You'll get what this is about after you're done reading. No matter how sick or busy or whatever I am, I had to write this. And for anyone asking about posts, I have 0 ideas, STILL. I need my two real reader characters for Le Chase before writing the next post. I tweeted that it was a surprise, knowing every reader of mine will probably think I wrote 5 chapters like last time, or even 10. This isn't a great surprise, but I need every one of you to read it.
Anyways, read on. And you can add comments, just saying, they're not restricted at the moment.
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Her sweet innocent laughter echoed through my ears, filling the depths of my heart with light and joy. I looked down, her wide angled eyes looked back up to me, her crooked smile, her soft mahogany hair trailing down to her neck, her innocent pupils held love. The sun was beating down at our backs, the weather was starting to get humid, it felt as if every inch of my skin began to sweat, crying out in pain because of the painful heat but the sight of her smile distracted me of the pain.
"Honey, no don't touch that!" I exclaimed suddenly in our own native language, seeing her dainty hands reaching out to touch a strange looking insect that had specks of forest green sparkles, it looked beautiful, with it's wide beetle eyes but if you looked closer, it's mouth grinned devilishly, baring it's poisonous teeth, ready to bite at my daughter's finger. Chipo obeyed my orders, bringing her delicate fingers back slowly to not disturb the insect. After a few seconds, the insect scattered away, not bothering to approach us.
"Mama, I'm hungry." Chipo, named after the African meaning of "gift", looked back up to me, her charcoal coloured eyes full of hunger, her dark ebony lips parting slightly.
"Here sweetheart," I grabbed the last loaf of bread, the bread I bought today with the use of my hard earned salary, and fed it to her little mouth, that starved and starved.
"Mama-"
-
Her angelic voice was cut off with the sound of a woman's scream, a scream that haunted my ears and crushed the lights I felt for a few seconds, a few seconds that felt too good to be true. I must have day dreamed about my daughter once again, the memory of her all alone with her father back in my home country, caused my heart to ache for the millionth time.
"Manila! I told you, MAIDS are not allowed to sit on our new couches! Sit on the floor before you get it dirty you filthy maid!" Her words stung but I didn't dare to reply, I would get a more harsh argument, even a slap to the face if I ever dared to talk back. I must have forgotten, I was too tired, my back full of pain after chasing her kids all over the house, trying to get them to sleep. I quickly sat back down to the floor, little Hamad, her son, looked terrified of his mother. Madame, that was what I was supposed to call her, had jagged but forcefully waxed eyebrows, her noise was pointy, small, her chocolate Middle Eastern eyes wide and beautiful to gaze at, but once her pretty lips slipped open, the most horrid words escaped.
"This is the number one rule of the house, you have been here for three years and you still don't know it?!" Madame yelled at me, her spit hitting the left side of my cheek. I nodded in agreement, agreeing that I am indeed a stupid worker but in my head, so much anger is being hidden, for all those years, over a billion hurtful words had been shot at me but I continued on to remain quiet, there was no use in arguing. As she continued on lecturing me that maids were not allowed to sit on couches and only on floors, my stomach felt queasy, I mentally forced it to stay quiet but it growled so noisily, it was impossible to ignore. Even Madame had heard the noise, it frightened me, the way her angry expression paused for a moment to understand the noise and then those strongly arched eyebrows of hers, twisted, furrowed, till a more furious expression took over her face.
"You're hungry? Again?" Madame scowled in disgust, looking down at my frail thin body, her eyes saw fat, fat and fat everywhere. I believed it for a second, thinking that I was truly gigantically fat and disgusting, eating too much of their food, that my skin seeped of oil and food, but the knife sharp bones that sliced out of my skin, the shape of my ribs clearly visible through my skin, told me otherwise.
"Mama please," little Hamad, bless his soul, begged his mother to stop, but that only angered her more. The honest truth? Little Hamad loved me more than his own mother, after all those nights I cradled him to my weak chest, telling him stories of his favourite animals in the wide, blue endless space, keeping him at peace when his parents fought; spoiling him with kisses when he needed them, when his mother didn't offer them.
"Shaima! What's wrong with you, making all this noise?" Sir. That's my other employee. He rushed into the brightly lit living room, his strained eyes looking at Madame and back at me, furious that we disturbed him while he was in his office working. I clenched my fingers into fists, my fingers were sweating, I was terrified of Sir. He was much more quiet but his punishments were far more brutal. I tried to concentrate on the wrinkles in the palm of my hand, the roughness of my skin, of all the dishes I had to wash everyday, the chemicals in the soaps were harsh, Madame didn't offer me any gloves to wear, I was forced to wash them with my naked hands. The chemicals poisoned the softness of my skin, the softness that my daughter used to love so much.
"Ya'agoub, s-she's been eating our child's food! Hamad is starving, look at his meal, there is nothing left of it. I caught her eating all of his food, even after I already bought her a large meal from Mcdonalds and an hour ago, she ate all of our chocolates that we were keeping for our dinner party next week." Madame's angry and evil expression melted away and was replaced with a damsel-in-distress expression. She looked sincere, honest and innocent. Sir's eyes turned to mine, he examined my too-thin body, looking confused. I mentally prayed to God that I would be saved by his confused face, the way his eyes crinkled up, showing that he didn't believe a word of his wife's accusations.
However, soon enough, her beautifully eyeliner rimmed eyes tricked him. The next lecture I got was from him, but that wasn't all. I wished so badly that it was just that. Sir locked me in the room again, no food, no water, no bathroom. "My room" sounded so luxurious, when the fact is, the room was tiny and it held the water heater, there was little space for a mattress to be put on the ground for me to sleep on. There were no lights, hard to believe when the house was lavishly grand and spacious, that such a room existed in the house. I was trapped with the filth, I was filth in front of them, my dark skin resembled filth compared to their beautifully pampered and golden skins. I was nothing, with my rags, compared to their brands, their jewels and their beautiful children.
The only light I got was from the tiny window at the corner, I would catch the slight glimpse of the moon sometimes, it gave me hope. It's been two days since I last ate, I grew used to it, the most I went without food was 5 days, but Sir never knew, he thought Madame gave me all those yummy large Mcdonald meals. I never dared to bite out of any of little Hamad's food, he had offered me countless times a bite of his chicken nuggets, it took every ounce of me to say no, whilst my mouth watered, watching him eat. I was forced to throw out the rest of his food, not to touch any of it, his mother tended to watch me do it, to be sure that I didn't steal a bite.
Two more years.. and your VISA will be done with, you'll go back home. To Chipo, to your daughter. Just two more years, you can do this.
That voice is what kept me going, soon enough my tears were too dried up to flow out of my eye sockets anymore. My body grew used to the pain and the hunger, they were it's new friends.
My new friends.
Friends.
I've forgotten the meaning of... friends.
-
*A wake up call to everyone. I am not saying EVERY Arab or even non Arab families treat their housekeepers this way, but they DO exist. The fact that the character in my story couldn't have any proper food, and the fact that she can't sit on couches but only on the floor? Those parts are TRUE. (Of course Manila doesn't exist, I made it up but I based the things that happened in the story on some true parts) t I have met, MYSELF, in PERSON, housekeepers who have told me their stories. No they are NOT lies, allah ya7fi'9hom w yisa3idhom, this is the harsh reality of how some people treat their workers. In our own religion, we are advised to treat workers, non-Muslims, as brothers/sisters.
One question.
Is THIS how you treat your brothers and sisters?
Anyways, read on. And you can add comments, just saying, they're not restricted at the moment.
-
Her sweet innocent laughter echoed through my ears, filling the depths of my heart with light and joy. I looked down, her wide angled eyes looked back up to me, her crooked smile, her soft mahogany hair trailing down to her neck, her innocent pupils held love. The sun was beating down at our backs, the weather was starting to get humid, it felt as if every inch of my skin began to sweat, crying out in pain because of the painful heat but the sight of her smile distracted me of the pain.
"Honey, no don't touch that!" I exclaimed suddenly in our own native language, seeing her dainty hands reaching out to touch a strange looking insect that had specks of forest green sparkles, it looked beautiful, with it's wide beetle eyes but if you looked closer, it's mouth grinned devilishly, baring it's poisonous teeth, ready to bite at my daughter's finger. Chipo obeyed my orders, bringing her delicate fingers back slowly to not disturb the insect. After a few seconds, the insect scattered away, not bothering to approach us.
"Mama, I'm hungry." Chipo, named after the African meaning of "gift", looked back up to me, her charcoal coloured eyes full of hunger, her dark ebony lips parting slightly.
"Here sweetheart," I grabbed the last loaf of bread, the bread I bought today with the use of my hard earned salary, and fed it to her little mouth, that starved and starved.
"Mama-"
-
Her angelic voice was cut off with the sound of a woman's scream, a scream that haunted my ears and crushed the lights I felt for a few seconds, a few seconds that felt too good to be true. I must have day dreamed about my daughter once again, the memory of her all alone with her father back in my home country, caused my heart to ache for the millionth time.
"Manila! I told you, MAIDS are not allowed to sit on our new couches! Sit on the floor before you get it dirty you filthy maid!" Her words stung but I didn't dare to reply, I would get a more harsh argument, even a slap to the face if I ever dared to talk back. I must have forgotten, I was too tired, my back full of pain after chasing her kids all over the house, trying to get them to sleep. I quickly sat back down to the floor, little Hamad, her son, looked terrified of his mother. Madame, that was what I was supposed to call her, had jagged but forcefully waxed eyebrows, her noise was pointy, small, her chocolate Middle Eastern eyes wide and beautiful to gaze at, but once her pretty lips slipped open, the most horrid words escaped.
"This is the number one rule of the house, you have been here for three years and you still don't know it?!" Madame yelled at me, her spit hitting the left side of my cheek. I nodded in agreement, agreeing that I am indeed a stupid worker but in my head, so much anger is being hidden, for all those years, over a billion hurtful words had been shot at me but I continued on to remain quiet, there was no use in arguing. As she continued on lecturing me that maids were not allowed to sit on couches and only on floors, my stomach felt queasy, I mentally forced it to stay quiet but it growled so noisily, it was impossible to ignore. Even Madame had heard the noise, it frightened me, the way her angry expression paused for a moment to understand the noise and then those strongly arched eyebrows of hers, twisted, furrowed, till a more furious expression took over her face.
"You're hungry? Again?" Madame scowled in disgust, looking down at my frail thin body, her eyes saw fat, fat and fat everywhere. I believed it for a second, thinking that I was truly gigantically fat and disgusting, eating too much of their food, that my skin seeped of oil and food, but the knife sharp bones that sliced out of my skin, the shape of my ribs clearly visible through my skin, told me otherwise.
"Mama please," little Hamad, bless his soul, begged his mother to stop, but that only angered her more. The honest truth? Little Hamad loved me more than his own mother, after all those nights I cradled him to my weak chest, telling him stories of his favourite animals in the wide, blue endless space, keeping him at peace when his parents fought; spoiling him with kisses when he needed them, when his mother didn't offer them.
"Shaima! What's wrong with you, making all this noise?" Sir. That's my other employee. He rushed into the brightly lit living room, his strained eyes looking at Madame and back at me, furious that we disturbed him while he was in his office working. I clenched my fingers into fists, my fingers were sweating, I was terrified of Sir. He was much more quiet but his punishments were far more brutal. I tried to concentrate on the wrinkles in the palm of my hand, the roughness of my skin, of all the dishes I had to wash everyday, the chemicals in the soaps were harsh, Madame didn't offer me any gloves to wear, I was forced to wash them with my naked hands. The chemicals poisoned the softness of my skin, the softness that my daughter used to love so much.
"Ya'agoub, s-she's been eating our child's food! Hamad is starving, look at his meal, there is nothing left of it. I caught her eating all of his food, even after I already bought her a large meal from Mcdonalds and an hour ago, she ate all of our chocolates that we were keeping for our dinner party next week." Madame's angry and evil expression melted away and was replaced with a damsel-in-distress expression. She looked sincere, honest and innocent. Sir's eyes turned to mine, he examined my too-thin body, looking confused. I mentally prayed to God that I would be saved by his confused face, the way his eyes crinkled up, showing that he didn't believe a word of his wife's accusations.
However, soon enough, her beautifully eyeliner rimmed eyes tricked him. The next lecture I got was from him, but that wasn't all. I wished so badly that it was just that. Sir locked me in the room again, no food, no water, no bathroom. "My room" sounded so luxurious, when the fact is, the room was tiny and it held the water heater, there was little space for a mattress to be put on the ground for me to sleep on. There were no lights, hard to believe when the house was lavishly grand and spacious, that such a room existed in the house. I was trapped with the filth, I was filth in front of them, my dark skin resembled filth compared to their beautifully pampered and golden skins. I was nothing, with my rags, compared to their brands, their jewels and their beautiful children.
The only light I got was from the tiny window at the corner, I would catch the slight glimpse of the moon sometimes, it gave me hope. It's been two days since I last ate, I grew used to it, the most I went without food was 5 days, but Sir never knew, he thought Madame gave me all those yummy large Mcdonald meals. I never dared to bite out of any of little Hamad's food, he had offered me countless times a bite of his chicken nuggets, it took every ounce of me to say no, whilst my mouth watered, watching him eat. I was forced to throw out the rest of his food, not to touch any of it, his mother tended to watch me do it, to be sure that I didn't steal a bite.
Two more years.. and your VISA will be done with, you'll go back home. To Chipo, to your daughter. Just two more years, you can do this.
That voice is what kept me going, soon enough my tears were too dried up to flow out of my eye sockets anymore. My body grew used to the pain and the hunger, they were it's new friends.
My new friends.
Friends.
I've forgotten the meaning of... friends.
-
*A wake up call to everyone. I am not saying EVERY Arab or even non Arab families treat their housekeepers this way, but they DO exist. The fact that the character in my story couldn't have any proper food, and the fact that she can't sit on couches but only on the floor? Those parts are TRUE. (Of course Manila doesn't exist, I made it up but I based the things that happened in the story on some true parts) t I have met, MYSELF, in PERSON, housekeepers who have told me their stories. No they are NOT lies, allah ya7fi'9hom w yisa3idhom, this is the harsh reality of how some people treat their workers. In our own religion, we are advised to treat workers, non-Muslims, as brothers/sisters.
One question.
Is THIS how you treat your brothers and sisters?
