What’s in a Hiring?

Every month, at least 5 people knock on my gate begging for employment. However, when I first moved to Uganda, I was not sure how I felt about hiring someone. American friends jokingly teased me from afar about considering servants. While I knew that they were kidding (and that many of them would employ someone to cut their lawns if they had a lawn to mow), I had to admit that the idea of paying someone to regularly clean or cook for me seemed oddly similar to slavery. As my friends in Uganda told me about their hired caretakers, cleaners, gardeners, cooks, and drivers, I found myself cringing, subconsciously assuming that there was an element of elitist oppression involved. But what I have gradually come to realize is that by responsibly employing someone in Uganda, I can actually help free rather than oppress.

When I met Harriet, she was a guard for the company securing my school. The only woman manning the front gate, she stood out with her big smile and her welcoming words. Every time she saw me, she would leave her post to come give me a big hug greeting me with “Good morning, madam,” a sign of respect, or “How are you?” At that stage, I was living in a small manageable house, was sharing a day guard/gardener with my compound companions, and was still ambivalent how much “help” I felt okay with. Harriet was simply a welcoming face each morning.

I found out I was moving into my current home in October. With more rooms and a huge unattended garden, the prospect of hired help seemed more alluring. I had gradually warmed up to the idea of someone else living in the roomy boys’ quarters on the property and was beginning to think about options. The day my move seemed cemented, I was walking to school and found Harriet taking the same path. As we commuted to work together, we chatted about life. While mine was heading upwards, Harriet’s was at a desperate standstill. She urged me to consider passing her name along if I knew anyone who needed someone to help work for them. It all seemed like too much of a coincidence.

Before Harriet worked for me, she started her life in Kampala a shack smaller than my current closet with a dirt floor and a roof that virtually collapsed with any drizzle (needless to say, it did little to ward off the frequent tropical downpours). She gradually upgraded to a single 8x8 ft room, but it was hard for her to advance quickly on a guard’s salary. Working 7 days a week for 12-hour shifts, Harriet was lucky if she made 60,000 shillings a month (or about 30 USD). Harriet could not afford to have her daughter live in the city with her and had to leave her in the village to be raised by her grandmother. Harriet could not attend church on Sundays because she worked 7 days a week.

Alternative employment offered Harriet a new life. Working for me, she gets a sizeable salary, a 2 bedroom house with running water and electricity, a day off a week to go to church, a reasonable boss (if I do say so myself), and probably the most noticeable difference: the ability to have her daughter live with her and go to school nearby.

Two weeks ago Harriet returned to her village and brought her five-year-old back with her. I do not think she has stopped smiling since. While Loveline speaks no English to express her sentiments, I think her laughter and constant enthusiasm speak for themselves!