Balancing budget a losing battle
THE DOMESTIC WORKER
THE MOST money that Maggie Rethabile* has ever earned is what she takes home every month today – just R1 800. That’s what the Soweto grandmother makes working five days a week from 7am to 4pm for her employers, an elderly couple in Lenasia.
Sometimes, she says, her pitiful salary makes her feel a lot older than her 49 years – she is constantly worried about how to make ends meet. Her taxi fare from Meadowlands swallows a large part of her salary, as does her pre-paid electricity.
Rethabile counts herself lucky – her younger sister buys the family groceries. “If she didn’t, I don’t know what we would do. I live with my husband, who is not working, my two daughters, who are not working, and my grandchildren, who are both in primary school. I am the only one working in the house.”
She works hard, she says, but there is so little incentive. “I have to make sure the whole house is clean and do all the ironing. I have spoken to my employers about giving me more money but they say they don’t have more to give.”
Earlier this month, the Department of Labour announced that the minimum wages for domestic workers doing 27 ordinary hours a week should be no less than about R2 400 a month.
For Rethabile, that seems unlikely. But she has hope in the new proposed national minimum wage as a signal for a more dignified future.
“With this R3 500 they are talking about giving us, it’s better. You can do a lot more with it. Maybe I will have enough money for everything we need in the house. I can survive.”
Then, almost hopefully, she enquires: “I’m looking for a job, do you know of anybody that can take me?”
Her friend, Elsie Matabane, a member of the SA Domestic Service and Allied Workers Union, derides the national minimum wage as a disgrace. “It needs to be R5 000 at least,” she says. “Who can survive on that R3 500. It’s niks.”
Matabane counts herself lucky. She earns R4 000 a month working five days a week for her employers in East Town, near Emmarentia. “The people I work for are very good to me,”she pauses. “But there are too many of us earning R800, R1 000 a month. It’s too difficult to survive on so little money, even for me it’s a struggle.”
THE SECURITY GUARDS
SOLOMON Mokgoba* lifts a sheet of paper tacked to the notice board in the control room. Its edges are furled and well-worn as though the page has been studied often. It’s a list of the latest salary increases given to clerks, artisans and drivers at the security firm where he works.
For Mokgoba, a security officer in the Joburg CBD, it has meant pocketing an extra R200 a month or so on top of the R3 800 he receives monthly. “That can’t do much in my life,”he says. “What can you do with that money today?”
Mokgoba, who rents a room in Zola, is now in trouble with the bank. He had to take a loan of R10 000 to pay for his son’s education, but has struggled to repay the interest.
His son was studying business management. “He couldn’t finish because I couldn’t afford the fees and now he has had to drop out. He is working as a driver now.”
Mokgoba used to be a big drinker. “But it’s too expensive. Now I just buy a beer or two and drink at home. There is no money for leisure in this life.”
But Mokgoba pours scorn on the new proposed minimum wage. “It’s an insult to us as the workers. How can people be expected to live on that every month. I am lucky I only have one child. But what about those with two or three children?” he wonders.
Keeping his gaze on the panel of screens showing each corner of the office building, his colleague Sydney Mabasa* nods in agreement.
“At least if it was R5 000, it would be better. Even R4 500. What can a person do with so little money? We know because we don’t earn a lot ourselves.”
Both spend about R600 a month on transport to get to work. They often push for overtime just to earn a little bit more on top of their 12-hour shift. “There are people in our families who depend on us. There are instalments we have to pay for our relatives,” he says.
They both hold on to their dreams: Mokgoba of being a truck driver and Mabasa of studying to be an electrician. But there is no money to study further, even with this minimum wage.
“We cannot let a bunch of people who don’t know about how we suffer decide our future,” says Mokgoba, angrily.
THE COOK
LINDIWE Zondo* is too ashamed to talk about her salary. After nearly 20 years spent working in a canteen, she only takes home R3 600 a month.
“I have worked here since 1992, but I was retrenched and then came back in 2004. This is what I earn after all this time,” she says, starting to sob.
“It’s not very nice to work so long and to get so little money. If it wasn’t for my husband – he is a clerk at Edcon – I don’t know what I would do to survive.”
She spends about R400 a week to get to work in Joburg from the Vaal and for her daughter’s transport money at a teacher training college.
Zondo is an enthusiastic supporter of the new proposed national minimum wage. “My husband was telling me about it last night, saying that could really help me. I think it’s a wonderful idea and I am very happy about it because people will manage to look after their families better. At least for me as I only have one child. But I have to take my money far, to try put away a little bit for when I retire,” says the 50-year-old. “That is very hard,” she shrugs.She knows the proposed amount is not enough, “But it’s something. Even if we got R4 000 a month, maybe once you get paid you can go and sit at Carlton Centre with your family and enjoy a meal. With this salary, I can’t do that. Well, at least at work we’ve got free food. But it’s tough. Some of the women who work here don’t want to come back to work next year because of what we are paid.
“But I love my job, I love everything about it. I love to serve the customers. I like to do everything in the kitchen. I love to serve people, to prepare food. I’m not being pushed to do my job when I am here, because I really do love it, but I wish things could be better.
“Now it’s Christmas, and you think how you are going to be able to do anything nice for your family with this little money,” she says, wiping away her tears.
* Not their real names