Employment Generation or Exploitation?

He looked up from his plate of spring rolls and told me to think like the Keynesian welfare state. It probably wasn’t the first time that Daniel Drache, the Canadian political economist, had given this little piece of advice to a student, or in my case, a former student. But the timing of his challenge to me could not have been better. Seated across the table on a bewilderingly hot January afternoon, I was set to fly out for Tanzania in a couple of days. After finishing another delicious mouthful of green curry I asked for some clarification. Drache explained that it was possible for me to make choices about my consumption habits in Dar es Salaam that would generate local employment. In effect, he urged me to embrace the market. Instead of washing and ironing my own clothes or preparing my own meals, he encouraged me to engage people to do these things. Ideally, in his view, by expanding the range of services that I purchased on a daily basis I would induce a supply response that would create jobs. I savoured the Thai food and his wisdom – both were free for me – and imagined what life was like for people that stood to benefit from the application of Drache’s lesson. The prospect of becoming a micro-level personification of post-war economic policymaking was enticing.

While I entertained do-gooder thoughts that afternoon, one of the houseboys at 17 Ocean Road was in bed recuperating. Days before, disaster had struck while he was walking home alone after ringing in 2007 with some friends. Two men rushed up to him – one brandishing a knife – and proceeded to beat him to the ground. More men joined the assault and in a few seconds the knife had done its work. Blood flowed from a deep gash above the houseboy’s right temple. Upon seeing the mess one of the attackers reached down and grabbed the victim’s cell phone and wallet. The gang subsequently melted into the night and the young wounded man raced back to number 17. When he reached the gate one of the guards took note and bolted up the stairs to inform Ronald Shelukindo that John, his full time helper, was in need of professional medical attention.

Big Ron’s response to the crisis demonstrated why he is known around Dar as ‘Baraka’ or blessing. After piling John into his Mercedes Baraka sped to the Aga Khan hospital just up the road. Upon arrival John’s head was promptly sewn up and a course of medication prescribed. The total cost of the visit came to 100 000 TZS, well beyond John’s means. This husband and father of two from Arusha did not expect his boss to pay the bill. He considered hospital care to be a personal expense. When they arrived at the cashier’s window, however, Baraka opened his wallet and paid the full amount. He then turned to John and explained that John’s wages were only one element of their employment agreement. In Baraka’s mind, if anything happened to John or to his family it was incumbent upon him, as a responsible employer, to make things right. For nearly thirty years Baraka had lived on or near Ocean Road and not once had he seen or heard of a similar incident. He didn’t think twice about choosing to come to the financial aid of his employee at a random moment of need.

In mid-January I moved my things into Ron’s spare bedroom. He introduced me to John, the man that would now be doing nearly all of the grocery shopping, meal preparation, house cleaning, laundry and insect termination for one worldly Tanzanian and his new hungry and dirty Canadian housemate. Over the following weeks I came to rely more and more on John’s work. Every single day he made me a great breakfast and demonstrated an amazing amount of stamina and skill by cleaning all of my dirty laundry by hand. I contributed little to his efforts. I simply picked up certain essentials from the shops up the road, including phone cards and the occasional beer or three, and helped Ron to pay for some of the food, electricity and Internet costs. Once or twice per week, when I remembered, I would buy John a 500ml bottle of Castle, the famous South African beer. The guy made my life so much easier and he did it with a smile on his face. I thought that spending about $1.50 Canadian once in awhile was the least I could do. For some reason I couldn’t quite put my finger on, I neglected to tell Baraka about my little habit.

Then one morning I woke from a fairly restless and sweaty sleep with my head full of thoughts about the day’s agenda. I made my ritual dash to the fridge to retrieve a water jug and fill my glass. To my surprise and disdain the water was ‘finished’, as they say around here. I was pretty pissed off. Then I discovered that there were also no eggs. I caught myself throwing some shillings at John and telling him to remember to remind us when things ran out. Before thinking about what I was doing, I sent him out the door and to the shops down the street, towards the place where he was attacked. Apparently I’d made the transition from covert do-gooder to asshole in about a week.

Nothing can excuse my behaviour that morning. As I have thought more about my actions it has become apparent to me that there is a very fine line between employment generation and exploitation. It is now my view that those with the means to employ domestic help in this country should do so. But they should also provide working conditions that are fair and decent. Baraka meets this standard. He is a fantastic boss. John is happy to be supporting his family with earnings from all of his work. Without Big Ron or someone else as giving, the chances are slim that he would even have a paying job. If, however, employers behave like I did that morning, or in other more sinister and unforgivable ways, this type of employment generation might be a dead end. As it stands, at 17 Ocean Road there is hope for John. He’s learning English. The phrasebook is open on the kitchen counter and Baraka is doing his bit to get John to converse in my language more often. It feels good to be reciprocating in a small way all of the value that John adds to our lives. I hope that he succeeds.