Maid of Honor

And so we grow up and get a job, get a flat, you have a certain lifestyle to maintain, get a car and all those things. We suddenly don’t have time to do this or that, a case in point – cleaning the house. So you get a helper. From my experience, us Black women prefer someone older to take care of your house rather than a young, strapping girl, reason, the young strapping girl can’t be trusted. She can’t be trusted with your clothes, your shoes, and in some cases, your man. Not that the first option is perfect.

The older helper bless her heart, brings with her, the old school way of running a home,  the right way to raise your kids and makes cabbage and spinach like they do back home. Problem is, you chill with a glass of wine - she will give you the disapproving eye, going out, you wear a short little number, she implies as subtlely as ice as a lion’s roar that it might not be appropriate for a woman your age, you will feel bad about giving her instruction to wash this or that – because she’s older, in fact my good friend gives the instruction as she’s leaving the house that way she doesn’t have to deal with the “I’m older than-you-you-know” look. So it’s a love-hate relationship.

Many a time, sisters will butt heads with their helpers and try not to sweat the small stuff. It’s an African thing you see, any older person is to be respected, whatever their social class or that they are strangers. This African law supersedes you owning a mansion in Houghton and speaking queen’s-grade English.

There is dear reader, a few incidents where that helper is completely and utterly on your side, no matter her issues with your lifestyle. Case in point: A friend, Zanele has been in a long term relationship with Tebogo but they do not stay together, a mutual decision from both sides. Zanele had helped find a helper for *Tebogo, she was an older lady. Zanele had shown her around the house, what the cleaning expectation is etc. A kinship was formed, that this is the lady of the house. Zanele has never really crossed paths with her since then but does hear about her from Tebogo.

This story was relayed to Zanele by Tebogo:

So Zani’s partner decides to show his woman friend his home. The friend was in the country for a business meeting. Zanele knew she was a friend of her man. He had been to hers and her husband’s home too.

The day was Tuesday, a designated day for Tebogo’s helper to do the cleaning. He knew she would be there as it was mid-morning. The partner walks in with the lady, shows her to take a seat in the TV room while he makes some tea for them. The helper comes in from hanging clothes outside. She happily greets him and makes small talk but walking into the TV room, does a double take at the person sitting in *Zanele’s TV room, goes ‘sho!’, mumbles a greeting and walks off.

My friend’s partner, who was walking behind the helper, senses her changed mood and instant 1+1 = 2 moment, calls back the now briskly walking helper and says to her, with the sincerity of a kitten, “this is my friend ok?”, the expression to go with the correction of the situation was an overt “I know what you are thinking but... “this is my friend so and so ok??”.

The helper, not quite sold on the explanation, shrugs her shoulders and says “haretse” or ha re itse.

Sensing the awkwardness of the situation, the lady friend introduced herself “hello mama, I work with *Tebogo”. Any explanation they could have given, they weren’t going to win. So that was left at that. Tea was had and then they left.

This dear reader is just a small example of how your helper is actually on your side, as a woman. She might be a pain sometimes – most times but Zanele was wherever she was going about her day and unbeknown to her, her helper was being territorial on her behalf. People were being ‘outed’ for what they were...territories were being firmly drawn...and attitude being thrown about – albeit an innocent incident.

It might be a love/hate relationship but she’s on your side, especially when it comes to the sanctity of your home and your respect. So moral of the story – don’t sweat the small stuff, you’ve got a friend there J.