“Whilst experiences of the last year have been different across the Commonwealth, stirring examples of courage, commitment and selfless dedication to duty have been demonstrated in every Commonwealth nation and territory, notably by those working on the frontline who have been delivering healthcare and other public services in their communities.” – Her Majesty The Queen, Commonwealth Day Message 2021.
Imagine you are working on the frontline. Write about your experience, explaining why you serve your community and why your service matters.
Written by: Arissa Afeeya (3G 2022) – Awarded Silver
The day I heard some of the vilest and narcissistic words leave someone’s mouth was at the age of 7, standing in the midst of a crowded hawker centre. Through its rowdiness, my gaze shifted towards a group of young women who spoke roughly to a helpless cleaner.
“Why should I? I’m not getting paid to do it, you are!” She exclaimed angrily.
The cleaner looked down to the floor, before looking back at me while wearing a smile. From my vantage point, she was belittled and her body appeared to shrink with every piercing utterance. Yet, her cheeks held a flush of anger with eyes so wide, betraying a small pocket of disgust. Still, she limped towards the uncleaned table, wearing a belt that held two different coloured rags that were dirty and tattered. I ran towards the cleaner whose frame was hunched and aged just as she finished cleaning the table at remarkable speed.
This cleaner that was publicly humiliated is my mother. She is my hero, and clearly undeserving of the constant mistreatment she faced. I visited her daily at work, but this was the first time I ever witnessed her being spoken to horribly. This occurrence was not the last however, and it baffled me that not a single soul within these walls were ever willing to help my mother. My mother never stood up for herself and reminded me that she had no authority here.
When I was retrenched in the midst of a pandemic, I made the decision to work with my mother while searching for a more viable job in the meantime. Usually, when you think of a cleaner, you’d imagine them being frail and aged. While that is the case most of the time, I, a 27 year old, didn’t mind this line of work although I may not be who you imagined at first. I was completely fine with it though, because it meant I could take some of the workload off of my mother’s shoulders. She would never admit it, but she probably appreciated the use of my silent hands, sneaking up on her to help her get her duties done.
Not long into my very first shift, I heard a similar remark to the ones I heard 20 years ago.
“This is not my responsibility,” The insolent young man said in a harsh tone, “If I did this for you then we wouldn’t need useless cleaners like you!” The other chimed in.
I remained silent as my mother advised earlier. She claimed that cleaners like us were at the bottom of the food chain in the working world and had to endure the discrimination regardless. I quickly picked up the food remnants and crockery from the table, wiped it clean and sanitised both the table and chair.
“That’s the wrong rag, dear.” My mom chuckled as she crept up behind me.
Three Rags.
Pink, to wipe the seats clean and symbolises playfulness although this place is constantly brimming with nothing but stress for the cleaners. Stress from being on their feet all day and covering every inch of the hawker centre, only to have people disregard their efforts entirely.
Purple, to sanitise the tables which is more important than ever while braving the pandemic and to signify power, even though us cleaners hold a very powerless position. One customer. Many cleaners. It’s surreal to see how the power of one can overcome a multitude of us.
Green, to wipe the dirt and to wipe our names from any book about heroes. To erase our efforts and service completely from acknowledgement. It also represents materialism, in this rapacious world that can’t spare the littlest sympathy towards the unsung heroes of Singapore that maintain the state of cleanliness. The silent hands that don’t even have the slightest bit of rights to speak up when mistreated.
Of course, she had already memorised the different purposes and was already used to being yelled at by angry patrons for simply asking them to return their tray. She opened her arms and embraced me suddenly, giving me immediate comfort from all the things they said to me. I couldn’t understand how my mother could tolerate this mistreatment for years, and every time I asked her, she just smiled.
4 hours into the shift, both of us finally had the chance to sit down for our lunch break. I was exhausted and burnt out from running around trying to clear the tables while my mother drank her Bandung calmly. She put her short, and slightly stubby leg onto the seat next to her, revealing a swollen ankle. She began to massage it gently while explaining that she had a fall while cleaning some cutlery at the communal washing area. She had been braving the pain of a sprained ankle all while cleaning this and without any breaks in between.
“It’s normal, don’t worry about me.” She smiled.
I was beyond disbelief. This is her normal? She is an elderly woman, whose bones were frail and almost fragile but she doesn’t see the issue? She was unfazed, while I sat in bewilderment, concluding that this is very likely the reality for many other cleaners.
For the next month I spent working at the hawker centre, the verbal abuse did not get any better. The government recently mandated a law which requires diners to clean up after themselves. This was part of their efforts to reduce the transmission of the virus. People continued to give me dirty looks while muttering something about how I was getting paid for doing nothing. Everyday was a battle, but I realised that if it weren’t for me and the other cleaners, Singapore’s unique hawker culture would have been long gone. If it weren’t for the competent cleaners who do their duties with utmost diligence, the government would have had to keep the hawker centres closed off for even longer. If it weren’t for us, the health and wellbeing of all diners would be ultimately jeopardised knowing that the transmission in an eatery is higher. I had unknowingly become part of Singapore’s line of defence and if I didn’t do my job, then who would? Who else can we rely on to step in to do the dirty and thankless jobs no one else would be brave enough to do?
Not only that, but robots have begun to take over our jobs. Just recently, a few robots were deployed to the hawker centre we were working at and they could do just as we humans could. They cleaned the floors, disinfected lift panels and could even chase away the pigeons who intruded the place. Initially, the cleaners watched in awe- amazed at how technology had advanced to the point where we could rely on robots for cleanliness and sanitation. It only became worrying when the robots could juggle the responsibilities of a cleaner better than we could. If they continue to take over our workspace, will we slip between the cracks? Will our honest and noble service still be needed? What about those whose livelihood comes from working here? The public applauds these devices because they can mop and clean, but those who have dedicated their lives to maintaining the cleanliness here will still go unacknowledged. If robots take over, I doubt society will care about us.
⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫
My mother fell ill. It happened sometime after coming into close contact with a diner who had a hacking cough right before she cleaned their table. By the time she fell sick, I had already secured myself a better paying job. Her battle with the virus was long and difficult, but her body finally succumbed to its complications. Before I knew it, she was gone. The cheery cleaner at the hawker centre was gone. Her absence left a crater of emptiness, her laughter and jokes were missed by many. When she was battling the virus in the hospital, she finally told me the secret to her composed front.
“Dear, we will never be enough for this world. We are pushovers. There’s nothing we can do, it’s the life we chose so we must be happy. If I have you, a job, and food on the table, what more do I need? Sadly, I don’t think other cleaners see life this way. Life is short and sweet, there’s no point in fighting a losing battle (with the customers).”
Her words have stuck with me since. All these years, she put up with the most vicious treatment in the name of love. Love for me. Love for her country. She had always been the biggest patriot and wanted to serve her country regardless of how thankless her methods were. I quit my job before applying to become a full time cleaner at the hawker centre she served for 35 years. This place was her livelihood as much as it was mine and now, carrying on her service to the country lies in the palm of my hands.
MJR World of Words 