Mariaam Bhatti: Tales of a Domestic Worker
After an enjoyable visit to Cork, all too soon I was in the air again, flying back to Dublin Airport. I was freezing in the cold weather, wearing only a light dress and a small jacket – I had never experienced snow before, so I clearly had no idea how warm my clothes needed to be!
After landing and crossing to the terminal, I quickly went to the bathroom, as we women subconsciously do when we see that sign of a female on a door. When I came out, the airport looked deserted. Everyone who had been on the flight with me had vanished in just a few minutes. I looked around trying to figure out which way to get out, and soon enough I came across the immigration desks.
Each exit seemed to have someone checking passports, which was strange to me as our flight was a domestic one. I thought of my undocumented status as I scanned the rows of desks to make sure there was no separate domestic lane where I could pass. I felt the officers’ eyes were on me as they called ‘Next!’ I couldn’t turn back, nor ask the ground to swallow me up.
For a few moments I stood there staring at the ‘EU/NON-EU’ signs lighted above, then whispered to myself ‘This is it’ as I took a step forward and walked up to a middle-aged officer who smiled back a little when I smiled and handed him my green passport stating my home country: Republic of South Africa.
I waited and studied his facial expression as he went through all pages twice, looking for what I knew was not there. Meanwhile, I was getting ready to answer all his questions.
It was not long before he stopped perusing the pages and looked up at me. “Could you tell me why you are in the country illegally?” he asked.
I looked him in the eye and told him I was brought in to work as a domestic worker, but my employer had not done the documentation required for me to work for her as she had promised, and I did not have a clue what I was supposed to have done. He stood up, came out from behind the desk and said: “Come with me to the office.”
I was surprisingly calm as I walked with him; I even found myself muttering: “I am glad this is how things turned out.” The officer slowed his pace and asked: “What do you mean?”
“No one will threaten me with reporting me to immigration anymore,” I replied.
“Who threatened you?” the officer asked, looking puzzled.
I told him what my employer said, that if I tried to find another job and leave her house, she would inform the authorities about my immigration status.
After more than an hour spent giving a statement in the office, I did not know what the next day was going to be like, or even where I would be, but I knew one thing for sure – for the first time in the months I spent working for that family, I felt like a big burden had been lifted from my shoulders.
To be continued...
Mariaam Bhatti is a member of the Domestic Workers Action Group and Forced Labour Action Group of the Migrant Rights Centre Ireland.
