Helping Helpers

adapted

Maid. Aching. Inday. Boy. Etcetera. Who wouldn’t know them; they’re just our dakilang chimay (we call them timbang (helper) in Ilonggo). We call them in funny names and treat them in many detrimental ways. This is, having in mind the perception that they are lower societal beings; that they are there to serve at our pleasure and our control.
For all we know, treating them with mischief poses an irreconcilable irony about their help to us, notwithstanding the fact that we tagged them as dakila (great). I may not be in bearing to speak on their behalf: first because we also have a helper when we were still infants and secondly, I fear that my intention may be so petty to others. But having witnessed all these years their plight as dignified workers, they deserve our attention and appreciation.
It was about three years ago when I first encountered them. Yes a few of them working in a local restaurant which happened to be where I live as a student. I should know something about them for everyday, I passed by there quarters going into my room; see them in action at the kitchen and most of all, chatting with them from time to time. This leads me to know their ignominious ordeal at work.
Initially, they never had a place in my concern. Not until realizing they too have rights and privileges they deserve. Guilt has bothered me, even up to now, for these mischief are happening in my ‘own’ house, when outside, I consistently take part in campaigns that uphold the interests of various sectors.
Everyday on, I can’t help but simply include them in my prayers. I’m so meek. Nothing actually. But then again, I can’t simply ignore them for they really appeal to my emotions. Who wouldn’t anyway, if they would wake you up with the jingles of kitchen utensils in the early morning; would wait and open the gate for me everytime I left my key; and would give me extra cup of rice and side dishes, like no other customers have availed. Sounds odd right, but underlying these ordeals, degrading circumstances confronts the.
With their kind of work that last from six in the morning through ten in the evening, they suppose to receive a fair salary and an overtime pay. Yet, they get underpaid, even below the minimum daily wage, and worst, they don’t avail of any insurance of any kind (SSS, medicare, etc.) given that they are prone to getting sickness. Besides, I also stand witness to emotional abuses they get that ranges from insults and curses against their person.
Although a few of them has sustained the test of their stint, and stayed as great helpers, many don’t stay long working their. The trend is that they wait until the month ends, get their salary, separation pay actually, and ran from away from that earthly hell. And viewing from their vantage point, I could well imagine what are happening to their comrades in many households and establishments. Some, maybe on a tolerable situation, but some maybe worst. I don’t know exactly, but they are happening, that is I am sure of.
Helpless at that, I’m reminded by public-service programs to run to for help. That maybe a fair choice, but I prefer a more realistic way in addressing this problem, that is, awareness and education. Unless their (helpers) ranks are empowered about their disposition as decent workers and the government would intensify its campaign to implement existing labor laws, all our hopes could not be materialized.
Meanwhile, as the sector of helpers is only a mere minority in our society, it is my hope that everyone would do their part in upholding their plight. It’s about time that we go beyond our comfort zones and pay them back, a pay worthy of their service to us. It’s about time we help our helpers.