17.02.10: Time to fire the ayi

Beau and I have decided it's time to end our relationship with the ayi. While we were at first ambivalent about hiring a local woman to clean our house, we quickly embraced the luxury, only for the relationship to deteriorate into a source of resentment and frustration. She gladly took on the task of cooking meals for us when she came three times a week, but has evidently decided this is her only task. In the past four months, she has used more cooking oil than soap or laundry detergent. The bottle of floor cleaner has been collecting dust under the kitchen sink.



Her manners have also left something to be desired. When I first began my search online for a housekeeper, I came across articles about how to deal with these Chinese maids who aren't accustomed to our Western ways. As always, I shook my head at those snotty expat wives who would pay for their maids to attend special courses to learn about taking care of a Western household. I was certain I would be more open-minded and more comfortable dealing with a local woman who would prepare local food for us. I have been, but only to an extent. When she cleaned out what I was using for a mop bucket and proudly showed me that she was going to use it to store the rice, I only shook my head and crossed my fingers that we wouldn't get sick. I enjoyed all the meals she prepared for us, salty and oily as they were, until she started preparing plates of chicken feet with chicken gizzards. Beau was upset enough about unsuspectingly biting into an organ of some sort that he immediately asked her to only prepare the meat we were used to, though we never complained that it was full of bones and skin like local Chinese food.

However, certain other of her habits have proven to be more than we can tolerate in the privacy of our home. Beau's work schedule varies, so he might have a night on the piss in the middle of the week, and dreaded being awoken by the ayi pummeling on the doors and shouting at him to get out of bed. She found his consternation amusing, not understanding that he is far too kind to show that he was seriously vexed. I had been working 12-16 hours a day for a while, and hadn't really noticed how far the situation was sliding until I had some free time and a little more energy. I decided that she perhaps was leaving the house largely untouched because we had let it get cluttered with objects and items she didn't know what to do with, so we tossed out all the old papers and magazines and I organized my clothes. She praised my efforts and told me the closet looked much better now that I had cleaned it. She proceeded in the same useless fashion she had been going for the past few months, even asking to shower in our bathroom although she hadn't cleaned it in four months.

It's at the point now where the 12 hours a week we are paying for her have quietly dwindled to 6-8 hours a week. She passes through the rooms with a broom, but leaves behind dirty dishes and food wrappers. I get annoyed with her for not cleaning up after us better, but then I am disgusted with myself for not cleaning up after us better.

I am too American to deal with a housekeeper. I can't bring myself to speak sternly to an older woman, and no matter how much I like having the laundry done for me, I can't get past the fact that asking this old lady to do my laundry is somehow unfitting. I try to convince myself that she is happy to earn the money, but I imagine my own mother or grandmother sorting through a stranger's sweaty gym socks, and I am fairly racked with guilt. And no matter how nice it is to have someone else take on the burden of housework, which is a tedious, messy, and nearly thankless task, I still want everything done to my specifications. Employing someone who is really missing the mark and then feeling too guilty and awkward to be more forward with her makes me feel frustrated and impotent. And at least if I avoid cleaning the bathroom for a few weeks, it isn't costing me money.

Then there's just the privacy issue. Inviting someone into your home for a set number of hours every week to rummage through your private areas requires an abandon that I just can't muster. Being at home while she was cooking and then being barked at in the friendly Chinese way to "eat,eat!" has been very irritating. I would find that sort of thing charming as a guest in a friend's house or in a restaurant, but in my living room, it feels incredibly invasive. She has now taken to explaining to us over lunch how difficult her life is, how squalid her apartment is, how little money she has, and then asking us for more money or certain household items she has determined we no longer need. By her standards, our monthly rent represents an astronomical sum, but it isn't cheap for us either. Hiring her is also a luxury (though I had hoped we would save money by asking her to cook meals, but this hasn't been the case), and we have been paying her more than anyone else that she works for.

Suffice it to conclude that had the relationship remained as idyllic as it was in the first few weeks, when I came home to tasty meals, waxed floors, and a sparkling bathroom, I could have suppressed all my guilt of hiring a local grandmother to scrub my toilet. However, because it seems more and more apparent that we are being milked for the money she thinks we must have and don't, I have to spend way too much time thinking about how to deal with someone who was supposed to make my life easier. Now I feel like an imperialistic, white-skinned prima donna and I'm still scrubbing my own toilet.

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