It's the (South) African way

The entry title is a K'naan reference for those of you who aren't cool enough to know about him. You're welcome.

There are two things about the flat (Yes, I said flat. I'm trying to adapt to the SA lingo. And it's annoying to say guesthouse.) in which I'm living that seem to be iconic of the White South African experience. One, the flat and attached house sit within an high electrified concrete wall. Second, I have a domestic worker.

The concrete wall is around ten feet high. And sitting on top of the wall are three electric wires running parallel to each other around the entire perimeter. The gate to the driveway, and house in general, has tiny spears shooting out of it, with the electrified wires intertwining between them. There are also three dogs, Sandy, Umpalumpa, and Teeny (terrifying names, I know), who bark loudly at the slightest sound. Despite the neighborhood of Kenilworth being quiet (I have no doubts about my safety when walking alone along the main road during the day), it's hard to feel secure at night when I'm by myself in the flat, trying to fall asleep. It's hard to not feel under siege when living inside of a fortress.

Addendum: this is not iconic of the White South African experience. It is iconic of the wealthy South African experience. In reflecting on my last trip here, everyone with whom I stayed (except JonJon who lived in a high rise) lived inside of a gated community. I see these gates as a physical expression of the economic disparity between the rich and poor here. It doesn't send a good sign about the wealthy's concern for the economically disadvantaged.

The domestic worker, however, is iconic by-and-large of the White experience and something with which I am incredibly uncomfortable. The woman who cleans the house and my flat three times a week is named Nancy. She lives in site B of Khayelitsha, the largest township outside of Cape Town. She is the mother of three, two teenage sons and one six-year-old daughter. She is a widow; he husband was killed by a train in 2000. Her first language is Xhosa, one of South Africa's 11 official languages, and her English is not great, making conversation simple and light.

Nancy is Black. The family for which she works is White. This is an image from an era that is supposed to be 16 years behind South Africa. It is a remnant of the apartheid structure - Black women being readily available from the township for the White families in need of someone to cook, clean, wash, and then disappear back into the shadows of the shacks they call home. I know it is unreasonable for me to think that this would disappear along with apartheid; these women from the townships still need to work and apartheid created a situation where they are able to do little else. So it continues. But it's still weird.

When the flat was described to me back in April, I was told that one of the amenities included in the rent was that a woman would clean the space. The idea made me uncomfortable, mainly because I assumed that woman would be Black and in turn I would be part of a centuries-long race-based interpersonal dynamic. But since living here, Nancy has come into my flat to straighten the bed linens, rinse out some bowls I leave in the sink, and I'm not sure what else on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. And starting tomorrow, I will also give her some laundry to wash.  This next step of actively taking part in this process makes me very uncomfortable. I hesitantly move forward and am doing it mainly because Nancy asked me to.

My mindset, however, has changed slightly since Monday when I learned that I am responsible for paying Nancy and that it is not included in my rent. Based on what my landlord said, it really isn't an option to decline the service, because it would mean cutting Nancy's salary, which, I'm assuming based on the fact that she is a single mother living in a township, is much needed. The other option I considered was declining the service, but still paying her. But this would make her a charity case. This would create a patronizing relationship in which I, the wealthy White woman, would be taking pity on her, the poor Black woman. And that is not a role I want to fill. So my plan moving forward is to keep my space as clean as possible and hope to make Nancy's job as easy as possible. I'm hoping to be a good employer, which seems to be the best role to play. This is definitely something that is pushing me outside of my comfort zone (if you couldn't tell by the bazillion times I used the word 'uncomfortable') and will be an ongoing conversation in my head.

Sidenote: World Cup kicks off tomorrow. I'll be going into the city for some of the festivities at the Fan Fest, including watching the US-UK game on Saturday. I'm hoping to have some photos to post after the weekend. GO BAFANA BAFANA!