My experiences with domestic workers

Finding the right domestic worker is very hard.  I’ve had about 7 between 2006 and now. I have seen it all! It’s not easy to just take a stranger that you know nothing about into your home and live with them. I guess it’s also not easy on helpers to just find themselves in the middle of strangers and trying to fit in. My first helper seemed to be OK and we were together for about two years. When she left that’s when I realised how generous she was to neighbours with details of our lives, most of them fake.  She almost died in the house while aborting and we had to part ways. Then I decided it was safer to find an older woman because older women are reputed to be more stable and caring. Bad mistake! That woman was scary! She just fell short of spanking me and sending me to run errands for her. She was always angry and every time I was around her, I felt like apologising for something.  She would refuse to sit on the couch, preferring the floor, and slept on the floor as well. It was scary to leave her with my baby.  We parted ways again, and I was even terrified to tell her not to come back. After that I said no, I should get a very young girl I can manage, and my mother-in-law found one for me. She would go to her room and sit in the dark. I asked her why, and she said ndinoona zvekuona zviye murima (my sight is perfect in the dark!) I started getting scared again. Every time she ironed, she burned something. One day a glass lid broke into the relish and she just cooked the meat with the glass. We parted ways again. I started wondering if I was a bad person. The rest weren’t that bad but just didn’t last. And when my lifestyle allowed, I just did everything by myself.

The one that I have now has been with us since July 2014, that’s 3 years, 3 months and counting. That’s the longest I’ve stayed with a helper. People either say oh you’re lucky you got a perfect one, or you must be very patient! I don’t think you ever get a perfect helper. No one is perfect. I think I’ve grown from my experiences with helpers. My helper can’t cook to save her life. I do all the cooking every day! She can’t even clean very well and half the time I end up redoing chores behind her back because I know she would really have tried. Despite all her shortcomings, she has a heart of gold. She looks after my children like they are her own. With the little money we can afford to pay her, she buys chips for the kids when she’s coming home from the weekend. Twice she’s bought earrings for Rudairo; she’s like her personal doll and she loves dressing her up. She knows I love avocados and lemons, so when she finds people selling, she buys for me and when I try to refund, she says no, it’s a present (my eyes are welling up now). When I’m stressed about something, she gets stressed too, even though she doesn’t say much because we have a language barrier. I buy or bake cake for her birthday too as we do for all family members. You can’t treat someone who has been under your roof for three years as an outsider. One day a child scratched Rudairo badly at school. When we got home, Rudairo ran to hug her and cried. She saw the ugly scratch and cried too.  Earlier this month she lost her father. We sat, wept together, and she even asked me to help her choose a coffin. It was a little chilling but it had to be done. Burial here usually happens a week or more after death, so she had to be away for more than a week. She asked to come during that week to help with laundry. I said I would manage but I was actually really struggling and she knew too; my hands are always full. Laundry day I only managed to do it halfway before I had to go out for my other obligations. I came back to find her hanging the clothes after finishing up the washing. After that, she went back to her home.

I’m just very grateful that we found each other. She’s 4 years younger than me, and is exactly 2 weeks younger than my sister Susan, so she’s like a young sister to me. She’s the only aunt my children really know since I’m far from my three sisters. Every Sunday around 5pm my children will just be lurking at the gate, waiting for her. If she’s late, I see them getting stressed. Her work isn’t perfect, but whose is? I struggle with meeting my deadlines too. If you look past the imperfections, and she has quite a few, there’s usually a gem somewhere in everybody.   I always worry what will happen to her should we leave Swaziland, will she be ok? Will we be OK?