They come knocking on doors looking for work as domestic workers and in no time they become servants whose poverty pushes them to the brink of endurance.
They usually bring a child with them and if lucky enough to get a job in a house must work from very early in the morning until everyone has gone to bed.
They are assigned the most miserable room in a house. They are grateful to have three meals a day for them and their children.
And whenever in the presence of family members they smile.
This one, whose name I don't remember (it goes without saying), used to work in my mother's house back in the days.
Cali, Colombia, 1981
1 comment:
That's Patricia, and I remember because she was there with when we lived in your mother's house and she was quite fond of little Sahara.
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