The Help

I stumble down the stairs, half asleep, at half past eight to meet bright eyed Kotu at the bottom waiting to share his good plant purchases with me (reminiscent of my days on the couch in Jersey waking up at nearly noon to hear about my uncle’s deals on flowers at this place or that).  I handed him some cash to go purchase more flowering plants for the garden. According to Kotu a lady needs to be able to cut flowers for her house.

Mid-morning I am sitting on the veranda sipping a cup of coffee, reading a book.  Nathalie bounds up the stairs, sweet-smelling flowers with teeny white petals and red berries in hand.  She hurries inside to quickly get them in a vase.  She comes out to ask what she can do in the house while I am away with my sister – holiday work she calls it.  I explain that she is getting a paid vacation; she doesn’t truly understand or at least is not comfortable with the idea.  She insists she works some while I am away basking on the beach of Fiji.  I give her cash to pick up some new cleaning supplies on my way out to the Gallery to have some traditional art from the Oro province framed for the house. 

I climb into my hunter green 4WD in my summery pink sundress and oversized sunnies (sunglasses in “Australian”), a fresh cup of coffee brewed by Nathalie in hand.  She and Kotu wave enthusiastically as I barrel up the drive and out for an afternoon of “errands” – first the gallery, then a pedicure at the spa, and then lunch at the Yachtie.  Oh what a life I now lead…

                                                                                                                                                       

One perk of my contract with Ela Murray here in Papua New Guinea is “The Help” provided for by the school.  As a part of my contract I am given an allowance to be used for house help – a haus-meri (a house girl, maid) and a gardener.  Nathalie, my haus-meri, and Kotu, my gardener, are just lovely.  They both come once a week, spending the entirety of Wednesday cleaning, trimming, laundering, scrubbing, planting, and goodness knows what else to make my life easy, easy, easy.  As the school provides the house, it is a requirement to have Help.  This is in addition to the school drivers who take deposits to the bank, fill your car up with petrol (say “gas” and you’ll get a laugh), and run any other errand needed during school hours as long as time permits.  For example, my lovely green machine needed to be serviced and I sent Henry with a detailed note as to what was wrong with the car to the dealer and at the end of the day my car was sitting just where I parked it in the morning, but lacking the glow of the  “Check Engine” light flashing. 

Usually I have little contact with Kotu.  He arrives early on Wednesday morning and waits by my car for me to leave for school.  He mumbles a “good morning lady” in Pidgin – at least that’s what I think he’s saying.  He then shuffles about barefoot until I climb into my car and take off.  I don’t pay him directly.  I leave his pay under a potted plant he purchased for this specific reason, despite the fact that I see him before I scurry off to work each Wednesday morning.

Kotu is working on making an actual garden (what we call a yard) for me.  He has a vision – I just go with it, or encourage him to go with it.  He’s going to plant grass and has bought about 30 flowering plants and a gorgeous house plant for inside which he insists on watering himself  – Nathalie is not permitted to do so herself – all for K100 (a little less than $40…my Uncle Buddy would be in heaven!). 

I have had this week off from school and have spent some time attempting to talk with Kotu.  I do mean attempting – he doesn’t speak English and I don’t speak Pidgin (YET!).  Envision lots of pointing and miming, very much like a sad game of charades.  I learned that this man, who I pay K45 (less than $20) to garden all day, but only on Wednesdays, stops by to check on “our” plants nearly every day.  He told me they are babies and need to be cared for.  It was interesting to watch him work while I sat on my veranda sipping tea and Facebooking (which was super exciting for me as I haven’t had much access to it since arrival).  Kotu is an old man, but he doesn’t work like one.  He looks like melted dark chocolate.  Years of working in the sun has probably aged him beyond his actual years.  He wears a big straw hat and can dig a hole faster than anyone or thing I’ve ever seen.  He sings while he works.  He moves smoothly up and down the hill alternating between digging, watering, planting, and raking.  I wish I could accomplish any task as efficiently as Kotu gardens. 

Kotu was very concerned about me not having a man living with me.  He has asked regularly “No man?” with the same head shake each time.  I believe he’s worried – I’m not sure about what exactly though.  I don’t know if he thinks I’m lonely or if I’ve missed the marriage boat at the ripe old age of 27 or if he’s just not comfortable talking to me about money and/or spending it on plants because in PNG that is culturally very much a man’s responsibility.

Kotu was very upset with Nathalie for leaving laundry outside under my home yesterday.  He wanted to go get the “Boss Man” and tell him she was not doing her job.  This was not the case.  I had sent her home early when I learned she was sick with Malaria.  She had been taking anti-Malarial drugs for two days and was on the upswing, but still!  She showed up to work while fighting Malaria – talk about work ethic, or a need for the pay.  She has the next two weeks off while I’m in Fiji.  I paid her and she said she’ll come by and do some things she doesn’t normally have time to do in the house despite my insisting she take off completely.  She said she has work to do and needs to get it done.  She makes a mere K25 a day with lunch and coffee provided as well. 

I come home on Wednesday afternoons to a shiny, freshly scrubbed home.  Clothes are neatly put away.  The ironing is done and hanging.  Dishes are all washed and stored.  My couch and dining table have been moved and the hardwood floors have been polished.  Even my iPod has a freshly cleaned sheen to it.  As lovely as it is to come home to a spotless house, it is more the odd organization Nathalie has that I look forward to.  She sorts my toiletries differently each week – sometimes by size, other times by color, never by product type.  The throw pillows on my couch are arranged in a new, creative manner – standing, alternating, along the top, all on one side.  My undergarments are rotated each week – those that have been worn and washed are folded neatly and moved to the bottom compartment in the clothes hanger while those not in that week’s rotation are moved to the top compartment.  She has been known to use my plastics (Tupperware in “Australian”) as building blocks and creates odd structures with them.  There is always some sort of surprise – the fresh flowers that fill my house with a beautiful spring-like scent which she brings from home don’t hurt either. 

Nathalie calls me “daughter” and has truly welcomed me into her life.  I’m not sure if it’s because she realizes how wonderful I am (well, I am!) or if she is just buttering me up because she sees me as an easy target for requesting favors from because there is no man to tell me to say, “No!” – I like to think it’s a combination of both, as well as the fact that she would really like me to be good friends, or a mentor of some kind, to her daughter.  Nathalie’s mother made me a bilum (woven bag) out of bush materials and later brought one as a gift for my mum.  Her teenage daughter, Roscilla, has given me her first Tapa Cloths made for her by her grandmother while Roscilla was still baking in her mama’s belly. They are worn by women during traditional ceremonies and dances in her province of Oro (this is what I was taking to the Gallery to get framed).  I tried to return them; to me they are an important family heirloom – like a Christening gown would be to some families.  Nathalie refused and said it was a welcome into their family.  I was warned there may be a request following the gifts – there was.  Nathalie needed an advance and to have her son’s hospital fees financed.  She wanted K200 and for me to take K5 out of her pay each week.  I gave her half as a gift and told her I’d finance the remaining K100 (I spent that on wine the night before…I figure I can make sure her son is taken to the hospital for an infection in his foot). 

At times I feel guilty paying Kotu and Nathalie what seems so little to me, but it is well over the normal wage in PNG, in addition to perks like paid vacation time, lunch, and small extras now and again which are not something that exists outside of employment with an ex-pat in Papua New Guinea.  I leave treats for Nathalie kids each week and a phone card now and then for Kotu.  I am in love with these two gorgeous people and how sweet they are to me.    (Although, I do have a curiosity as to how I will function back home when I have to do my own laundry and yard work again – well okay, I didn’t do yard work back home, but one day I’ll buy a house and will have to...I cringe at the thought!)