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Al-Ahram Weekly 27 May - 2 June 1999 Issue No. 431 
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Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Al-Ahram Weekly 27 May - 2 June 1999 Issue No. 431
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| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Egypt Region International Economy Opinion Culture Profile Living Features Travel Sports People Time Out Chronicles Cartoons Letters Making up
By Fayza Hassan
Hamda has been working for us for a few years now. She left us a couple of times in a huff and eventually sought employment in the home of some relatives. When they, in turn, let her go, having discovered her shortcomings, she came back. In the process, she managed to acquire the reputation of being neither very thorough at her job nor very honest; consequently, her opportunities narrowed so much that, for the past two years, she has been forced to put up with what she often describes to my friends as my bad nerves.
Unlike her other employers, I am not put off by a bit of dust marring the surface of a table, nor by a few items making a furtive exit in a maid's bag. I consider this the price every working woman has to pay. I therefore simply point accusingly at the grey veil covering the furniture or demand sternly that the missing object be found. Hamda is not impressed, and neither displays more energy nor produces the miscellaneous articles that have disappeared. At least my pride is safe. "I just want her to know that I am aware of what is going on," I explain. "And are you?" asks my daughter ironically on these occasions. She undoubtedly interprets Hamda's nature much better than I do. Every time she has believed that the maid was up to no good, she was right. She has never boasted of her insight, however, knowing that I find the woman pleasant to deal with. Hamda's mischievous smile puts me in a good mood. Furthermore, she is polite without being obsequious and understands quickly what is expected of her. The fact that she does not necessarily proceed to do it does not rattle me immensely, since I usually forget what I have asked her for anyway.
One major bone of contention, however, has been responsible for sometimes bumpy relations between employer and employee. Hamda believes firmly that her husband is her boss. When he stays home from work, she simply does not come. When she does return, she usually volunteers no explanation but, if pressed, shrugs, "my husband wouldn't let me come," and leaves it at that. I have been made to understand that it was only out of her husband's goodness of heart that I was lucky enough to have her. He is the uncontested ruler of their household -- and ours, though he does not earn half what she does, and would be at a loss to feed his family of four on his own. In order not to rock the boat unnecessarily, I have refrained from telling her in harsh terms what I think of her husband's claim on the time I pay for.
Not long ago, she arrived in tears one morning. Her husband, she told me, had hurt her feelings mortally. She was seriously thinking of leaving him. Could she come live with us? That day she did almost nothing, and was about to leave earlier than usual, when my daughter noticed that she was carrying a huge plastic bag. Should she ask her what was in it, she wondered. As she stood at the door, unable to decide, Hamda panicked, threw the bag in the garbage bin and ran down the stairs. Surprised, my daughter waited long enough to see her creeping back, shoes in hand. Looking up, she sensed that the coast was not clear and quickly ducked behind the banister.
Later, my daughter retrieved the bag and examined the contents: three eggs, three tomatoes, three cucumbers, three loaves of bread, three tea bags, sugar, milk in a small bottle, a couple of lemons and two frozen chickens. Nothing that we would not have given her willingly, had she asked.
The next day Hamda felt that for the first time perhaps she owed us more than a dismissive shrug. When things had gone missing before, we had kept up the charade that they were simply misplaced and would be found any time. This, however, was different. She had been actually caught in the act.
"I know that I have behaved strangely," she began, "but I had sworn not to eat any food my husband brought into the house, so I was taking our dinner to show him that I did not need him," she told us, watching our faces for a sign of sympathy. It made some sort of sense so far, though she had previously told me that she always bought the family's food. "You noticed that I took three portions of everything," she continued, encouraged by our silence, "one for me and one for each one of the children. I did not take more than was absolutely necessary." And the two chickens? I couldn't help asking. "These were to celebrate when we made up, of course," she said, slightly surprised that we had not already guessed.
