Exploited behind black doors

This story of mine might help someone who is going through the same now. 

The day I got the job was the happiest of all the time I had spent in diaspora. I had already created a budget with the salary I was yet to receive and so excited that at least I was going to be able to send money to my parents in Zimbabwe who took care of my 4 kids and remain with a little extra for myself. My interview was in the streets of a shopping centre in front  of a small coffee shop. For years I had been working for different families but what I earned was giving me more stress than strength. This was my first job where I had to sign a contract which is one thing I wish I had known before signing. No matter how excited you are, never and I repeat, never jump read a contract for a job. That is where most of us give predators ropes to tie us on to their traps. Read and understand every contract before signing, take your time and ask questions. Keep a sharp eye for anything  that seems abnormal.

I quickly got used to the wife who interviewed me and because she seemed very nice, i became relaxed and comfortable. I even let my guard down and and started telling her how i struggled to make ends meet due to the little i was paid by my previous bosses. I wish I can take back all that I told her because it was unnecessary. Sometimes, it is better to earn less at a place where you are appreciated and respected that earn too much at a place where you are abused and disrespected. We need peace of mind to function or  we end up having a health breakdown. In my imagination, i could see and feel the comfort of greener pastures. I was happy. My new madam was the one who came to pick me up and  I don't forget the steps I took carrying my bag walking over to the car while the couple I had worked for for two years watched. I waved as we drove off, in my mind, I was erasing the covenant i had with poverty, taking a ride into riches and happily ever after.  

A short drive which I can call today, a ride to hell after signing and sealing my fate in those papers , I came  face to  face with the husband, who was going to be my boss. He stood like his royal majesty waiting to punish a disrespectful slave.  The first sign was how he looked at me while I was pulling my bag from the back seat of the car. I pretended as if I didnt see his facial expressions. Maybe I didn’t look good for his liking, I can’t blame him much for his reaction but I think it is better not to accept someone you don’t like in your house to avoid maltreatment. Again,  I don’t think he didn’t want me in his house,  he was just that kind of a person who looked down on people especially those who had crossed borders for greener pastures. Oh maybe, it was just intimidation so that I didn’t   feel relaxed and forget what I was there for. Whatever his reasons were, the look on his face was scary weird. I remember the bosses I had just left, they were different. I was part of that family, they made me feel like that. We fought for the remote of the tv, for left over food or where to sit in the car with their two children who were 15 and 12, , maybe that was where I was spoilt ha ha ha. I had peace of mind, the only issue was a tight budget that left me with empty pockets after sending fees and a little extra for my parents and kids back home. Back to the situation I was in.

Holding the Shangaan bag with my clothes close to my chest and tummy, probably to calm the nerves which were sky rocketing inside me, I walked over pushing my right hand forward to greet the boss. He looked at me from head to toe and back, then waved his hand backwards signaling me not to expect a handshake from him. Oh boy, was I embarrassed. I’m an African black woman who was taught to greet people with a handshake but they never taught me how to feel when someone rejects my handshake. I looked at my hand, I looked at myself, I even sniffed to smell my armpit. Then the nerves combined with embarrassment, turned to an uncontrollable smile. Where I did my childhood management, we were told about the importance of smiling to bosses and madams, first impressions they said. They never told us how much was a reasonable smile or when to stop. 

”Why are you laughing, do I look funny to you?” He burst with a calm but sharp voice.

”I’m sorry Sir,” I replied holding my bag tighter to shield the shaking which was happening in me. Behind that shaking, nervousness and embarrassment was anger, I didn’t know the reason why he was treating me like dirt, I was confused. 

“Take her to her room, tell her to take a bath, put on a uniform and come to work now,” he said to his wife who was as quiet as ever standing next to her husband. 

Where was all that bubbly, happy lady who came to interview me, where was the amazing lady full of life and humor, the lady who drove me? I guess that lady was just staged, or that character lived outside that huge metal black gate where  I thought my happiness and freedom was also left. She had completely changed to another voiceless woman I didn’t think I was comfortable with. I followed her quiet, paying attention to my heart and mind which were on a battle. My heart wanted me to quit that very moment but my mind told me that I needed the money. 

”Pelisa, you have seen and experienced more than evil in your past, this can’t scare you,“  this was a strong voice inside me which gave me strength. We followed a dark passage that led to the back of the five bedroomed house. Just by the corner was a small matchbox kind of a room. There was an old single bed with two old blankets on top and six uniforms  on the bed. A meter from the bed was the door to a tiny toilet with a tiny shower place. I placed my bag on the bed and started preparing myself for the first day at work as the boss demanded.

The boss unlocked the back door which led into the kitchen and looked at how I was dressed. When he was satisfied, he walked step by step on what I needed to do in that house. They had three month old twins and a five year old toddler for me to take care of. Their toddler took bath 3 times a day and changed after every bath. Everything in that house was hand washed even if there was a washing machine and a drier. I wasn’t given keys for that house, when they left for work, we were locked in until 1pm when the wife came back from work. I would wash and put clothes in plastic buckets in the kitchen, waiting for the wife to come so I could go out and hang the clothes. My asylum paper and contract stayed with the boss, I was just their possession, they owned me. Everything was ironed in that house. Blankets  were washed every Saturday and windows.  A mop was not used in that house, so I had to kneel and scrub the floor everyday. He didn’t want me to touch their plates, he bought me a plastic plate, cup, spoon and fork. I started working 5am and knocked off after 11pm. My only off work time was from Sunday 8am to 5pm. I felt as if I was suffocating, I was angry, i was stressed and confused. I didn’t have anyone to talk to because I didn’t have a phone and they didn’t talk to me either. I died so many times inside to a point I didn’t feel myself. The boss didn’t even greet me, when I did, he didn’t even answer and I ended up not wasting my energy. There is a lot of evil that happens behind the walls and big metal gates that hide some big mansions. Nannies and house keepers are made to believe that whoever employs them does them a favor. That puts them at a vulnerable spot that enables their employers to exploit them.

It must be illegal for employers worldwide to take documents such as passports, identification certificates or asylum papers from their employees as to demand loyalty. Once they do that, they own the person. That person would be emotionally crippled that they can’t leave no matter the situation. In some countries nannies and maids die behind the doors of some of these beautiful mansion and no one will tell the story. Back in Africa where they come from, parents and sometimes kids will still be hoping and praying to see their loved one coming back home. Some would be bread winners and all that would be gone. Some are raped and threatened to be killed or to be deported if ever they say a word. That has to stop and now. If someone works for you, you are not doing them a favor. You are paying for the service you can’t do for yourself. You can put your money on the couch and see if it will take care of your kids while you go to work or take care of your house or cook. Until you look for someone to give the money to, in return the person takes care of your kids, cooks and clean your house.  Back to my greener pasture turned to a desert ha ha ha. I had worked for people who were very loving and that helped me a lot. I had a clue on what should trigger me as abnormal when it comes to employers, this was far from being normal. 

Every night I sobbed myself to sleep. I didn’t want to be there anymore but then, my asylum paper and Identification certificate was with the boss, so I stayed and endured. I went to sleep tired and most of the times hungry because there was no enough food and woke up tired. He usually told me of their previous maid who he said stayed for 5 years  with them, I wonder how she did it. He would tell me how good she was with ironing, cleaning and taking care of their boy, by that time twins were not yet there. Later I discovered that he did this to intimidate and make me feel as if I wasn’t doing enough. At first I would push myself harder trying to beat the score of someone I didn’t even know, talk of being made to compete with a ghost. I started noticing that I was just being used, if that maid was good, why did they let her go? If they were so good to her, why did she leave? My emotions were all over the place and oneday he pushed me to a point I couldn’t help it but push back. This happen one evening 8 months in this hell of a job, when I was washing and sterilizing bottles for the babies, 10:30 pm after my last feed. My only mistake was to forget switching on the light which was over the sink though the kitchen main light was on and bright enough. He was mad, angry and he started cursing.  I didn’t know that in the morning I had forgot  to switch off the light in my room and he saw that too, oh he went crazy calling me names. I tried so hard to control myself, asking for forgiveness and reaching out to the switch to put on the light. 

“You wash the bottles of my kids in the dark, you want to leave dirt so that my kids get a stomach bug. You also left your room light on, electricity is paid here, you think it’s Zimbabwe where you live in the dark?“ He yelled. Deep breathis didn’t work for me anymore and I yelled back,

”Wait a minute Sir, enough of all this, what is wrong with you, why do you hate me so much yet you trust me with your kids, what have I done wrong to you? I said sorry, that is enough,” He was shocked to hear me responding because I had never done it before. He went on to a point he wanted to give me a slap and I took off the head wrap I was wearing and the apron and threw them on his feet after telling him that he was going to pay for all those who had hurt me in the past. A lot was said and I could see him showing signs of fear that made me believe, I had just let the man exploit me all the months because I thought I didn’t deserve to have a voice. He tried to threaten me with deportation. I told him that my name was on the asylum seekers list, I was legally allowed to be in that country. I even reminded him that I was going to report that he was keeping my documents. I walked out of the door and left, banging the door behind me. 

The next day, my documents were on the dinning table and for the first time in 8 months, the wife opened the door for me and the husband had already left for work. I started working on my escape plan starting with applying for another job. December when I was closing for my Christmas holiday, I had a new job. What they didn’t know was that a friend of mine had come and I had thrown my bag as early as 4:30 am one morning so that when leaving, I leave nothing that belonged to me except for the uniforms they bought for me. When the wife drove me back to my old boss’s house, she picked that happy character again and she was telling me about changes they had agreed with her husband on my working conditions. The Christmas holiday was something I had demanded by force when they had already planned my Christmas work schedule. She said they had planned that I was going to work 5 days a week starting from 6 am to 5 pm. She also said they were going to give me keys for the house and gate for me to go in and out anytime I was free. She had a feeling that I was not coming back and she was trying so hard to make damage control. I didn’t care anymore and since my confrontation with the boss, I refused to be a push over. He too had changed, he had a little respect for me.  I never went back to that house but some have failed to come out alive, some come out with depression. I was depressed too but it  gets better with time, talking and sharing. 

Employers must respect those they employ. For them to work with love and joy, treat them like human. There is nothing as good as a happy employee. To those who are going through abuse, please try and talk to someone, anyone. You will never know where your help might come from. Cheers to happy nannies and maids all over the world. You are worth the respect and freedom❤️