduction, ed. Faye Ginsburg and Rayna Rapp (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995). [Return to text]

4. Alex Kuczynski, "Her Body, My Baby," The New York Times Magazine 28 November 2008. [Return to text]

5. Joanne McCarthy, "Letter to the Editor," The New York Times Magazine 14 December 2008. Slate contributor Nina Shen Rastogi also highlighted the barefoot-and-pregnant trope in her critical commentary: Nina Shen Rastogi, "She Rented a Woman's Womb and Then Was Rude to the Landlady," The XX Factor 1 December 2008. [Return to text]

6. Clark Hoyt, "The Privileged and Their Children," The New York Times Week in Review 7 December 2008. [Return to text]

7. Stephanie Saul, "Building a Baby, With Few Ground Rules," The New York Times 12 December 2009. [Return to text]

8. Hoyt, 2008. [Return to text]

9. Helena Ragoné, Surrogate Motherhood: Conception in the Heart (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1994). [Return to text]

10. Amelia Gentleman, "India Nurtures Business of Surrogate Motherhood," The New York Times 10 March 2008. [Return to text]

11. Shilpa Kannan, "Regulators Eye India's Surrogacy Sector," BBC News 18 March 2009. See also: Kalindi Vora, "Indian Transnational Surrogacy and the Commodification of Vital Energy," Subjectivity 28: 266-278. For an in-depth discussion, see Kalindi Vora's piece in this issue. [Return to text]

12. The reporter may also be drawing on imagined liberal readers' reactions against the legislation of sexuality to add a layer of racialized judgment. I thank Rebecca Young for this point. [Return to text]

13. James C. McKinley, Jr., "53 Haitian Orphans Are Airlifted to U.S.," The New York Times 29 January 2010. See also: Ginger Thompson, "Case Stokes Haiti's Fear for Children, and Itself," The New York Times 1 February 2010. [Return to text]

14. While I do not discuss it here, I recognize that it is not an easy task to prove oneself a fit parent. There are probing, privacy-demolishing interviews with social workers, financial and education requirements, and even, in the case of China, weight limits. Many countries prohibit gay couples from adopting, so these prospective parents—like the Israeli men using a surrogate in India quoted above—are often "forced" to lie about their sexuality and adopt as single people, in direct violation of the policies or moral positions held in the birth-country of their child. See Jessaca Leinaweaver, "The Medicalization of Adoption in and from Peru," In International Adoption: Global Inequalities and the Circulation of Children, Diana Marre and Laura Briggs, eds. (New York: New York University Press, 2009): 190-207. [Return to text]

15. See Dorothy Roberts, Shattered Bonds: The Color of Child Welfare (New York: Basic Civitas, 2003). See also: Jessaca Leinaweaver, "Foster and Kinship Care: Historical and Cultural Perspectives," In The Child: An Encyclopedic Companion, Richard A. Shweder, ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009). [Return to text]

16. Adoptive parents may also be found to be unfit, as seen in the recent case of Torry Ann Hansen, who sent her son back to Russia to much publicity. Hansen's case is quite complex and raises issues of special needs in adoptions and adoptive "rupture." See E.J. Graff, "Preventing Adoption Disasters," The Boston Globe 17 April 2010. On ruptured adoptions, see the work of Ana Berástegui: Ana Berástegui, "Adopciones rotas: el peligro de un nuevo maltrato," Revista Española de Pediatría 63(4): 314-321. [Return to text]

17. See Pauline Turner Strong, "To Forget Their Tongue, Their Name, and Their Whole Relation: Captivity, Extra-Tribal Adoption, and the American Indian Child Welfare Act," in Relative Values: Reconfiguring Kinship Studies, Sarah Franklin and Susan McKinnon, eds. (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2001): 468-93. [Return to text]

18. Tobias Hübinette, "Korean Adoption History," In Community: Guide to Korea for Overseas Adopted Koreans, Eleana Kim, ed (Seoul: Overseas Koreans Foundation, 2004): 12-19; 25-47. [Return to text]

19. Missy Schwartz, "Madonna's New Adoption: Malawian Court to Review Her Request," Entertainment Weekly 27 March 2009. [Return to text]

20. "'Dad' Opposes Madonna Adopting Daughter," CBS The Early Show, 4 May 2009. [Return to text]

21. According to CBS The Early Show, "Malawi requires prospective parents to live there 18 to 24 months while child welfare authorities assess their suitability." [Return to text]

22. Anita Singh, "Madonna Appeals Failed Adoption Decision," The Telegraph 4 April 2009. [Return to text]

23. "Madonna Wins Adoption Appeal in Malawi," CNN 12 June 2009. [Return to text]

24. CBS The Early Show, 2009. [Return to text]

25. See Jessaca Leinaweaver, The Circulation of Children: Adoption, Kinship, and Morality in Andean Peru (Durham: Duke University Press, 2008): 79. [Return to text]

26. CBS The Early Show, 2009. [Return to text]

27. CBS The Early Show, 2009. [Return to text]

28. CBS The Early Show, 2009. [Return to text]

29. Arlie Russell Hochschild, The Second Shift (New York: Avon Books, 1990). [Return to text]

30. Roger Sanjek, "Maid Servants and Market Women's Apprentices in Adabraka," In At Work in Homes: Household Workers in World Perspective, Shellee Colen and Roger Sanjek, eds. (Washington, DC: American Anthropological Association, 1990). [Return to text]