Monthly Archives: February 2015

Marta

So how did it go with the…uh…do I call her a maid?  Housekeeper?  I used empleada through the whole last post and I was comfortable with that.  Maid makes me feel like I’m calling her something derogatory and like I’m living in an episode of Downton Abbey (which I just started watching b/c of this whole experience).  Housekeeper makes me think of Alice on The Brady Bunch.  Empleada will have to do, but it’s tedious to write, so I’ll just call her by her name, Marta.

I could not focus on work while she was here.  I was so nervous.  I hate confrontation.  I hate having to be authoritative.  I hate everything about what I was supposed to be and how I was told I was supposed to act towards this woman in order to get her to do the job we are paying her to do.  I hate this whole system.

I don’t like the idea of someone else being in my house and touching my things.  We don’t do this in the States.  Our homes are very private places.  We close our bedroom doors when we have parties.  People ask which restroom they should use.  They ask before they go looking for a glass if they want water.  For someone to come into my home and for it to be her job to touch everything I own…I just couldn’t take it.

Since I’ve known Eric, he’s had someone come clean his house once every two weeks.  This, somehow, is very different for me.  I still preferred to be at work or out of the house with this person would come, but I was much more comfortable with the situation.  For one, I think, it was because Eric handled it.  For most of the time before we came to Panama, it was Eric’s house.  We weren’t married yet.  He gave instructions, and I feel that he is very good at doing this with authority, yet being very nice about it at the same time.  He commands respect, but people still love him.  He has a wonderful personality for it.

I have to wonder, does it also have something to do with his gender – at least in these situations?

At any rate, by 10 am, I was horribly nauseous.  I told my co-worker that I was utterly useless.  I couldn’t think about anything other than where Marta was or what I was going to say to her next.  What if she did something I didn’t like?  What if she went ahead and ate the food that we had set aside for us rather than for her?  What if she…fill in the blank?  Finally, I was so nauseous that I dry heaved, then went to lie down in Eric’s office, telling him I just didn’t know what to do.

I fell asleep, and the rest of the afternoon, not surprisingly, passed without incident.  She did a great job cleaning, told me what supplies we are lacking, and even cooked the corvina (local fish) that I asked her to cook for us.  She made a sandwich for Eric, as I requested, and one for herself.  She then served herself a portion of the fish, after we agreed that this was a one-time special meal since we were not prepared with the appropriate food for her.  She made a list of foods she would like for lunch, and hopefully next week we will be ready for that.

I did note that, while no one was eating at the dining room table, she still took a chair from the table and ate her lunch at the kitchen counter instead.

I did get taken on a few parts of our deal.  Generally in Panama, empleadas work an 8 hour day, and the $25/day we pay pays for the full 8 hours.  Marta insisted that it doesn’t work like that, but that she leaves when the job is done.  This week, she left around 2:30 or 3, I was ready for her to go, and the place was very clean, considering that we were lacking a squeegee for the windows.

Eric and I had also made a very detailed list of what we wanted to be done around the house.  When Marta came in, she scoffed at the list saying that she had experience, that this was her work, and that she didn’t need the list.  However, there were several things on the list that were not completed.  Common things, such as washing our clothes.  I’ll have to address this with her, which of course, causes me additional anxiety.  I hate this stuff.  She’s used to facing off against employers.  I’m not used to putting my foot down and being forceful.  I don’t like to do it.

This is exactly the part that I don’t like about being a lawyer.  I don’t like that you walk into the courtroom and the atmosphere is antagonistic.  I would much rather we all work together to find out the truth of what happened.  Did the DOC guard actually beat my client and cause his fractured jaw?  If it happened, can’t we all agree that that is wrong?  Okay.  Let’s work from there.  Let’s all open up the information that we have and figure out what happened.  Eric said today, and I have often thought the same thing:  I should’ve been a British barrister.

One thing I did start thinking about last night though, was a possible project.  I’m interested in this whole system.  It’s got it all.  Human rights, women’s rights, politics, interpersonal communication, language barriers, culture clashes, class hierarchies, family issues…the list goes on.  What if I started purposefully talking (in Spanish) to people about their experiences with empleadas?  What if I turn into Emma Stone from The Help (or the woman who actually wrote the book…my apologies to the purists, I only saw the movie) and interview folks, get the stories, learn about the politics, the reasons why people act as they do?

What if I also talk to some of the women who work in these homes to hear their experiences with their employers?  To hear their backgrounds, where they come from, what it was like when Martinelli (the ex-president of Panama) changed the immigration laws and allowed nearly everyone to get legal status to work here?  How do the Panamanian empleadas feel about the influx of Colombians and Nicaraguenses?  How does that affect the job market and how did they have to change their tactics?  What is it like to be ignored at work all day, to be expected to work in silence?  How do you feel about the “man of the house”?  How do the kids treat you?  What is the worst experience you’ve ever had?  Do you feel that you have the freedom to seek other work?  Have you ever gone into a job knowing you just want to work for long enough to afford a particular pair of jeans and then quit as soon as you have that certain amount of money (this was another story I heard)?

I don’t know what I would do with the information…I’m not looking for a book deal.  But I do think it would get me out, get me practicing my Spanish, and that it would be interesting.  We’ll see if I’m still interested in the idea tomorrow.  But for now…it’s a thought.

If you have a second, please say a quick prayer that God would help me with this anxiety surrounding my relationship with this woman.  I don’t know why it’s such a big deal to me, but I’ve still be struggling with it all day today.  Even just writing about it now, my stomach is tight and I’m dreading seeing her on Wednesday.  I know, I know, 1st world woman in a 3rd world country problems.  But anxiety sucks.  It’s crippling.  And it doesn’t make sense.  You can’t tell it to be practical and think through things.  It doesn’t listen to that.  So instead of talking to it, I’m trying to talk to God about it instead.  And, gracias a Dios, sometimes I’m doing that in Spanish b/c that’s what is starting to come to my head more and more!

Pop quiz while you’re waiting for the conclusion to the maid story…

You’re in a restaurant and decide to excuse yourself and go to the restroom. There are two doors, one for men and one for women, you imagine, but which is which?

Which do you choose?

Eric and I independently decided that the mask must be for women and the nautical themed thing for men, but um…why?  Why these two things.  No tienen nada que ver uno con el otro.  They don’t have anything to do with one another.  Ah, crazy little Panamanian restaurant.

In other “Oh, Panama” news, I had a doctor’s appointment yesterday in Hospital Punta Pacífica.  It’s the really fancy hospital in the city, where all the rich people go (“The Jews!” as my Spanish teacher says), so you’d expect nothing but professionalism, right?  Well, I got into the elevator, and obviously they were refurbishing it or something.  I understand having to put down some cardboard on the floor, but I think I would’ve chosen a different box:

I would translate for you, but I think it is pretty clear.

I would translate for you, but I think it is pretty clear.

As far as new directly related to Diana, Michele, Kevin, Brandan, and a few others goes, they DO play volleyball here, albeit on a court that looks like a basketball court and where they usually play fútbol.  Hey, I’m trying guys.  Come down to visit and I’ll find something.  I’ll even pepper with you if I have to.  Wouldn’t that be worth the trip?  Lots of exercise from chasing the ball!

The "volleyball court"

The “volleyball court”

In other miscellaneous news, I was looking for squash the other day b/c we need to eat more veggies.  I was looking for, you know, little yellow bulbs with the long stem things, right?  Couldn’t find it anywhere.  I had just learned, or rather heard, the word in my Spanish lesson, but I couldn’t remember it, and I really didn’t want to cheat and look it up.  Finally I ran into this guy.  Squash:

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A giant piece (like a big piece of watermelon) of squash!  Weird.  We haven’t cooked it yet.  I’m sure it’ll be great.

Two other pieces of random news:

First, I made it down to our pool for a couple of minutes while Eric was still struggling away with his Spanish lesson, just in time for a larger, wrinkly viejo (old man – seems nicer in another language) to get in the pool for his exercise).  I just laid in the chair thanking God for our good fortune in being in such a beautiful place.  I took pictures.  I took the obligatory selfies, but they all came out horribly b/c I still look sickly.  I read a bit of the Panamanian version of Entertainment Weekly that I bought, but I’ve been reading it in voz alta (out loud) in order to practice my accent.  I also read it with a highlighter in hand (once a lawyer, always a lawyer), so I can highlight the words I don’t understand and go back to learn them later.  I can’t imagine what I would think if I saw someone reading the Enquirer with a highlighter.  I must look like an idiot.  Or maybe like some version of the girl in “Splash!” with Tom Hanks.  Does anyone remember that movie?  Love that movie, although it gave me false hope for learning a new language in 5 days just by watching TV.  Dirty.

If you blow up this picture, you can see our old building to the left of the center of the photo, to the right of our current building. It appears to be touching our current building. It's orange/peach.

If you blow up this picture, you can see our old building just behind the stairs coming out of the pool and the pool chairs, to the immediate right of the columns. It appears to be touching our current building. It’s orange/peach and white.

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The other random news is that Addie continues to suffer in Asheville at the hands of my parents.  She is forced to contend with wild beasts:

However, there is hope!  She recently had a moderately successful escape attempt!  She ran out into the snow a couple of nights ago into what I can only describe as Narnia:

I don't know...it's something about the lamppost and the snow...work with me on this one.

I don’t know…it’s something about the lamppost and the snow…work with me on this one.

…but she came home a mere 15 minutes later with “snow nose.”  She took three laps of water, then lay/laid/lied/sat down on her bed and slept for the rest of the day.  I can’t imagine what snow horrors must have befallen her.  I mean, pobrecita!

Luckily, we’ve been working with my parents, or rather, my parents have been working really hard to try to figure out the logistics of how to get her sent down to us.  I know all the steps, but I can’t help with any of them from here except for the bill-paying, which I’m sure will be appreciated.  Oh, and I’m trying to contact the airport doggie importer lady through our friend Jorge to see if we can get the inside scoop.  But that’s all another post.

Stay warm, Friends!  I hope you all have power!  We have been thinking of you and have loved seeing all of your sweet snow photos!  Oh!  I have to post one more thing.  On February 21 – so Saturday, I guess, at 10:08, I received this picture from my dear friend Becca.

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Not 30 minutes later, at 10:43 am on the same day, my friend Ali sent the following photo:

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Almost identical, right?  Meanwhile, my parents had sent these:

Apparently when it snows and you want to show someone far away that it snowed, you take a picture of your back deck.  Cracked me up.  It makes sense though.  I wouldn’t go any further than that, and you can always tell how many inches you got by measuring how much fell on the table on the back deck.  I love it.  Facebook was also covered with these pictures.

Keep ’em coming!  I love seeing them!  I know y’all are sick to death of the snow, but gosh, it makes for beautiful photos and great family/kid pics.  I’m so grateful for WhatsApp, FaceTime, Facebook, blogging, etc.  I don’t feel nearly as far from y’all as I thought I would, although I miss you all dearly!

Empleadas

Today is a strange one.  This morning our first “empleada,” Marta, began work at 8.  Meaning, we now have a cleaning lady.  WHAT?  Why don’t you just clean your own little apartment?!  It’s just the two of you!  You don’t have kids!!  You don’t work full time even!  I know, I know.  It’s part of the culture here.  It’s cheap.  I’m taking it as part of the experience of living here.  It is sure to provide hours (or at least minutes…I already have worries about this lady) of entertainment for y’all.  We always have the windows open and never use air conditioning, so the place is constantly covered with dust and dirt.  There are all kinds of ways I can justify it.  Al fin, it’s just plain nice to have someone do all of this.  Laundry, mop the floors, heck, right now she’s wiping off the outside of the cabinets.  When is the last time you even thought about doing that?!

So this will likely take many more posts to explain, but there’s this whole crazy culture around these cleaning ladies.  There are a billion rules about how to treat them, how much to pay them, what they can eat while they’re working.  You should be nice to them, but not too nice.  You should be authoritative, but not mean.  A few of these rules:

  • The woman of the house is the one who issues the instructions to the empleada.  As we all know, the woman of the house is the one who ALWAYS cares for all household matters, so obviously she is the authority here.  A big change from the workplace in Panamá where a female boss gets no respect, not even from her female employees.  A male boss gets immediate results.
  • You just plain can’t be friends with your empleada.  They will think you are weak and stupid, and they will begin to manipulate you.
  • If you feel sorry for your empleada’s situation and want to help her to get an education, for example, you just can’t…or rather, shouldn’t.  It won’t work.  Period.  My friend from high school who moved here 10 years ago said this is really hard.  She’s the nicest person ever, and she wanted to help a young girl who worked for her by helping her to go to college.  The girl ended up using the money to buy shoes or jeans or something – wasted it all – and ended up exactly where she started.  There are a million stories like this.
  • You have to tell them exactly what food they can eat while they are eating and what food they can’t have.  You generally have to feed them breakfast and lunch when they are working.  One woman told me that her daughters drink Tropicana orange juice, which is $5/carton here.  She tells her empleada that she can’t drink that juice.  She buys cheaper juice for her.
  • You have to tell them exactly how much food they can eat when they are working.  This same woman told me that she told her empleada that she could make a sandwich using the ham in the fridge.  The empleada used ALL the ham.  She ate the whole package.
  • You have to be very literal and very specific about your instructions and about the privileges that you give them.  Another story:  A woman had a live-in nanny/housekeeper for a number of months.  When the woman and her husband went on vacation with the kids for a weekend, they told the nanny she could watch whatever she wanted on tv, including pay-per-view.  I guess it was a few years ago.  🙂  When they came back, they found out that the nanny had just constantly had the tv on with a pay-per-view movie playing.  Not the same one, but different ones, one after another, for the whole weekend.  They had a huge bill.  But the reasoning, so they say, is that the nanny was told that she could do it, so she did exactly as she was told.  No need for common sense to kick in.

People talk about these women as a class, as a singular group.  It sounds awful.  “You have to treat THEM this way.”  “You can’t let THEM have the good juice because they’ll drink the whole $5 bottle in one day!”  “If you let them get away with being late once, they’ll never be on time again.”  I did it in the rules above.  It’s how people talk about them.  It’s the culture.

I can’t imagine being one of these women.  They are treated this way, so they must be forced to behave in a certain way to get by.  I imagine that you get to the point where you have to try to take advantage or manipulate your employer because otherwise you’re going to get treated like a slave.  Or maybe not.  I don’t know.  This is all so foreign to me!  Aren’t there empleadas out there who are honest hard-working people who do a good job and earn the money that they are owed and get along with their employers?  And aren’t there employers who treat their employees well?  Or is the entire system too messed up by all these people who don’t treat each other well and by the stories that everyone tells to ever be decent?

I’m already jaded, and we’ve had an empleada in our employ for a little over an hour!  I’m nervous.  I’m completely on edge.  I’m don’t know if I should be following her from room to room to make sure my stuff is safe.  (Luckily, we didn’t bring much with us, so we don’t have much to take!).  I think carefully about each thing that I say to her and how I say it.  Be nice, but firm.  Say it with authority, but don’t be a jerk.  Set precedent from the very beginning.

I even dressed up.  Since we got here, and especially since I got sick and since I’ve been recovering (yep, still recovering…you don’t want details.  Ever heard of Clostridium difficile or C. Diff.?  Don’t look it up.  TMI.), I’ve been wearing shorts, tank tops, and my rainbows (flip-flops for Eric…I swear, we’ve been together for over three years and he still has no idea what I mean when I say Rainbows.  Yep, STILL means my same flip-flops!  Clearly he didn’t go to Carolina.) every day.  Yes, I look like a Gringa at the grocery store, but guess what?  I’m a Gringa.  They’re gonna know it no matter what I wear or no matter what color I dye my hair.  I’m pale, my Spanish isn’t up to par…there’s no hope.  I’m gonna be comfortable.

But today, I got up super early, showered, and put on a dress and heels, hoping to look like una dama, a lady, a respectable woman that this woman, Marta, should listen to, like, and…well…respect!  I think the height helps my confidence too.  It’s hard to be 5’3″ and confident.  It really is.  I don’t know how my sister does it as a pediatric CT surgeon.  She’s my size, but when she walks into the OR, it is HER OR.  It’s HER surgery.  The patient whose life is on the line is her responsibility, and she has to command respect from everyone working with her.  I try to do it in the courtroom too, but at least I have some distance from the judge.  I don’t have to stand right next to him or her and show exactly how short I am.  It helps.  🙂

One of these days, I’ll have to go into all the politics about how Panamanian empleadas are different from Colombian and Nicaraguan empleadas b/c of changes in immigration laws passed by the last (very corrupt) president of Panama and all the new prejudices and attitudes that each group has towards the other because of all of this.  It’s amazing how involved all of this is.  This ain’t Merry Maids!

I’ll let you know how the rest of the day goes…