When I first heard that they had hired a “boy,” to help with the housework, I thought they were confusing “boy” with “girl.” “No,” my husband clarified, “it’s a fourteen year old boy.” “Aren’t there child labor laws here?” I asked, almost irately. Why in the world did they hire a fourteen year old boy and are you sure he’s fourteen? What if he’s younger?” “They found him at one of the mines, he was working there. And the law in Nepal says that a child can begin working at the age of thirteen.” My husband was in somewhat of a predicament, being a “Child Protection” worker for the United Nations Mission in Nepal.
I went to their house, soon after we heard the news. He was indeed a boy, and I wasn’t convinced that he was fourteen. Maybe twelve. But he worked his butt off, and always with a smile. He actually seemed to enjoy his role, taking care of this household. Picking up after everyone, putting things away and keeping the house in order. The woman of the house kept him busy with cleaning and cutting up vegetables. She was going to teach him how to cook and he had already learned how to make roti. He was learning to make good chai. And in the mornings, he would clean off Deepak-ji’s car with a rag, taking off all the dust that had accumulated the previous day and night.
Often, he would complain to her that he didn’t have enough to do, and started finding work for himself like scrubbing down doors. Buddha would come with us out shopping, to carry the bags for us. Shilpi would send him out to the market on his own, to pick up things here and there for her.
The first time I saw him eat, I cried. I was sitting at the table and saw Shilpi give him a plate of rice with lentils. He squatted in the corner of the kitchen and gobbled it down. The second time I saw him eat in the corner of the kitchen, my husband, the child protection advisor, was with me at the table.
“Look behind you,” I told him. “When I first saw him do that, I cried.” And I cried again. “Can’t he at least eat at the table?” “I asked him,” my husband told me. “But he said no.” “Is that because Shilpi told him to eat in the kitchen?” I inquired. “I think he just prefers it there,” my husband defended. “Maybe,” I said, “or maybe he thinks that he deserves to be there, as if he doesn’t deserve to eat at the table?” Maybe I was reading too much into it, or maybe not.” “What’s hard,” I continued, “is the fact that he is treated well here. I would be afraid for them to fire him and send him out, who knows where he would end up or who would be his employer, or what they would do to him. Maybe he’s better off here?”
I stayed for a month at their house, and became more and more convinced that Buddha was at the right place. Shilpi would often send him outside to play cricket with her 7 and 3½ year old boys. Sometimes, when there wasn’t anything to do, Buddha would play Parcheesi (a floor board game) or watch some tv. As far as the life of fourteen year old houseboy is concerned, he was doing well. He worked hard, he did it with a smile, and he got to be a boy and a part of a healthy family.
My predicament is lessening, my conundrum waning. I don’t cry when I see him eating in the corner, I’ve gotten used to it – or maybe I just don’t see it anymore. I try to see that he is included in things. Tonight, they invited him along to go out to eat to celebrate the seven year old’s birthday. And that was enough to make all of us smile.
I went to their house, soon after we heard the news. He was indeed a boy, and I wasn’t convinced that he was fourteen. Maybe twelve. But he worked his butt off, and always with a smile. He actually seemed to enjoy his role, taking care of this household. Picking up after everyone, putting things away and keeping the house in order. The woman of the house kept him busy with cleaning and cutting up vegetables. She was going to teach him how to cook and he had already learned how to make roti. He was learning to make good chai. And in the mornings, he would clean off Deepak-ji’s car with a rag, taking off all the dust that had accumulated the previous day and night.
Often, he would complain to her that he didn’t have enough to do, and started finding work for himself like scrubbing down doors. Buddha would come with us out shopping, to carry the bags for us. Shilpi would send him out to the market on his own, to pick up things here and there for her.
The first time I saw him eat, I cried. I was sitting at the table and saw Shilpi give him a plate of rice with lentils. He squatted in the corner of the kitchen and gobbled it down. The second time I saw him eat in the corner of the kitchen, my husband, the child protection advisor, was with me at the table.
“Look behind you,” I told him. “When I first saw him do that, I cried.” And I cried again. “Can’t he at least eat at the table?” “I asked him,” my husband told me. “But he said no.” “Is that because Shilpi told him to eat in the kitchen?” I inquired. “I think he just prefers it there,” my husband defended. “Maybe,” I said, “or maybe he thinks that he deserves to be there, as if he doesn’t deserve to eat at the table?” Maybe I was reading too much into it, or maybe not.” “What’s hard,” I continued, “is the fact that he is treated well here. I would be afraid for them to fire him and send him out, who knows where he would end up or who would be his employer, or what they would do to him. Maybe he’s better off here?”
I stayed for a month at their house, and became more and more convinced that Buddha was at the right place. Shilpi would often send him outside to play cricket with her 7 and 3½ year old boys. Sometimes, when there wasn’t anything to do, Buddha would play Parcheesi (a floor board game) or watch some tv. As far as the life of fourteen year old houseboy is concerned, he was doing well. He worked hard, he did it with a smile, and he got to be a boy and a part of a healthy family.
My predicament is lessening, my conundrum waning. I don’t cry when I see him eating in the corner, I’ve gotten used to it – or maybe I just don’t see it anymore. I try to see that he is included in things. Tonight, they invited him along to go out to eat to celebrate the seven year old’s birthday. And that was enough to make all of us smile.
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