Recognize work done by domestic workers.

By Arthur M. Katabalwa

KK Security, One of the main providers of domestic and commercial security guards in Uganda. (File Photo)

Last night I stood with my new security guard at my front door step, had a polite conversation with him just to get to know him. He is a 28 year old shy lad from Nakaseke. He has some limited education, up to S2. His English is superb. In fact I was quite taken aback at his command of the language.

Twenty minutes later, I shut the door in his face. I turned round and continued to do what I normally do in the evening. Not a lot by the look of things. I checked the fridge only to find out that it is crying out for some provisions. A half empty bottle of water, a box of expensive chocolates given to me as a gift, a huge slice of fruit cake and a bottler of tomato puree? No signs of dinner there then.

A pretty clean kitchen I thought. All utensils nice and clean, put away or hanged where they should be. A brand new oven looks incredible. I will not tolerate any unseemly splashes of God knows what in there. Later I inspected the spare bedrooms just to make sure that I didn't have any unwanted lodgers. The beauty of living alone sometimes is that things remain where you left them. And one can afford to use the toilet with the door open, and you can walk around the house in your birthday suit, and you don't fight over the TV remote...a lot.

But you see, that lad last night was pacing up and down in the grounds of my residence. He had advised me about things like "line of sight" and "dark corners" (which frankly means something completely different to me). That I had shut the door to someone at night started making me uncomfortable. Here is a man, armed ready for war, walking in my gardens checking on the security of my perimeter fencing.

I went to sleep for a few minutes afterwards but the guilt of someone out in the cold made me wake up and draw the drapes in my bedroom so as to peer out and see what he was doing. I half nearly jumped out of my skin! For there he was standing at my bedroom window with his back to me standing at heightened attention. I started at his back for a second or two, then he moved on. He hadn't seen me. I thought to myself "This fellow will at times be standing at my window at night." It is an uncomfortable thought as catching someone peeping through your bedroom key hole.

But that is the nature of domestic help. The maid who rummage through ones house as they are at work (I dread to think what she sees), the driver who hardly says a word to you despite ones attempt at conversation and all the like. Many of us here in Uganda have hordes of these people who are on standby to maintain and run after our lives, sometimes for a pittance.

Tonight I will sleep comfortably knowing that while I dream away, there is someone whose main task is to ensure my safety when I am in my most vulnerable state. And to those of us who employ these armies of domestic helps, I know it is what they are paid to do, stop and think; they are there to ensure that your life is made comfortable. Pay them but also once every now and then, thank them.