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Al-Ahram Weekly 25 - 31 May 2000 Issue No. 483 
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Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Al-Ahram Weekly 25 - 31 May 2000 Issue No. 483
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| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Egypt Region International Economy Opinion Culture Focus Features Travel Living Sports Profile People Time Out Chronicles Cartoons Letters A day at the office
By Fayza Hassan
Whenever a young colleague announces that she is going to have a baby, I immediately feel a sort of panic for her, remembering what it was like when I had small children and still had to keep a full-time job. "How are you going to manage?" I ask anxiously, as if it was any of my business. Her answers invariably indicate that things have not changed and that new working mothers are as unprepared for what lies ahead as those of my generation.
The 21st century has not brought major changes relieving female employees of the burden of making appropriate arrangements for the care of their pre-school children. While more and more women are involved in serious careers, precluding their absence for more than a couple of months from the workplace, no satisfactory and reliable child minding formulas are being developed. I have always wondered, for instance, why day care centres do not offer afternoon shifts and why they don't remain open during the school holidays. Why don't regular schools have a programme catering to pupils whose parents are late picking them up? The few that do usually charge fees that are high enough to exclude all but high-income earners, accommodating only those who in fact can afford to hire a full-time nanny. It is as if the establishment wanted to deny the economic role of women and is doing so by remaining blind to some of their most pressing needs.
There is immense scope for training university graduates and forming a highly professional child caring staff, thus offering job opportunities to hundreds of young men and women who currently wait for years for a government appointment, as well as a much needed service to working mothers. Large companies should seriously consider investing in proper arrangements that will allow parents to do their jobs, secure in the thought that their young children are nearby and out of harm's way.
How many times have I answered the phone at the office only to hear a sobbing child asking for his/her mother, and how many mothers have I seen looking anxiously at the clock while speeding through the writing of an article explaining apologetically that her child's school has no attendants after hours? Every time, I am reminded of my older daughter, then five, wailing into the receiver: "Mummy, Maureen (or Val, or Joyce) has forgotten to pick me up, I am all alone." This was Australia in the late '60s, but there too, working mothers' children were given less than they deserved. I remember the many occasions when I had to sneak out of the office, hail a taxi I could ill afford, and, having collected my tear-stained little girl, make the rounds of friends in the neighbourhood who were likely to mind her while I finished my day's work.
On one particular day, finding no one, I panicked. I was due to attend an important staff meeting later in the afternoon and soon had to admit that this particular time, I was out of luck. None of my friends were available. Since I had already feigned sudden illness in similar circumstances, I did not think it wise to use the same ploy again so soon. There was only one thing I could do, I told myself, and that was to take my daughter to the office and hide her under the desk until I was done.
In all the years I had worked in Sydney, I had never seen a child in an office and assumed that none had ever been in one. What were the penalties for introducing such an alien, I wondered. I had no choice, however, and quickly formulated my plan. Since she hated my unexpected -- and mostly unpleasant -- emergency arrangements whenever her regular babysitter did not show up and feared more than anything being left with a particularly loud and irresponsible friend of mine who fed her children (and mine) extra hot Indian curry "to kill the day's germs," my daughter was quite happy to come along. Hugging her to my side under my coat, I managed an unnoticed entrance and soon settled her on the floor and out of sight, where she proceeded to play quietly with her crayons. A perfect idea, I told myself happily, planning to use it again whenever the need arose. Why didn't I think about it before? As I was leaving, my daughter mentioned wanting to visit the bathroom, but the corridors were teeming with employees and there was really no way we could make the trip without attracting everyone's attention. "Hold on and pretend that it is an exercise like the ones you do in PE," I whispered. "Soon you will no longer want to go. I won't be long anyway." Of course I was, and when I finally came back, my daughter was sobbing silently. "Did anyone see you?" I asked, terrified now at the consequences. She rubbed the tears off her face and shook her head. "I had to use your wastepaper basket," she managed to say dejectedly (fortunately, it was made of tin). I tried to reassure her while gathering her playthings, tidying my desk and wondering what to do next. I had to think fast. I had five short minutes to get out with her before the rush. I looked around. One of my most obnoxious colleagues had momentarily left her desk. It was a sign from above, I decided, swiftly picking up the offending bin and exchanging it with her pristine container. It took us no time to reach the elevator, seconds before the first departing employees. For a long time after this incident, my colleague figured prominently in my worst nightmares.
