They say that If you want to change the world start off by making your own Bed. I promised myself I’d never in my entire life , as long as I am able to do everything myself , indulge the services of a live-in , live-out house-help or whatever the politically correct term they call themselves these days . I saw the behind of my last House-help in 2006.
Here’s why and I will be very random with the dates as far back as I can remember, plus their names. There was Nancy, Faustine , Thomas , Method , Yusufu , Luiza , Omari as I go with the flow . I’d sworn never to talk about, discuss or even mention the tribulations I have suffered through the hands of House Managers, until now. I promised The Hubby I would follow him to the end of the World, for better or for worse, be careful what you ask or pray for , because you might use get it. We ended up in The Sudan ( North ) , for 4 years . The place was very dry and dusty , proper.
As I pen this random draft piece , it is 3am on a Sunday Morning and I cannot sleep ( I’m neither Drunk nor lonely and it’s midday in Papua New Guinea in my own words ) , it’s just that the previous day’s events left every inch of my being aching , I call it “extracurricular activity” ( The event ) , see what I did there . Nobody dictates form.
Once every year, we compile a team that goes out and cleans the Beach ( I proposed to the school that this should be a Monthly event , like Umuganda , every last Saturday of the Month as they do in Rwanda, story for another day ) .
Bashir fixed my puncture as I was heading to our rendezvous for the Beach clean-up in Mtwapa , let me baptize this mechanic Bashir – Mtwapa. We were all ( My 2 Brothers , Sister and I ) taught at an early age how to change a tire in under 5 minutes by my Father , he literally held a stopwatch , we all passed .
Yesterday I was in no mood to change my front right wheel , scared even. Strange as it may sound , I had simultaneously suffered 3 punctures exactly a week before , see , i had received an sms from a concerned citizen never to answer my phone should I receive a call from a given number 070605660 otherwise the illuminati will use my voice for sacrifice before 16th December , a quick true caller check verified the number is registered under the name PIK and over 1172 people had reported it as spam , a faster Google search also confirmed that this hoax has been doing rounds since last year ( I always avoid blocked numbers and or receiving calls from numbers unknown to me , na sina deni ya msomali ) therefore I was surprised when a mannerless overlapping Matatu driver pointed at my right hand wheel while drawing circles with his hands in the air , as if to say my wheels where turning round and round ( last time someone did that, I stopped my car and carelessly stuck my head out my window Kumbe the mkora man was in cahoots with his distant cousin to distract my attention while his cousin tried to grab my golden chain , thank God for the safety belt strapped across my chest I never lost my chain ) .
Back to the name that jogged my memory to Port Sudan, our humble House – help Bashir -Port Sudan. He used to come over once a week to dust the house, wash and iron our clothes but not cook (he charged us USD $ 100 per Day, lots of Mullah in whatever currency) so I could only afford him once a week . I wasn’t allowed to engage in any form of employment, paid or unpaid nor drive myself around town unless accompanied by a Man, preferably family as long as I was registered as “dependant” (it was for our good I later discovered while touring the Sudan National Museum in Khartoum, the horror when our designated tour guide got too close for our comfort by constantly trying to rub his arm again my exposed arm , I was wearing a very conservative loose fitting quarter-sleeved cotton Blouse ) .
I got myself a driver’s license early 2007 so that I could drive myself to Suakin Island and Arous resort, yes people stared but I did not care. Not many people are aware that in the turquoise waters of the Red Sea, sits an Island of crumbled coral buildings with memories of a history long forgotten, the ONLY residents that remain are a handful of caramel colored camels and Goats!
The immigration case was the same in Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania, but I opted out and got myself a Work permit after securing employment and could afford many helping hands as the children’s school started at 6am and ended at 12 Noon ( I never understood why it was the most expensive school in Africa , in my opinion , yet offered no school bus pick up and drop off services nor boarding facilities) my office was on the other side of town and I usually worked late , a fairly new career that I got thrown in the deep end , became passionate about and taught myself to swim. Employing a driver and or owning a second car was not a luxury , it was a necessary evil . There is a famous saying that there’s no way you were born to just pay my bills and die, 1st World problems . In my opinion Dar Es Salaam and Khartoum are the 2 most expensive cities to work in as an Expat, even when they pay you in USD $ , EVERYTHING is quoted to you in USD $ , and rent paid up 12 Months upfront. I hear cost of living in Angola is twice as much. Oh but I digress.
Fast forward , 2006 Port Sudan , we had moved into another house , I didn’t like the Orange house we initially stayed in for a year , it was fairly new but water had to be delivered everyday by Donkey cart and only God knew where the source of that water was , always brownish in color. I could easily perform housework since it was just myself , The Husband and one child because the eldest was in boarding school in Kenya, I was basically stuck with a school-going child aged 5 who could not be enrolled in school because the language of instruction was Arabic, the only other option in Port Sudan was the Coptic School with a one year waiting list, or something , I made a decision to home school my Lil Miss ( I gave up after Day one when she blatantly told me I am just a Mum, not her school Teacher , she said she can’t learn, won’t learn from me. We bought her first digital piano that October on her 6th Birthday , Plus an electronic guitar and many educational computer games , therein lies her foundation for the love of computers and Gaming , she had missed out a full year of formal schooling since leaving Dar and never learnt to write well , todate I struggle to read her handwriting and she tells me to chillax since there will always be spell-check apps , she calls herself tech-savvy , Digital kids will be the death of me and I have myself to blame. Patience , she has taught me patience , for it is a virtue.
Bashir was diligent , kept time and used to go about his work silently ( apparently he spoke no English ) I would observe him separate my clothes from the rest , so I would end up washing and ironing my own clothes , and still pay him USD $ 100 CASH, yet all he did was wash , dust and iron the others last week’s washing ( Dusting was the worst because we used to experience intense sandstorms we called Haboob , weekly, no matter how tight one shut their windows / shutters, a thin veil of dust covered EVERYTHING ) , he never cooked , so I did all the cooking , often times he washed the dishes, I stayed indoors for 12 Months rarely venturing outside , whence I discovered the Internet , MySpace , Facebook and HI5 , the rest is history . I taught myself Arabic online taking advantage of their high speed internet connectivity.
When we got news about our transfer in June of 2006 I took the initiative and Google – searched “Port Sudan” , the first page read : “Nothing happens here” , there were only 2 pages, at least we had access to limited programmed via DSTV especially current affairs and news. The Internet was monitored by the Ministry of Information and Technology so access was only to authorized sites. I remember sliced bread was so rare and would look forward to ANYONE coming from Khartoum, meanwhile we survived on chapati – like bread , which was the norm .
After serving 12 Months in Port Sudan we relocated to Khartoum late 2007, to my relief . I clearly remember Bashir Port – Sudan coming over to help with our packing and last-minute ironing and dusting, and to my surprise he spoke perfect English !! He told me he worked part time as a Marine Pilot with the Port Authority, I asked him why the name Bashir and not Ogot or Famba or Wachie or Kiir because he could easily pass as my relative from Aboloi in Malakisi , he proudly told me he was Arab . He was quite tall and dignified extremely polite and very soft-spoken.
I never found out his Middle or last name. I was just Glad he never came across my JW Red Label stash inside my suitcase because he could not touch my clothes , for that I was grateful too (It is illegal to drink Alcohol in The Sudan, they seal all alcoholic beverages upon entering Sudanese airspace , KQ that is , so I had resorted to quaffing Red wine all the way from JKIA to Lake Turkana non-stop every time I travelled back to Khartoum and vice versa )
Our predecessor once had the entire Port Sudan Police and military rock up the apartment on Christmas Eve 2 years prior to our arrival on the suspicion that his Christmas Tree decoration lights ( Twinkling bulbs I would guess ) were conveying Morse code signals across the Red Sea .
Ending up in Khartoum was God-Sent, despite the fact that there were still no Hair-salons , this is where if I had not experienced what I had thus far , I would be rolling my eyes skyward while mumbling , ” pffff 1st World problems” to whoever I cared listening to ranting about Hair salons and sliced bread. 12 Months indoors. I did my time , everyone spoke Arabic , I had to adopt . At least they had movie theatres in K-Town but life still started after 18:00 hrs , we found out Michael Jackson had died the evening we went out to watch a 3D movie.
And then there was the one whose name rhymes with Nanny ( I insisted my Children refer to her as “Aunty” out of respect because e were age mates ) I had “inherited” her from her former employer in 2002 , we had temporarily relocated to Mombasa from Nairobi and I had just had the Baby. She was neat, reliable, a GREAT cook and the Children loved her ( she knew what she had to do without being told , telepathic kinda , saved me time to explain to her what goes where, and how to use electronics ) the previous one boiled Milk in my Kettle / water boiler and tried to Microwave an Egg ( within minutes it had exploded and she suffered Post traumatic stress disorder ) .
We moved to Dar Es Salaam in January 2003 and immediately requested “Aunty” come along with us on condition that she must always identify herself to strangers as my cousin helping take care of the Baby after she told me she was an Orphan and unmarried unfortunately she had neither a National ID nor passport, for her to obtain a Passport she needed an ID ( she told me she had lost her original ID and managed to get a police abstract and got a replacement very fast) I also needed an affidavit from her Chief in Mariakani that indeed she was an orphan born sometime in 1968 , after several trips between Mombasa and Mariakani huko ndani ndani , we got written confirmation that indeed she was an orphan , then started the process of lodging the necessary documents with the law court in Malindi and her passport application forms signed by the DO in Kilifi before that was done we had to obtain 2 sureties and 2 guarantors and pay a Bond, it was a government document after all they reminded us , I always thought any passport belonged to the owner.
The several trips up and down coast province with my Kids and Mum bundled at the back of my Rav 4 was not in vain because within 2 months she had the document in her hands and we flew with her to our new home in Tanzania .It was her first time flying and a rare reversal of roles for it was th Baby who kept her calm and composed, at times hilarious to watch as she kept screaming as we landed, told her to imagine going up and down an elevator.
She did not last long in Tanzania, within 3 months I had accumulated long distance telephone bills amounting to USD $1000 from our landline, it was not rocket science obtaining an itemized phone bill and records or each and every number dialed , and believe it or not the first 3 numbers I called identified her person as a building material supplier from Tanzania and one of them was her Husband and father to her 2 children in Mombasa called Abdalla . Confronting her with this information she went down on her knees, hands in the air swearing that she never even knew how to place an international call. Stories started trickling in that she was extremely well – known in Manzese ( a place you wouldn’t want your car to break down after sunset in those days) She was always attending church in Manzese every Sunday , religiously carrying her Bible . Cut a long story short, she was no saint, not even Christian. I bought her a one way ticket via Scandinavia bus service to Mombasa on the pretext that her 3 month stay had to be renewed since she had no work permit to work in Tanzania (we brought her along as a relative but word went round that she used to brag to the watchmen , Driver, cook and Shamba Boy , yes I had a little Republic within my compound , that she was the highest paid so she was the boss of them dictating who should eat from her kitchen and who should be served outside or not at all ) by then I had regained employment and kept off her “Kitchen cabinet” during the day , apparently she was a dictator .
I guess the rest did not like her very much but still unsure whether we paid her a salary or she was indeed my cousin and the children’s “Aunty”. They executed a coup d’état , the alternative was snitch to “leba” aka Labour Ministry people , you did not wish those guys pay you a courtesy call , there were rumors doing rounds that they paid USD $200 for any information regarding foreigners working in Tanzania without valid documentation , Nyumba Kumi style, and it seemed to work.
I requested her to hand over the passport to my Parents as soon as she crossed the border since it was a government property ( My Mother was one of her Guarantors so I had every reason to worry ) , and that was the last I heard of her. I never really get angrier than an annoyed eye roll .
The one person who was extremely happy to see the back of “Aunty” was Faustine the cook, he suffered the same fate a year later for helping himself with my cellphone while we were away on safari but decided to cut short and returned unexpectedly . I had a safely deposit box, kept all my money , documents and my cellphone when away under lock and key. My phone was missing , I grabbed my better half’s device and called my own number, it started ringing inside Faustine’s pocket , he mumbled something incoherently that he was going to return it anyway and still insisted I could not sack him because he would have to report me to “Leba” people , I called his bluff , got the Day Askari as witness ( always have a witness ) when the phone fell out of his pocket, he hurriedly removed his white starched uniform and left our employment having worked in that same household for 15 years albeit different families, I kept asking myself why he did it, throwing his life away because of a cellphone?! Granted we had no contract, I was not obliged to employ him.
The evening Askari was only too happy to see him go , poor guy owed me he said because I had saved his life the first week of our stay when the house had mysteriously caught fire as we slept due to an electrical fault during a thunderstorm , he wanted to douse the transformer box that was ablaze with a bucket of water , you never put out an electric fire with water, never ever. I vividly recall grabbing hold of his hands in time before he got sent to his maker. I once trained as a fire fighter, a long time ago, there are things you never forget .
I got whiff from another Askari that the Shamba boy Thomas was selling diesel from the genset on the sly , I gave him his first warning and he behaved , I never actually saw him steal the fuel from the generator , and there was no proof , it was a case of he said / she said. I needed him because he always reported to work on time , the compound was always clean and he only left after completing his work , not when the time came for him to go home . A week later, we got news that the Day Askari Omari got accidentally run over by a truck on his way to work at 5am, we buried him the same day .
There was Yusufu the driver I had hired to drive the children to and from school across the peninsular, he came highly commended from a colleague at work, he failed his first test-drive even after he assured me that he could drive a left-handed stick shift vehicle, he kept hitting the pavement all the way to Msasani peninsular, but he arrived 20 minutes early on the day of his interview and he was dependable, a trained mechanic who spoke English well which was rare. I paid him well but overheard my colleague mumble to the effect that we are “Spoiling” them by paying them too well; I am still confused by that statement. Is it just me?
The day I dreaded arrived when I had to inform all of them about our impending final departure and assured them I will pay them their 3 months’ salary in advance, the hardest part was carefully drafting their recommendation letters to “Whoever it may concern”
Pray tell, do we really know who the people we trust our Children with when we go about the daily grind? Are they who they usually say they are?
I’d like to believe that credible research has been conducted to prove that Loyalty is inversely proportional to monetary gains. It would be nice to believe that I am part of a more mature, rational generation. Grateful too that both my girls are great cooks and make their own beds , we have survived almost a decade without a contracted house – help, driver or cook. I hope they thank me later.
This article was really about Bashir Port-Sudan, I wonder where he is today .
carolinekere 