Maid in Hong Kong
What do our domestic helpers do all day? Pavan Shamdasani picks up a duster and finds out the hard way.
I don’t have a maid – not for any ethical reason, mind you. I just don’t need one. So when my editor informed me that I’d be spending a day in the company of a domestic helper, following her around, finding out what makes this underpaid, overworked individual tick, I was a little apprehensive.
I knock at her employer’s door half-asleep at 8am, and there stands my collaborator for the day, Nilda, wide-awake and ready to go. I smile and quickly explain what the hell I am doing there. That, no, I’m not some insane person. That this is all for the purpose of educating and informing you, dear reader, about the lives of our domestic helpers. To put you (or me, really) in their shoes.
We go to work almost immediately. Ironing is the first task of the day: she irons, I fold. I do my best to appease, taking each pressed item of clothing and spending long seconds gently creating piles of perfection. But it soon becomes too much and the heaps of ironed, unfolded clothes stack up. She shakes her head in disbelief and quickly takes over. My first opportunity to talk; I ask how she can stand such a grueling career.
“It’s quite a tough job, but I’ve been doing it for 19 years now. It was worse when I started, back in Singapore. I was earning 250 Singapore dollars a month and I didn’t even get public holidays off,” she says. “I’m very grateful to be here. My employer doesn’t tell me what to do and I have a lot of flexibility. She’s like my best friend – we talk all the time.”
She isn’t the talkative type and speaks in brief snippets, all the while swiftly creating piles of clothing. By the time she’s finished her short memoir, a tower of neatly folded clothing sits on the table. I can’t believe it, taking great effort to hide my amazement at her speed and technique.
At 9 am, we move on to the next task: cleaning up the breakfast plates. Again, I’m given the lesser of two jobs, the task of drying-up. She snaps on her rubber gloves and starts to soap up the plates. I wait, dish towel in hand, and continue my inquisition.