New minimum wage offer ‘an insult’ to some workers
R20 AN HOUR and R800 a week. That’s the “magical” figure that was announced by Deputy President and Nedlac head Cyril Ramaphosa last weekend of the proposed national minimum wage of R3 500 a month.
But critics panned the amount, warning of massive job losses and disruptions to the economy, arguing it was far too little.
Union federation Cosatu maintains the wage will improve the plight of the working poor, but argues it needs to be raised to at least R4 500.
The National Union of Metalworkers of SA called it an insult. Some experts maintain that beyond a minimum wage, there needs to be a living wage that provides poor working class South Africans with a frugal but dignified life.
Employers have two years to implement the wage.
Gilad Isaacs, of the National Minimum Wage Research Initiative at Wits University, wrote in a paper in July that a national minimum wage, if set at an appropriate and meaningful level, could achieve its central objectives of reducing poverty and inequality.
“South Africa has the highest level of inequality in the world, driven by ‘wage differentials’,” he says, adding that minimum salaries of between R3 500 and R5 000 would raise average wages over a decade by 38 percent, spurring consumer spending and economic growth.
The domestic worker
The most money Maggie Rethabile* has ever earned is what she takes home every month today – R1 800. That’s what the Soweto grandmother makes working five days a week, 7am-4pm for 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, as does her prepaid electricity costs.
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 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 wage 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 for a more dignified future.
“With the R3 500 they are talking about, it’s better. I can survive.”
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 R3 500? It’s niks.”
Matabane counts herself lucky. She earns R4 000 a month working five days a week in East Town, near Emmarentia. “The people I work for are very good to me. But there are many of us earning R800, R1 000 a month. It’s difficult to survive on so little money, 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. What can you do with that money today?”
Mokgoba, who rents a room in Zola, is in trouble with the bank. He borrowed R10 000 to pay for his son’s business management course, but has struggled to repay the interest. “He couldn’t finish because I couldn’t afford the fees and has had to drop out. He is 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.”
He pours scorn on the new proposal. “It is an insult. How can people live on that? I am lucky I only have one child. But what about those with two or three?”
His colleague Sydney Mabasa* nods in agreement.
“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.”
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 12hour shift. “There are people in our families who depend on us. There are instalments we have to pay.”
They both hold on to their dreams: Mokgoba of being a truck driver and Mabasa of becoming an electrician.
“We cannot let a bunch of people who don’t know about how we suffer decide our future,” says Mokgoba.
The cook
Lindiwe Zondo* is too ashamed to talk about her salary. After nearly 20 years working in a canteen, she 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. It’s not nice to work so long and to get so little money. If it wasn’t for my husband – a clerk at Edcon – I don’t know what I would do to survive.”
She spends about R400 a week to get to work, and for her daughter’s transport to college.
Zondo is an enthusiastic supporter of the new proposal. “My husband was telling me about it last night, saying it could help me. It’s a wonderful idea and I am very happy about it because people will manage to look after their families better. I only have one child. But I have to take my money far, to try to put away a little bit for when I retire,” says the 50-year-old. “It’s hard.”
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. At least at work, we get 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’m not being pushed to do my job, because I 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