The other day, I found myself shouting out, “Who do you think I am, your maid?” But to be honest, in MY experience, nothing could be further from the truth because I actually grew up with people who my parents paid to help us in the home and they were treated better than these children treat me! Where I come from, the Maid is NOT called a Maid if you are a child whose last name originates in Africa. FACT! If your last name originates out of Africa, then you call her a Maid and you address your friend’s parents by their first name. For those of us born with an African last name? A stranger comes into your home and becomes ‘Sisi’ or Sister, and as for the parents? Good luck avoiding a beating whilst trying to explain why you even know an adult’s name, never mind having the nerve to use it! Sisi can only receive instruction from either the WagePayer or the Emissary of the WagePayer, usually a child sent to pass on instructions. Sometimes it was necessary for Sisi to verify the information the Emissary imparts to ensure, for example, that the WagePayer had really sanctioned the dispersal of Milo sprinkled ice-cream. More often than not, Sisi also had the power to allocate household tasks; something we were all keenly aware of because an annoyed Sisi could hand you the Cobra floor polish for the outside verandah. The RED one! A task NONE wanted to do because it was sure to leave you with waxy red residue in your nails for weeks! And woe betides anyone who kept her waiting once the WagePayer instructed her to do your hair! (I direct you to exhibit A –Aunties, scratching combs & throbbing scalps & Exhibit B – The Plaiting Saga). Sisi is treated with equal parts fear and respect by the children because she often holds the power to discipline, something many African children are familiar with after experiencing public telling offs from nosy neighbours and friends of parents alike. And God forbid your parents find out that Sisi or a neighbour had to tell you off. The resulting reprimands, hidings and recriminations for the shame that you would have brought upon the family was followed by threats of further harm if it were to happen again. I digress. I was shouting. Why? Because not only am I expected to trim/wash/brush/style their hair, but I’m also kept waiting by these children. So here I am. Still in the bathroom with my collection of hair tools. I SO get why she used the metal tail comb to scratch my scalp!
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April 2016
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