WITH a shake in her hands she struggled to hide, she put down the tray of beautifully arranged cookies on the table, followed by a sparkling clean tea pot and cups. “New maid,” the guests asked their hosts. “Yes, she just arrived here a couple of days ago,” said the host. “Thank you,” said the guest's wife to the apparently terrified maid. “Those are delicious-looking cookies. What's your name?” The maid, taken aback with a question she never saw coming, looked at the guest and turned her gaze down to the floor. “It's OK, tell her,” said her mistress. “Fatima,” her barely perceptible voice finally came while she shivered. “Is anything wrong?” the guest asked. Both the hosts smiled. “Fatima, it's OK. Those are our friends,” the mistress told her. Obviously reassured, but without uttering a single syllable, Fatima made for the kitchen. “Is she OK?” asked the female guest. After a brief pause, the mistress told her guests Fatima was a runaway maid. The guests asked their hosts whether hiring a runaway made could invite trouble with the law. “No amount of trouble can match what she's been through,” said the mistress. She went on to tell her guests about Fatima's story. She had been brought into the Gulf country as a maid by a family in another city. For months, her former mistress beat her, overworked her, had her do the cooking and the laundry for her eight children, never gave her a day off, and, over and above all that, she never paid her a dime. But her troubles didn't end there. The mistress's eldest son tried to rape her more than once, and her eldest daughter would abuse her and call her names on a whim. When she complained to her master and mistress, they threw her out of the household with nothing but the clothes on her back. The story of Fatima is the same one as hundreds, if not thousands, of domestic workers who have to deal with similar abuses in the Kingdom and elsewhere in the GCC. They have nowhere to go to, and no law protects them with adequate forcefulness that can relieve their pain and suffering. Last week, my esteemed colleague Suzan Zawawi asked who's responsible for our poor image. The answer, in a word, is us. No amount of media campaigns can lift our image one iota if we didn't change ourselves. It seems strange that for Arab nations, the very ones that pride themselves on their heritage of generosity, kindness and helping the needy, do exactly the opposite to those who work for them. I'm pretty sure that the same woman who abused Fatima must have prayed five times a day, fasted Ramadan, and did Umrah several times a year. It's a shame that she should forget all the other things our great and timeless religion had taught us when it came to dealing with Fatima. Before we take our own governments to task for not doing nearly enough to enhance our image abroad, we should again call on our religious leaders and lawmakers to make it clear to people that how we deal with people is what makes our image. Treating people as sub-humans at home and at the workplace is no one's birthright. In the eyes of God, Islam and – supposedly – the law, we are all equal, and our duties, just as our rights, have been vividly and clearly outlined and defined. We have all the right to hire maids and drivers, but we also carry the duty of giving them their dues, not only financially, but emotionally and physically. Just as we – or at least some of us – work hard to earn a living and run a household, so do they, and that should put us in their shoes, whether we like it or not. There is no doubt that we expect our employees to respect us. But the people who wash our socks and peel our apples deserve a respect of their own: respect for their hard and sometimes demeaning work, respect for their care for our needs and, most of all, respect for their humanity. – Saudi Gazette __
