One luxury experienced in the Philippines is that of household help.
During my recent holiday, I stayed with my sister and her husband in Manila, with family friends in Quezon and Cebu, and with my brother and his wife in Zambales – each had house-help in their home. I felt spoiled rotten, even though in my growing years, having such household help was normal. Indeed, when my husband and I decided to settle in Ireland in 1977, one of his worries was whether or not I could cope without such help! But after 30 years, I now felt uneasy that there is always someone on hand to answer the door or fetch a drink – not to mention make dinners, clean, wash, run errands, and many other chores.
To most middle-class families in the Philippines, having househelp is an engrained part of the culture. It has been a part of Philippine life as far back as existing historical records can take us. Spanish chronicler Juan Plasencia, looking into various classes in Tagalog society in the 16th century, noted that the chiefs (or ‘datos’) had two types of servants: one classed as serfs or share tenants, who served their master, and the other the slave workers or chattels who, unlike the first type, could be sold. Rendering service to the dato or powerful person to whom one is obligated, as repayment for ‘utang na loob’ (debt of gratitude), is still part of the dynamics of society.
It used to be the practice of tenant farmers to offer their young daughters or sons as servants to their landlords to whom they had incurred large debts, as a means of working off some of the payment. Even without debts, many tenants still solicit house-help positions for their children with their landlords or other wealthy town or city people to whom the landlord may refer them. In its original context, the Tagalog word for servant means helper (katulong).
The Filipino reciprocity cycle traditionally functioned in this relationship between homeowners and the house-help. However, this traditional relationship has broken down extensively. Aside from those who might ask their wealthier relatives to see their children through school with the understanding that they would help around the house while living with them, few Filipinos are keen to get into a kinship cycle with the househelp.
Rising expectations have ensured that both homeowners and house-help are no longer satisfied with the traditional relationship, which today borders on the professional. A 1978 labour code governs employment in the household, and lists 60 pesos a month as the minimum wage for those employed in the Metro Manila area. The going rate now is 2,000 pesos (about €20) a month for housemaids and gardeners, and 2,000-5,000 pesos (€20–40) for nannies and family drivers. This would include free board and lodging and perks such as clothing, groceries and gifts.
In older times, the house-help would serve a household for years – even for life. But these days the house-help sees her job as transitory, a stepping stone towards a better-paying job, perhaps as a sales girl or waitress or possibly even for work overseas. Since the government sanctioned the deployment of Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs) in the 1970s, a great exodus of women has ensued.
According to the 2006 State of the World Population report, 65 per cent of the 3,000 OFWs leaving the country daily are females employed in domestic jobs. In 2005, some 205,206 Filipino female workers were deployed abroad, with 83,524 of them hired as domestic workers or caretakers. Filipinas are now a much sought-after domestic worker international- ly. And they are compensated very well compared to the very low wages they received at home.
Having house-help or domestic workers has become more normal in Ireland, especially since the advent of the Celtic Tiger; but there’s no way I can afford it. Besides, I survived without one for the last 30 years, and discovered that one of the greatest freedoms in life is to be able to stand on one’s own feet.
Vising Kennedy writes a regular column for Metro Éireann
