The Househelp (it's a long one)

Having househelp is ubiqutous in the wealth circles of Africa. This isn't househelp like me cleaning a house, as I did in high school or during summers. In many cases, this is full-time, live-in, servent kind of househelp.

Until coming to Rwanda, I hadn't had much experience with this. When I returned to Nairobi after my first stay in Kisumu, my host-mom had acquired an old Luo lady to come Mon-Wed-Fri to do the laundry, clean up the house, and cook a couple of meals. I was ecstatic. This not only meant that my laundry would get done far more frequently than before, but that the disgustingly dirty, cock-roach infested house might improve a bit. Francisca, her name is, really only spoke Dholuo and did a decent job of the laundry. She often overstretched my clothes, but hey, I wasn't the one paying her, so I didn't think I could complain.

Once, in a funny combination of Dholuo, Kiswahili, and broken English, she told me she would love me very much if I gave her one of my lesos (leosos are handy pieces of cloth used as a skirt or shawl or towlen or table cloth or sheet - you get the picture). She had noticed, undoubtedly through doing my laundry, that I had 4. Two Kikoy ones, coastal woven cloth of fairy high quality, and two khangas, Tanzanian dyed cloth of somewhat lower quality. I really did have plenty. And I knew she lived in Kibera, the huge slum next door, was widowed with a gaggle of children, and definitely didn't have water or electricity even though she was living in one of the biggest, most developed cities in Eastern Africa. How messed up would it be for me not to give away something I could replace with less than $5? After about 10 seconds of thinking, I handed her a Kikoy leso I bought my first time in Lamu with David. She said God would bless me.

But in Rwanda, I've come across a whole other kind of househelp than before. The first house I stayed in in Rwanda was that of Alain's sister, Liliane (Alan and Lillian in English). The house has four bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a generous kitchen and sitting room. She was married, but in a sad turn of events, is now widowed and almost due with her first baby. So soon she'll need the space, but for now, it's a good place for the occasional out of town guests. In addition to Lily though, there are two permanent guests - a "houseboy," Mupenzi, and a "housegirl," Marie. Both speak only the mothertongue, Kinyarwanda, and are from the village, as people say here. They stay in the servants' quarters before the main house.

Mupenzi is sort of a guard, at night he guards the house (although I sort of doubt that), and he also opens and closes the spiked gate at the front of the house. During the day, he might cut the grass, with a special machete of course, or look after the plants. He also does random errands: getting phone credit, milk for mid-day tea, a taxi, or some roasted goat on a stick. Apparently he has been with Lil for three years, which is longer than she's kept anyone before.

Marie, who I saw a lot more, has quite the job, including cooking all three meals, cleaning the house, doing the laundry (don't forget it's done by hand here), ironing, and of course, waiting on all of us. With dishes and food, it was amazing - meals practically appeared out of thin air, whatever you want and whenever. And the food was good! Much better than Kenyan food. Barely any ugali, plenty of vegetables, nothing drenched in oil - yum!

They would always yell her name, at the top of their lungs, for her to bring them cheese, or beer (almost like WI, eh?), or God knows what. Lily said she liked her becuase she didn't need to be told what to do, she'd clean the rooms without a prompt. And her cooking's good. And after dinner she'll ask, "Lily, do you want tea?"

Marie is small, with about a centimeter of black hair. Lily says she's 27, but she looks about 20. She earns $50/month. She is given all her meals, housing, and even complete healthcare (this last part is very rare for a homeowner to give to a househelp). By Rwandan standards, this is awesome. But still, $50 of expendible income? Undoubtedly she sends most of it to her family, wherever they are. Maybe she has children, maybe she doesn't.

I don't know if this politically correct or not, but being waiting on, especially by a very poor person who I can only say "thank you" to, makes me super uncomfortable. I feel guilty that I'm reading a Jodi Piccoult novel and drinking beer while she works her butt off. Heck, the novel was practically half her monthly income. I feel guilty that she's doing all this work I know I'm perfectly capable of doing myself. Granted, I never yell her name, I put my own dishes away, and I Try to get her to smile a little. She tends to look very serious. When I ask Alain, or really any African about these gross inequalities, they all pretty much say the same thing: "that's just the way it is here."