At first glance this book should really have nothing to do with me. It is a story of three women in Jackson, Mississippi during the civil rights era. It shares the everyday lives of these three women and their journey to try and change their world. What the women of this book seek is justice, and what the author of it seeks is to bring light to a difficult situation and honor her "help" growing up. I guess in a way that is what I want to do here.
No, I did not grow up in Jackson, Mississippi. I did not even grow up in the United States, let alone the South. I grew up in Zaire and Cameroun, Central Africa. There was no civil rights movement when I was growing up (or now for that matter), but I did have "help" all through my growing up years. Specifically we called them "househelp," "yard guys," and "guards." To many people who grow up in the US now this book talks about a very foreign concept, having someone in your house every day cooking and cleaning, but for me it hit pretty close to home.
No, the situations are not identical, and I truly believe that my parents treat our "help" with the respect they deserve as equal human beings, but what I can say is that there is something about my childhood that resonates with this book. I never had a nanny that I can remember, but I can remember key moments in my life that I shared with Robert, Mary-Jean, Elise, and Christian. For instance, Robert taught me to sing (and love it) and used to let me spend hours shelling peanuts with him (I'm pretty sure I ate more than I actually shelled). I haven't seen this man since I was in second grade, if I saw him now I probably would not recognize him, and yet he holds a special place in my heart always. This is one of the good moments that is talked about in the book. The bond that is created between the "help" and the children. It is a bond that you hope can never be broken, but sadly often is.
My family in Zaire with our "help."
Robert is the one standing next to my dad in the back.
This book made me nostalgic for the good times, for a childhood I remember through rose-colored glasses, and yet this is not all it did. See, what this book shares is that the greatest fear of the "help" is when the child they help raise turns on them. I don't think I ever truly did this. I believe my parents raised me right, to not see our workers as any less human or valuable than me, but just like every other teenager... well, I had my moments. I remember one specific time in junior high when I yelled at Elise because she wouldn't let me eat something she was making in the kitchen that I wanted (probably a tortilla or the end off of the uncooked cinnamon rolls she was making). I remember feeling like it was okay to yell at Elise because she was only our househelp. I pray that was the only time I felt that way, but to this day it haunts me.
Perhaps one of the reasons it bothers me is this: Elise was francophone and I was anglophone. I was never able to properly communicate with Elise, and I will never have the chance. Elise died of cancer when I was a senior in high school. Elise taught me how to make tortillas, cinnamon rolls, and bieroques, but more than that Elise would sing. I never was able to really talk with Elise, to communicate in the way I would have liked, so I don't know for sure what she believed, but every day when she would iron Elise used to turn on the radio and sing along to worship music. I know her life was not easy, but in her way she was a witness to me. Even though I can never tell her how much she meant to me, I will never forget her. I will never forget the last time I saw her healthy (about a month before she died- I guess her cancer was in remission), I remember sitting by her bedside just before she died not even recognizing the woman who lay before me because she was so frail, and I remember attending her funeral and listening to her mother wail- wishing I could do the same.
It's odd how a book like this can stir up so many emotions in me, a person so far removed from the context of the story, but it did. My heart was stirred to remember the good times and the bad. The things I have learned and the things I regret. The things I am thankful for and the things I wish I could change. Maybe this isn't the book to do that for you, but I pray that today you would have the joy (and pain) of looking back at the people who have shaped you and be grateful for all you have been given. I know I am.
So this is thank you. To Robert, Mary-Jean, Elise, Christian and all the other people along the way. I wouldn't be who I am today if it weren't for them. I'm sorry for the times I failed them, but I pray that my life would make them proud of the person they helped make me into. I love each of them with my whole heart.
Awww...you made me cry. I became very close to Noemi, one of our live in maid's in Guatemala. She was my best friend and like a mother to me. I cried when she left. She lived with us and we played board games and we did all kinds of other stuff together. I think she had not finished elementary school and so my parents paid for her to do her schooling by correspondence. I think she even learned English by hanging around us. Eventually she left us to go work at a factory and then she went to Bible school and met her husband there. They now have kids and pastor a church in Honduras. I remember she would always joke around with me about looking for a job in the classifieds. I would scream and cry, but eventually she did. I was so sad. I think I was 11 or 12 when she left. But I remember some of my friends would treat their "help" really poorly. I'm so glad my family did the right thing.
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