Among the waves of indignation of the fall, I thought about surfing this one: can you be a feminist and hire a cleaning lady (also called a “housekeeper” or “surface technician” in resource jargon? human)? A friend had the answer for me: as a good feminist, you should hire a man.
I also had recourse to the services of one of these fairies of the house because my first husband did not find the time to lower himself to the household. It was my first feminist gesture of revolt. He was going to pay.
The fairy of my current home has been with me for 15 years and she was bored completely during 2020, until we were again allowed to receive strangers in our home. She was eager to escape her four walls and was not eligible for ECPs (she refused to let me pay her to do nothing). The fairy is not vaccinated, does not speak French and wears a mask. I didn’t demand anything from her, we are not in intensive care. I understand his fears. Her fear of a long-time immigrant who will not forget, fear of thieves, fear of the tax authorities, fear of the police (corrupt in her country?), Fear of authority, fear of COVID, fear of the vaccine, fear of the devil and hell. But she prays to the Blessed Virgin and for my soul.
I can’t know what she went through until she let go of her oboe for Mr. Clean. One thing is certain, I love the fairy of our home, a sensitive and generous artist. I like when she takes my Léonie in her arms to whisper sweet words to her in the language of her country, I like when we both chat, how she scolds me while brandishing her feather duster: “Josèèèèèèè!” Be nice to your boyfriend ! By rolling the “rs”.
It is a unique intimate relationship. She knows my life with the sound cut, in every corner, without judgment. She forgives me the books lying on the floor. She shares some of her worries with me, and vice versa. We cry, we laugh.
Madame is about my age, she barricaded herself behind a facade of dignity and rigidity. She sometimes forgets it and becomes a smiling person who quickly recovers. I am the good one.
I delegate part of my mental load to him, so be it. She has no job security or insurance, neither do I. But I know one thing, attachment is a very strange thread that solidifies with time, separations, cancers, deaths, Léonie that she sometimes keeps and the cheesy but well-felt Christmas greeting cards, like the health, peace and love. Sometimes we even talk about sex.
Each tea towel has its own rag
I devoured the series Maid, on Netflix, where a young woman escapes domestic violence thanks to one of those poorly paid cleaning jobs. A black and wealthy client ends up reaching out to him. And their improbable exchange remains completely credible. Two women in trouble always end up recognizing each other, a matter of sorority.
I hired many fairies, immigrant or not, to get me out of trouble during my adult life, especially when I was a single parent with a baby on my arms.
To get back to work more quickly – as a freelance writer, I was not entitled to government parental leave – I used a nanny at home. This young Muslim in turn took her mother-in-law into her service to take care of her two young children. So goes the chain of women who exploit each other.
Before finding this pearl, I had tried a few. I even found one asleep in my bed, warm under the duvet, while my B of a few months was crying in her room.
The feminist controversy surrounding the hiring of a house fairy echoed the release of the excellent novel Where I hide, by sociologist Caroline Dawson.
Her parents, Chilean refugees, made their living by harming others: “A great breakthrough in feminism has been to free white women from part of the domestic work and have them carried out by other women, immigrants like my mother, who had the double task of both housewife at home and subordinate in upscale homes. “
They wiped out everywhere so that we could have the luxury of being bored
In fact, if I were a guy, I would wonder where I fit in this feminine org chart where guilt doesn’t bleach away.
Modern slaves
At least the oboist fairy in my house is better paid than a cook at Au pied de cochon restaurant, tip included. It’s already that. I had to fight for her to agree to remedy products that were toxic to her, but deemed to be more effective than baking soda and white vinegar.
The modern slavery which is being played out live before our eyes is probably less bearable than that which, favored by globalization, is woven in the shadows, thousands of kilometers away and which we encourage without blinking.
T-shirt made in Bangladesh on smartphones that contain coltan from Congo’s blood mines where children are sent to work, we are ruthless employers with handy middlemen. The needle of our sensibilities does not always panic in front of the worst injustices generated by our needs, justified or not.
The other day, at the bus stop, a friend meets a man who tells her that he earns a living as a “housekeeper”. He inherited a downtown apartment on Aylmer Street from a deceased client. He sold it on and continues to do housework. He likes to follow auctions. Sometimes the recognition is tangible and romantic.
When the oboist fairy in my house revealed to me a few years ago that she did not often have clients like me, I was sad for her, for them. And even if I will be accused of gogauche-kombucha, “I will always side with the humiliated.” This is where I hide, ”as Caroline Dawson writes.
I will line up with the fairies who play oboe and echo musette while throwing dirty tea towels in the washer.