When I had spoken with my host mother over the phone before arriving, I had explained how I really enjoyed cooking, and would be happy to help out around the house in whatever way would make the most sense. Wendy told me not to worry about it, and said she was just excited to meet me.
I haven’t had to “worry about it” in so many ways thanks to Mariela. This is my first time living long term with live-in help. My other exposure to this living arrangement has been when we have visited our family friends in Hong Kong. Mariela has made delicious Chinese Peruvian food, great juices in the morning, washed and folded my laundry, mopped the floor in my bedroom once a week, been quite helpful with tips on navigating the city and more generally, been incredibly kind and patient with me as I transition to Peruvian life.
In many ways, I have been living with two families, both alike in dignity, under one roof. Mariela is a single mom and lives with her 16 year-old son, Anthony, in a wing on the second floor of the flat across from my room, while Wendy, her 19 year-old son Kevin, and her boyfriend He Yong, sleep on the first floor. Mariela and Anthony eat dinner at the small table in the kitchen, while everyone else eats at the dining room table or in the living room, sitting on the couches surrounding the coffee table.
I have found myself eating at all three locations listed above (kitchen, dining room, living room). I call Wendy ‘Wendy,’ but Anthony and Mariela call her Señora when they talk to her. When Mariela talks to me about Wendy, she refers to her as Wendy. I’ve had a lot of one on one time with both Wendy and Mariela.
From what I can tell, Mariela and Anthony have a pretty good relationship with the Fangs. They laugh together, gossip briefly when Wendy comes home after a long day at work, but also lead pretty separate lives, too. In the first couple weeks I was here, that was what stood out as being most different from my life at home. Not better or worse than life in San Francisco, but just different.
I did not grow up with live-in help, but nonetheless to this day whenever I’m home, in many respects, I don’t have to “worry about it,” in a similar way that I don’t “worry about it,” here in Lima. I grew up using the shower in my grandmother’s bathroom and having Bubs make me lunch, fold my laundry and iron my nice shirt before we would go to weddings or Bar Mitzvahs. Bubs took care of me and continues to take care of me in tangible and intangible ways.
But when Bubs helps make dinner, she gets it ready and then eats it with everyone. Eating all together has always been a high priority for my family. In practice, this often meant that we would routinely wait until 8:15 or 8:30 when my dad would come home from work at the hospital so we could debrief the day together.
Dinner eaten in waves is a different, though not worse, arrangement. Mariela and Anthony eat earlier in the kitchen, with the small kitchen TV on a local Peruvian channel. When Wendy comes home, I will eat with her and He Yong, and many times, Chinese TV or movies will be on in the background as we debrief the day. Though there are days when I wish we could eat all eat together, I realize that this set up makes a lot of sense. Mariela and Anthony get time to themselves as a family and the Fangs get time to themselves, too. The coexistence seems to work well.
Nonetheless, occasionally having two families living in such close proximity under one roof has its inherent awkwardness. The class difference is impossible to ignore or overlook, but at the same time, no one is actively doing anything wrong either.
Mariela has noticed that I am a big reader and I have told her about the many bookstores I have visited. For me, reading books (often kids books) in bookstores has been a good way for me to practice Spanish. Mariela has been really supportive of this and has lent me a couple of Anthony’s old chapter books. I’m currently working on Cholito en la ciudad del río hablador. Mariela recommended that I try and find the book Paco Yunque by celebrated Peruvian author and poet César Vallejo. Of course, like a word that you hear for the first time and then start hearing all the time, I have now seen this book in almost every bookstore I visit.
Paco Yunque is not a long book – it’s a children’s book, written in Spanish that was easily digestible, even for me. The edition I read was also beautifully illustrated, which further facilitated my understanding of the story. The story is quite simple, but packs a strong emotional punch. It’s about Paco Yunque, a boy who has recently moved to the city from the countryside with his mom. Paco’s mom is a servant for the rich family in town, and Paco and his mom live in the same house as the affluent family. Paco is in the same class as the rich family’s son, Humberto Grieve. Humberto picks on Paco mercilessly at school; he takes advantage of Paco, steals his homework, physically beats him at recess, and taunts him by calling him “mi muchacho” (my boy) because of Paco’s mother’s status in their household. Unfortunately, the teachers turn a blind eye, knowing that Humberto’s father wields an incredible amount of power in the town. In the end, Humberto is never caught and Paco’s future looks bleak. (Here is a link to the full text of Paco Yunque.)
While there are some parallels between Paco Yunque and the arrangement at the Fangs, there are obviously many differences, too. The Fangs are not abusive, and their lives largely exist separate from one another, unlike Humberto and Paco’s encounters with one another outside the home. Nonetheless, this children’s story seems to serve as a well-known Peruvian parable about the challenges and dangers of economic inequality in the country.
A couple days ago, I came down to the kitchen to fill up my water bottle and ended up chatting with Mariela for a bit while she made dinner for herself and Anthony. The TV in the kitchen was on and not being watched, the commercials for soap, chocolate and Peruvian reality television providing some pleasant white noise. After the commercial break at the hour, new programming started and a broadcast of the movie, The Help, began to play. While Mariela usually never pays any attention to the TV while cooking, as she turned around, she caught a glimpse of Viola Davis’s character Aibileen Clark, cradling a baby. Mariela stopped washing cabbage. She stood and watched, and then cracked a small smile, and nodded her head as if she agreed with the screen and what she was watching.
I explained how the movie was very well received in the United States, and how the movie takes place in the South, where there is a history of slavery. I did not know exactly what else to add. Mariela seemed to already understand, and said something about how she feels that her life is a little different. For a moment, it seemed like we were going to talk about this in a little bit more depth.
At that moment though, the sound of shuffling feet and a key turning indicated that Wendy was home. I took a sip from my water bottle and greeted Wendy. Mariela turned away from the TV, and got back to work.