Profile of a Domestic Worker in Maputo, Mozambique
Every morning Camarada Albertina Mundlovo wakes up at the crack of dawn, ready to battle the crowds waiting at her neighborhood taxi stand. With over one million inhabitants,
Like most domestic workers, Mundlovo is expected to arrive before her employer leaves for work. Fearful of arriving late, she catches a public taxi in the opposite direction, then doubles-back towards the city. “I end up paying double,” she explains. “But if I waited for a direct route, I would never get on. Women have lost their lives fighting for a spot.”
Employers often turn a blind eye to the transportation crisis, she argues. The commute from Hulene to the upscale Polana neighborhood where she works takes 45 minutes. Covered in a capulana (cloth wrap) to guard against the morning chill, she waits outside until 7:30 AM when her employer lets her in.
Mundlovo is one of at least 37,000 domestic workers working in and around
During the Portuguese colonial period, domestic work was highly regulated, but unprotected. Following independence in 1975, regulation of this sector collapsed, but domestic workers were not included in the new labor regime that emerged.
Nonetheless, the number of domestic workers in Maputo continued to grow as refugees flooded into the city during the civil war (1976-1992) and the public care system disintegrated with the implementation of International Monetary Fund (IMF) and World Bank structural adjustment programs. Mass retrenchments with the privatization of state industries, pushed formal sector workers into the informal sector. Estimates suggest that today over 80 percent of
Mundlovo was not always a domestic worker. Originally from Marracuene, she came to
In 1990, Mundlovo’s husband passed away. As is customary, her three young children went to live with his family. She had two options—either marry one of her late husband’s brothers and live with her children or fend for herself. Influenced by her time in the army, Mundlovo, who had always been stubbornly independent, opted for the latter. “I was unwilling to bow down to anyone to make myself inferior.”
First, she tried her luck at making coal—a traditionally male profession. Then she became a trader at the local bus depot where miners, waiting for armed escorts to take them to the South African border during the civil war, were willing to buy virtually anything.
Eventually Mundlovo re-married and moved back to
Nicknamed the “patience industry” by domestic workers, it is characterized by low wages, long hours, rigorous schedules, humiliating tasks, unhealthy working conditions, and vulnerability to abuse. Mundlovo finds this paradoxical given the intimate nature of the profession.
“We are the pillars of their households. We protect their belongings, their families, even the money they leave lying around. I raised a child from when he was born until he was ten,” Mundlovo recalls. However, even after being like a second mother to children, she says that domestic workers get no respect. “We have the same blood running through our veins but we are treated as an alien species.”
Until recently, domestic workers in
Framed in terms of rights and responsibilities, domestic workers now have the right to a contract, set schedules, breaks, one weekend day, time off, social security, and workers’ compensation. In exchange, domestic workers have the responsibility to be punctual, obedient, hygienic, loyal, and maintain good relationships with other employees, visitors, and third parties.
The approval of Decree 40/2008 reflects a growing recognition by unions, policymakers, and academics of domestic workers’ contribution to the household and economy at large. According to the National Assembly, “Domestic labor is a highly important sector in
Today, there are three organizations in
Notably, Decree 40/2008 does not include a minimum wage. Given that employers’ incomes vary widely, the National Assembly argues that a minimum wage would undermine the employer’s ability to secure care for the young and elderly and also trigger mass retrenchments. Some advocates argue that it could even reduce wages: “We have some colleagues who earn $104.70 or more and I doubt that minimum wage would be set at more than Mts 2000,” speculates Luisa Matsinhe, Secretary General of AEDOMO. “A minimum wage will encourage employers to fire current workers and hire new ones at the lower minimum wage.”
However, SINED contends that a minimum wage is necessary given the extremely low salaries in this sector.
Mundlovo says that in practice, Decree 40/2008 has had no impact on her working conditions. The state has done nothing to educate domestic workers, employers, and state officials about their rights and responsibilities. Rather, it has relied on unions and workers’ associations with very limited resources to perform this role. Furthermore, the regulation lacks teeth. The Comissão de Mediação e Arbitragem Laboral (Commission for Labor Mediation and Arbitration—COMAL) provides a cost-effective and comparatively quick extra-judicial process for mediating conflicts. However, if employers do not comply with decisions or, if an impasse is declared at the mediation stage, it is very difficult to hold them accountable. Labor court proceedings are slow and expensive. While public legal assistance is available for low-wage workers, in practice services are very uneven.
Mundlovo’s neighbor recruited Mundlovo to SINED shortly after it was formalized in 2008. Based in the suburb of Urbanização, SINED members initially met at the Sal do
Competing unions and fraudulent workers’ organizations have made some domestic workers skeptical of unions. “Some workers refuse to talk to us,” adds Luisa Nhabanga, SINED Executive Secretary. “It’s only when they have a problem that they come running. Frankly, I understand it. Since we started mobilizing publicly, recruitment has gotten easier because they see that we’re serious.”
Once you have become a member, you are given an ID card. The ID card also helps to legitimize the union. SINED members pay monthly dues equivalent to one percent of their salary. With no access to payrolls, the union relies on workers to report accurate wages. However, the dues structure creates an incentive for members to underreport their salaries. Also, with no ability to deduct dues automatically, SINED struggles to collect dues from its membership. “Some people sign up and then disappear,” remarks Camarada Francisco Sambo, SINED Secretary for International Relations. This poses challenges for the financial stability and sustainability of the union—a common challenge among workers’ organizations in general.
Members in good standing can access the union’s mediation services for free. Non-members are charged 15 percent of the settlement fee. SINED’s emphasis is on conciliation rather than confrontation. “No one wins if a domestic worker is dismissed,” explains Sambo. “So we first encourage workers to think about ways to de-escalate the situation by communicating with their employer on a one-on-one basis.” If this does not work, employers are summoned into the union. “We speak in a soft tone, we try to understand employer’s point of view, we try to remind both parties of the long history they’ve had together,” adds Sambo. As a result, only a small fraction of cases are forwarded to COMAL.
The final pillar of SINED’s work is mobilization. It relies heavily on worker leaders like Mundlovo to help organize actions. “You have to be an active member,” she argues. “We want to move this union forward, to expand from Rovuma to
1. Salary increases. “Low salaries are what kills us,” she says. Salaries range widely in
2. A less rigorous schedule. Mundlovo works an eight-hour day, but many of her colleagues far exceed the nine hours mandated by Decree 40/2008. As more and more women enter the labor force and public care facilities deteriorate, households increasingly rely on domestic workers to perform child care duties. One colleague, Mundlovo recalls, had to work until 9:00 PM because her employer, a single mother, was in night school and had no one to look after her child.
3. Breaks. “My patrão (male employer) tells me that I am entitled to a 30-minute break, but it’s impossible to take because of the intensity of work. If I’m able to, I rest in the corner for a few minutes because I get dizzy…. If I’m resting, my boss will come and order me around. He says one thing, but he does another.” Lunch breaks are particularly challenging because in many households domestic workers are not allowed to eat the same food as the employer. With no time to cook their own meals, many workers labor from early in the morning until late in the evening with no sustenance. “Even a telephone needs to be recharged,” asserts Mundlovo.
4. Paid time off. Though mandated by Decree 40/2008, Mundlovo has to negotiate paid sick days: “When I got sick, my employer allowed me to take time off to go to the hospital, but expected me to come back to work afterwards. He clearly didn’t treat me like I was sick. I did not challenge him directly. Instead I pretended that I’d gotten confused and gone straight home.”
Negotiating paid time off is particularly contentious for unexpected emergencies such as illness, funerals, or other family occasions. “Let’s say your father dies today, then in two weeks it’s another family member…the employer will refuse to let you go to the funeral. He’ll say, ‘How is it that in your family people are dying every day? Soon it will be you who will die’.”
5. Improvements in occupational health and safety conditions, adequate tools and compensation for workplace accidents. “I work meat and bones, absorbing toxic substances,” says Mundlovo. “When the patrão fumigates or paints the house they go on holiday, they stay in a hotel. But they expect that I should work. Then I get sick, have to go to hospital, and don’t have money to pay.” In addition to safety equipment such as masks and gloves, Mundlovo argues that domestic workers should be provided with the adequate tools to perform the necessary tasks.
For instance, her employer likes to have his clothes washed by hand. The apartment does have a clothes-washing tank, but it leaks. Despite numerous requests, her employer has not fixed it, so Mundlovo is forced to wash the clothes in plastic tubs. Hours of crouching down with cold water splashing on her feet have worsened a pre-existing health problem .
6. A written contract. Under Decree 40/2008, domestic workers have the right to a contract. However, the contract can be verbal in nature. During conflicts, a verbal contract has no standing, ultimately placing the burden of proof on the domestic worker. In this way, Decree 40/2008 does not account for the unequal power relationship between employer and employee. Domestic work is extremely precarious and workers are easily fired.
A signed contract, argues Mund- lovo, would clarify the terms of employment, formalize the employment relationship and outline disciplinary procedures.
The passage of Decree 40/2008 coincided with a global resurgence of interest in extending labor protections to this historically marginalized sector. A sustained campaign, led by domestic workers from around the globe, culminated in the 2011 adoption by the International Labor Organization (ILO) of Convention 189 (C189). In
Mundlovo recognizes that it will not be easy to secure improvements in working conditions. Ultimately, she argues, only domestic workers themselves can transform the employer/employee relationship.“They [employers] don’t have a problem with the way things are. We need to be strong, to fight peacefully. Victories require sacrifice. People died for May 1,” she says, referring to International Workers’ Day.
When the stress of negotiating working conditions overwhelms them, many domestic workers choose to leave their job. However, Mundlovo counsels against this. “You’re never guaranteed that your next employer will be better than your last so you set yourself up for a very unstable situation. I always say, you shouldn’t fear your employer, they are not animals, you should have respect, and demand respect.”
Mundlovo does not believe that the transformation of working conditions will take place overnight. Most employers still do not recognize domestic workers’ rights. While Mundlovo emphasizes the importance of open communication, she recognizes that employers have discretionary power to refuse to dialogue.
With experience, Mundlovo has been able to negotiate better working conditions by cultivating a good relationship with her employer and communicating one-on-one.
“Pick a day when you see that your employer is calm and explain your problem,” she recommends. “He’s likely to apologize…but if he tries to justify his actions, to elevate himself…. You need to be patient.”
Willing employers may promise improvements in working conditions, but in the absence of adequate state regulation, it is a choice rather than obligation and promises often go unfulfilled. Domestic workers walk a very thin line in demanding access to their rights and concerns over job security often win out in the “patience industry,” nonetheless, Mundlovo has hope that slowly, conditions will improve.
Ruth Castel-Branco is a Mozambican researcher and labor activist, currently based at the University of KwaZulu-Natal,