Domestic Servants
I have an empleada. Her name is Ernestina. She’s the building’s domestic servant. She came for the first time Sunday to do my laundry. Roy also gave her a heap of laundry. She came over with her two year-old son, Javier. I led them to our laundry room. She had a brush but no detergent. I gave her five soles to pick some up from the corner store (two sol tip). She returned and began to wash our clothes by hand in our laundry room sink. I went back to bed.
I told her that I was going to get something to eat. Did she want anything? She said no. I offered her a soda. She gladly accepted. A Coke. I greatly appreciate her services and want to treat her generously. I want her to like me. I want her to think highly of gringos. I want her to take my phone calls and give me higher priority than others. Most of all, I want to be nice to someone who was born with so much less. I returned with a bottle of Coke for her and some chocolate for Javier. She was very grateful.
She finished the laundry an hour later. Roy’s load cost seventeen soles ($5.48) and mine twenty ($6.44). One sol per piece. Socks are free. I thanked and paid her. I looked around and noticed the sink and counter were full of disgusting dishes. I asked her how much to wash the dishes. She said it would be free (I think she was grateful for the store tip and the soda). I told her to say a number. She said two soles ($0.64). I offered her five ($1.61). She agreed and washed the dishes. She gave me her phone number, said goodbye and left.
While in Peru, I won’t wash dishes, do my laundry, or clean the apartment because it’s so cheap to have someone else do it. Plus, I’m creating a job.
I’ve been eating lunch with Carlos lately. He has a new empleada. The one he had before – who he had for four years – resigned to focus on a little store she and her husband opened. But she brought a new girl to Carlos and vouched for her honesty. Apparently, domestic servants have been known to steal so finding them is done through networking and recommendation.
I ate some of the best meals I’ve had in Peru at Carlos’ house – food prepared by his old empleada. The new girl doesn’t know how to cook. It’s not uneatable (I can eat anything with enough rocoto), but she doesn’t know how to make many plates. Twice this week we ate a mix of beans, rice and potatoes.
She just moved to Arequipa from one of the poorer pueblos outside of Cusco. She grew up speaking Quechua. She barely speaks Spanish. Being a good cook, like anything, takes practice. We think she doesn’t know how to cook because they never had much meat or diverse foodstuffs around. Mostly bread, rice, potatoes, and corn. Fruits for juice. We agree that she will surely learn and improve in time with more practice.
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