The Housekeeper

In a new country, I have a new housekeeper, Josephina. We are both struggling to learn about one another and find a good middle ground for communication. She speaks no English and I speak no Kinyarwanda. I do have a dictionary and I thought that might help. It has some, but I’m not certain of her reading level, or maybe it is her understanding of a dictionary. Whichever it is, it has not been as effective as I had hoped. Then there are assumptions that we each make about our respective cultures that we thinking the other understands, but doesn’t. For instance, I was horrified the morning I came back from morning devotions to find her immersing my good leather shoes in soapy water to wash them. I hadn’t told her not to, so she did. I tried my best to explain that that was NOT the way I cleaned my shoes, but she just smiled and nodded. I know she didn’t understand me. I know hide my shoes when I take the off.

Today was another adventure in miscommunication. She insists on cooking lunch for me. I have tried to tell her that she doesn’t need to cook, that I like to do that, but she just smiles and cooks. I have given in. We were low on many food items because I was away for 3 days and because I did not have a refrigerator until yesterday. I got a small one when I was in Kigali and I was ready use it. I had sent Josephina to the market for me before with a list I had prepared, using my wonderful dictionary. I wrote in Kinyarwanda the items that I wanted and she brought them back, just as I had asked. What I forgot was that these were things that came in predetermined sizes. I wished I had remembered that today before I sent her to the market. Once again I made a list, this time of vegetables, fruits and the like. Then I included instructions to buy some of the food items she would like for cooking. Then I gave her what I thought would be enough money but she indicated that it was not. I gave her more, thinking that she knew the prices better than I did, and expecting that what she did not spend she would return. This is what she had done before. She was gone a longer time than I thought it would take, and when she returned it was with a bicycle taxi loaded with all her purchases. She began unloading the bags and I stood speechless. She had gotten what I had asked her to, but in quantities that were for a family of 10, at least. She filled the vegetable crisper to over flowing and then began to put green beans on the shelf of the fridge. She unpacked more green bananas (a staple for cooking here) than I would use in a month. She had 40 pounds of potatoes and 8 pounds of beef. Praise God for a small freezer, but it is small. Now it is packed. Either these vegetables and fruits will go bad before they are used or she will cook as if she is preparing for a small army, I’m not certain which, but I fear it will be both. The problem was that I did not tell her how much to get. I made an assumption that she would understand that it was for one single person who doesn’t eat large amounts at a time. I thought she had seen that in the last week or so, but I was wrong. I assumed (and we all know what that means.) She set about to fill the empty fridge, and she did that. She used all the money I had given her. She was very satisfied with her accomplishments and was puzzled that I was not thrilled with the volume of the purchases.

Overloaded fridge

For someone who has been a “professional” communicator for all my life, as an English teacher and then a pastor, this is humbling and frustrating. I realize I still have a lot to learn about effective communication.