Anna Fernando struts down the black-and-white
tiles of a trendy coffee shop in the Lebanese capital, dressed in high heels
and a strapless ball gown of caramel gauze ribbons.
The 43-year-old left her native Sri Lanka 21 years ago to work as a maid
in
Lebanon, determined to provide her children with better opportunities in
life
than her own.
On her day off this weekend, she joined a dozen other domestic workers
at a
modelling show in central Beirut organised by local NGO Insaan, Arabic for
“human being”.
“Even if I work like a maid, I’m a human being,” Anna says backstage, her
eyes thick with mascara before her name is called to show off the work of
young Lebanese designers.
Sunday’s fashion show is part of an effort to humanise an estimated
250,000
foreign domestic workers who toil in the kitchens and living rooms of
Lebanese
families.
Now in its fourth year, the show aims to give participants the
opportunity
to be seen as something other than the hired help.
“In Lebanese society, they live like all other women when they’re not at
work,” says Rania Dirani, the head of Insaan.
Rights groups often accuse Lebanon and Gulf states of racist and
degrading
treatment of migrant domestic workers, who are often referred to simply as
“servants” or “Sri Lankans”, regardless of their actual nationality.
Most overseas workers work under a restrictive sponsorship system called
“kafala” that leaves them dependent on their employer’s goodwill and unable
to
escape abusive work relationships.
Domestic workers are not protected by Lebanese labour law, despite the
efforts of a new union begun for them early last year with the support of
the
country’s federation of labour unions.
“At this fashion show we want to tell all these people we are not only
domestic workers,” Sumy Khan from Bangladesh says.
The 22-year-old with short hair and tattoos says she would have loved to
have studied journalism at home in Bangladesh, but that she had to leave two
years ago to support her family.
As she paraded down the catwalk in a short cream-and-white onesie between
Lebanese and foreigners huddled along its edge, cameras in hand, her friends
whooped and clapped in support.
The fashion show is just one of several civil society initiatives that
seeks to combat often discriminatory and exploitative attitudes towards
domestic workers.
Last year, a domestic help agency in Lebanon put out an ad on Mother’s
Day
that was slammed by activists as racist and wildly dehumanising.
“For Mother’s Day indulge Ur Mom & offer her a housekeeper. Special offer
on Kenyan & Ethiopian nationalities for a period of 10 days,” read a text
message sent to thousands of mobile phone users and subsequently picked up
by
media.
The American University of Beirut last year surveyed 1,200 employers in
Lebanon on their views of domestic workers, and Lebanese rights group Kafa
has
turned the results into an online campaign.
“Fifty-one percent of Lebanese women think (their) domestic worker is not
trustworthy — although she takes care of their children,” goes one line.
Standing out among the models on Sunday, Alix Lenoir, a 20-year-old
Franco-Lebanese student of industrial design, says she decided to join to
connect with other participants.
“I think it’s a shame that these women in our society in Lebanon have
had a
little of their confidence taken away from them,” she says.
“When they go out, they go out among themselves — not with other
people.”
By the end of the evening, Lenoir is hugging one of her fellow models —
18-year-old Iman Bachir, the daughter of migrant workers from Sudan — and
promising to meet up soon.
Fernando says her sacrifice of living away from her family for two
decades
has paid off.
Today, her 21-year-old daughter is studying pharmacology and her
22-year-old son is about to graduate as an army officer in Sri Lanka.
And she is starting up a small catering business.
“People love Sri Lankan food. It’s delicious, full of spices, and very
good
for you,” reads her business card, on which her name sits in a circle of
fresh
herbs, chillies and spices.
She cooks Sri Lankan, Indian and Nepali dishes, the card says, and
Lebanon-based foodies can order fluffy rice and fragrant curries by phone,
via
email or Facebook.
“I’m now a migrant chef,” she says. (AFP)
Photo: AFP/Alice Hackeman