I watched the video, like most Ugandans. Apparently it has been shared from Saudi Arabia to Carlifornia. It broke my heart. How could a person be so cruel? We are known as friendly, hospitable people. Those videos of Africa show us smiling, dancing in the streets. What possesses a person to be so heartless? I cannot answer that question.
Then there was a debate on the radio today about new wage rates for domestic workers in South Africa. The numbers seemed absurdly small and embarrassing for a nation that claims it is a beacon of light on a dark continent. I was around during the xenophobic attacks of 2009 and wondered how people could wake up one morning and suddenly attack their neighbours. Looking at the wages, knowing the cost of living and the history of the nation, I am surprised they haven't burnt down the parliament.
The debate made me wonder if the concept of minimum wage exists in my own little village. Apparently, increasing the monthly minimum wage from UGX 6000 to UGX 75000 might upset the macro-economic framework and discourage foreign direct investment in Uganda. Fair wages would discourage investment, says the President. That takes me back to the video and its contents. What is her story?
My former boss told me I was born privileged. He said I was lucky that my father never had to consider exchanging me for bride price at a young age, in order to sustain himself. Even though I can't speak various tongues fluently, the one that I do speak well is one that matters. It is not a dying tongue spoken by maybe ten thousand people in a world of 7 billion. If I wanted I could have my pick of schools. I did not ever have to choose between starvation and clothing or school. I did not have to depend on the use of my body to earn my way through life. At the time, I was slightly offended. I wanted to assure him that I have seen my share of hardships. After seeing that video, I know he was right. I do not condone what she did. However, what is her story? What turned her heart of flesh into a dead solid rock?
Growing up in a household where both parents had full time jobs, we were almost always under the keep of a nanny/maid or relative [usually in between the maids] before the parents returned home. Looking back, I am amazed at how patient they were with us. I remember some almost considered us as their children and later invited us to their family celebrations. I learnt how to cook from them. When the time came for me to go to boarding school, they made sure I was ready. They made sure I knew how to do my laundry by hand, to stitch my name onto my clothes and to clean my shoes. When we moved to a more secluded house, they were amongst the few who did not laugh at our failed attempts to speak vernacular. I think the first time I ever used a public mini-van taxi outside the city centre was with Jennifer. I had no idea that so many people existed in our city until she took us to the old park. I remember that we got Orbit chewing gum on the return journey. I think it was a reward for being good children. Helen tried to teach us Lugbara. Agnes taught me how to cook rice and serve it in fancy shapes. Dona taught us how to play. By the time Penny and Anita came, we were old enough to teach them. So we shared school books with them and taught them English. We were friends. It wasn't perfect but it worked.
When I watched the video, my first thought was "is this what they secretly thought of us as we cried over sugarless tea and cold porridge?" I wonder what her story is...
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