When my mother-in-law was a young wife and mother, and had just given birth to a second son in a small railway village far from her family and friends, her mother sent her a 'young girl from the farm' - the 12 or 13 year old daughter of one of their farm labourers. A child to help look after the children.
She wasn't to do any real labour, just play with the toddler while my MIL attended to the baby, possibly hang up the odd load of washing or peel some potatoes, and in my mother-in-law's eyes there was no question of this being child labour. Back on the farm a girl that age wouldn't have gone to school, or been working for a wage yet, so if anything the arrangement was seen to be an advantage for her, training for a future nanny or housekeeper position.
But a bit shocking to us now right?
So imagine my surprise when I found out some years ago that the woman who cleans for my parents had a similar arrangement?
Doris was the sole provider for her young grandson and one January brought a young girl, 12 or 13, home with her from the Transkei with the sole purpose of entertaining and watching over the little boy.
Apparently this girl was unable to go to school (distance and/or finances undoubtedly the reason) and had 'nothing better to do'. Doris paid her family a tiny amount, but for the most part her coming to Cape Town was seen to be an advantage for her, a chance to expand her horizons.
The woman we bought this house from employed a Zimbabwean man. For 47 years! Daniel moved around the country with her and her family, learnt to drive, went abroad with them twice and was their housekeeper, gardener, security, driver etc for almost his entire life. He out-lived two wives in this time and fathered a number of children, all of whom went 'home' to be raised by their grandparents. He spent more time with the children of his employers than he ever did with his own.
The elderly lady told us Daniel was now taking pension, and with the gift of her old yellow Uno and the responsibility for her even older yellow dog, he was going 'home to Beit Bridge' to live out his days being doted on by his family. She made it sound pretty romantic, but I have to wonder about the strange life he's led.
When we moved in (just one month ago, although it feels like forever!), I was on the hunt for a reliable someone to clean for us once a week. I reckoned, rightly as it turns out, that we'd be approached by any number of people either punting themselves or someone they knew, but I hadn't really considered that which has come to pass.
On the recommendation of our immediate neighbours, we're employing Albert.
A man, younger and much fitter than I, who is a more fastidious and thorough cleaner than I've ever experienced, or have ever been! Apparently Albert is also an ace gardener, carpenter, plumber and a whizz with a sewing machine. I've not had a chance to test out any of these skills but I'm wondering about getting him to whip up some summer frocks for the girls?
And I'm really liking the further example for those same girls (their father is already pretty domestic), that a man is as capable of cleaning and keeping house. These things are important in our still so boringly gender-specific times.
Last story about domestic help and the strange ways it works in this country.
A friend, returning from a number of years living in the UK, chose not to employ someone to clean her house - she confesses she thought it vaguely distasteful.
One afternoon she returned from work and was accosted on the pavement by a number of ladies who cleaned for others in her road. They demanded to know from her why she thought she was 'too good' to employ someone?
Each one of them had a friend or a sister seeking work and the thought of a household who could afford to employ someone, and weren't, was just ... wrong.
Chastised, my friend employed someone immediately. As was so glad she did.
A collection of stories, no real conclusion, just confirmation once more that the world is a wide and varied place. That this country is strange.
That none of us live in isolation from each other, we all need a bit of help.
This is fascinating to me. And I agree about boring gender-specific mores.
ReplyDeleteAnother typical middle class South African story: I was brought up by an amazing nanny/domestic called Victoria Zuma, who also started working for my family (my paternal Grandmother) when she was in her teens. Victoria brought me up with love and warmth and I am still in contact with her today. Victoria's husband Nivad and her three sons Ernest, Richard and John worked for my fathers construction company so she lived with the majority of her family on our property. I always preferred her family's company to my own family's. I have memories of mielies made on a fire and holding hands with Victoria in 1994 during our first democratic election, waiting in a long queue - I was 18, she was 42 and for the first time for each of us we were allowed to vote.
ReplyDeleteAmazing story Janine, thanks so much for sharing it.
ReplyDeleteWe held hands that day with deep unconditional love for each other. We held such hope for how things would change on that day. I won't go into the depressing truth about how so little has changed but can celebrate with others the special love between a child and their long term caregiver. This year in February I visited Victoria at her workplace, she continues to work for another middle class family and lives on their property with her husband. I introduced her to my own daughter now 2, and she called me her Cookaloo, her pet name for me. Will always love my 'Tory!
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