Nannying in Buenos Aires; a Tale of Two Families, Part 2.

There’s much more to say about this nanny job! In fact, looking at the word doc it’s five times as much. Sorry!

This job was also advertised on Craigslist, but that’s where the similarities end! Actually, even there, family #2’s ad requested a German speaker who would ensure a mixed variety of developmental activities, music, art, movement and language. All good things of course, but the tone was very different!

I met family #2 on 6 May, after barely catching a bus to their gated community north of the city, known as ‘countries’. The bus was no ordinary bus, but a special, un-numbered one that leaves from designated street corners that are often confusingly close to an actual bus stop. The buses make just a few stops on their way to Nordelta (the North) and are expensive. As such, they’re only used by rich people when they venture into the city. Either them, or lucky nannies like me whom their bosses wish to save from travelling on public transport. I didn’t mind normal buses, but these were definitely nicer.

When I accepted the interview, I was told their house was 30 minutes from the city. It was actually closer to 1.5 hours. I either walked or took the subway; 30 minutes, and then took the bus for an hour. They paid for my transport and I was happy to read and look out the window. More importantly, the job paid an improved $8.70 an hour (once I got there) and promised five hours a day, Monday to Friday. I was finally going to make some (comparatively) decent money, woo hoo!

I got the job at the interview and started that very afternoon. First I had to email Tristan about it as we had no phones. I still got home to a worried Tristan, as I finished two hours later because the mum; Carolina, didn’t get back when she said she would. It wasn’t a great start but I was happy to have a steady job. The mother-in-law was there for the interview and luckily approved. Both her and Carolina were surprised that I wasn’t scared living in San Telmo. They thought it was very unsafe to live in the city. Based on the television news I can see why, but the media is hugely sensationalist.

The kids were Francisco (Fran); 8, Valentine; 6 and Kirramaria (Kirra); 18 months. Fran was a mature, kind-hearted kid, Valentine was full of beans and Kirra was cute as a button and but threw a tantrum most days. I worked from around 12.45 to 5.30, but my day was three hours longer with the commute. My hours often changed, as some days Carolina would text for me to start or finish earlier or later. After a confusing and unnecessarily heated argument in week two, she re-agreed on minimum three hour shifts; anything less wasn’t worth the travel.

Once at the community and through security, I had to ride a bike which, depending on the state of the tyres, took between 10-25 minutes. I only got paid from when I arrived at the house, so I didn’t dilly dally. The bike belonged to the family and was a fixed gear rust bucket with barely functioning brakes whose tyres went down overnight. I almost quit one evening when it was raining and Carolina wouldn’t drive me to the bus stop. My glasses fogged up so I couldn’t see, I fell off the bike when a car came along and the brakes wouldn’t work and then I missed my bus. After waiting in the cold and spending the ride home in wet clothes, I got a flu and missed a day of work. I was not happy! The kept saying they’d fix the bike, but they never did.

Their house was a double-block, two-storey, empty feeling monstrosity with a big lawn, pool, spa and private pier to the lake. They’d only moved in five months before, so there were lots of boxes and unfinished lighting et cetera. I thought it odd that such a wealthy family hadn’t gotten around to finishing the house and the little furniture they did have wasn’t great. It was a stark contrast to the fancy cars and high-end fashion they all wore. Even Kirra’s wardrobe was 100% Osh Kosh Bigosh, Guess, Gap, Polo, Ralph Lauren, blah blah blah. I have to confess though, it was nice to doll her up for an outing…

The day the kid’s friends (also German-speaking), visited & I got them all grubby drawing with side-walk chalk. Mwa ha haa.

The German Factor.

The dad’s father was German and the family preferred to identify with that rather than being Argentine (I wonder who they barracked for in the world cup final?). Carolina had learnt German and the boys went to a German speaking school. I was employed as I speak German, but it felt odd to be liked so much for my ancestry. There’s a big German community in Argentina, and while it was interesting and sometimes nice, the strength of the preference was a little disconcerting. Especially as a lot of families descend from Nazi war criminals escaping trial. Hardly something I want to be associated with. Argentina also accepted Jewish refugees, which is odd politically but also socially; imagine running into each other at the supermarket on the other side of the world?

Speaking to and even teaching Kirra in German was fine; it was helping Fran with his homework that was a challenge. Back home I hate Google translate, but here it was a blessing! However, even that couldn’t help me with the maths homework. A calculator could though! Just as long as I didn’t have to explain how an answer was achieved…

Guille; The Cleaner.

I also used Google translate to help me communicate with Guille (pronounced Giji). As I didn’t start until 12.45, she cared for Kirra until I got there and worked 9-5, five days a week. The house did not get that dirty! After talking to family #1 (in San Telmo), they said that many families hire a full-time cleaner more for status than for need. So silly.

Guille also cooked dinner for the family, which must have been dry and unappetising by the time they ate it at least two hours later. I’d rather just cook myself! Guille also cooked lunch for Kirra and I, which we all ate together. It gave me a chance to practice Spanish, but at the end of the day my brain could hurt from speaking three languages!

After counting my pay in the kitchen one time, Carolina reprimanded me as Guille might see and get offended because in her words, they ‘pay her much, much less’. Hrm… When the whole house got sick, I did make Guille go home rather than stay, but I regret not also telling her to ask for more pay. She also cleaned for another family on the weekends.

Guille and I.

I think both parents worked at the family company (something to do with a flour mill?), so when the boys got sick they stayed safely at work while Guille and I cared for them. Inevitably, we both got terribly ill (Guille twice) and had to take more unpaid days off work, as did Tristan. Eventually the parents did get sick and I didn’t feel all that bad, especially as we suspect it was due to the water system.

The fake lakes had a green ooze on them, and family #1 had told me that the ‘countries’ sometimes operate off the books, so their utilities can fail. Serves them right for not only cloistering themselves from the rest of society, but for doing so in such a way that they don’t get taxed properly. I even heard that the government fly helicopters overhead to ascertain the population and assets.

In their defense, Carolina was helping Guille’s niece; Solange, into school. Sadly, her mum was a drug addict who came and went, so Guille often cared for her. Sol hadn’t started school because they needed her mum’s signature, which was also needed for either Guille or the State to take guardianship. At the time her mum wasn’t to be found… Sol joined Kirra and I for a few days and while she was a bit difficult to discipline, she’s a sweet kid.

Day to Day.

On an average day I arrived, tidied up some toys, woke up Kirra and had lunch with Guille. Kirra was making great progress feeding herself; I hope Guille or the next carer didn’t underestimate her. We’d play inside for a while (often with water or playdough), dance to music and spend at least some time outside. We either explored the backyard or walked to the playground or to feed the ducks. While the ‘country’ looked very pretty, going outside meant lathering yourself in bug repellant because the mozzies were fierce! I suppose it’s due to the fake lakes and that the area is essentially swamp-land.

The backyard.

Perfect ducks for the perfect (looking) lakes.

At around 4.30pm the boys would get home, get out of their uniforms and have a snack. One day the dad; Alfredo, was home and asked if I’d been putting sugar in their Nesquik milk drinks. Of course I hadn’t, but I was told that they all have 1-2 teaspoons of sugar, even Kirra! I wasn’t really in a position to voice my opinion. Alfredo also allowed the boys to put 4 spoons in their tea (yup, caffeinated), right before Fran had to do homework. Fran could barely concentrate and Valentin would not stay away, so we got little done. Poor Fran was so high it was actually quite funny. They were good boys though, and quickly decided to barrack for Australia in the world-cup! Not that we lasted long…

If Kirra was sleeping due to a late nap or was out for lunch with Carolina, I’d organise the playrooms. This meant spending countless hours sorting through lego. Inevitably, the boys would up-end the containers and I’d start again another day. Eventually Carolina got flatter containers and I managed to convince the boys to stop emptying them and use our system (eg, curved pieces in one, flat in another). I never thought I’d put so much thought into lego, or be blogging about it months later!

Each day Carolina would leave a list of things she’d like me to do. For example, listen to ‘Baby Einstein’ CDs (actually not bad), sort the kids clothes, sew name labels on school uniforms, fix a broken night-light, replace old shoelaces, make bread with Kirra or take her on their little boat. I never got around to the latter two, and I also failed my mission to fix a broken kids bike. You know, not being a bike mechanic and all…

Happier to be ‘The Help’.

My feelings toward Carolina weren’t great after our fight about shorter hours or her making me ride in the rain. However, to add insult to injury, when I used her fancy, age-customised scales I saw that she was three years younger than me. I’d nannied ten years previously and was already feeling a little down about doing menial nanny work again, so taking orders and being given obvious advice from someone younger, richer and more ‘settled’ than me kind of sucked.

In the end though, I don’t envy the life of family #2. For all their money, they’ve isolated themselves in a soulless, mosquito ridden gated community in a swamp. Taking the bus along the highway, I saw smelly swamp, gated community, more smelly swamp and another gated community. Other than a few superficial-looking ones by the entrance, there’s no cafes, bars, restaurants or shops (I think Carolina did a lot of online shopping). To receive visitors they have to organise a pass for them days ahead of time, or have them leave their car at the entrance and pick them up.

I heard that people are often hijacked in their cars as they return from work and make a bee-line for their community. It makes sense. Of course the ‘countries’ are targets for criminals, being, as they are, a concentration of wealth conveniently located in one place. There’s even a market for selling passes and the security codes to people’s houses. To get my pass I had to provide my passport details and the name and date of birth of not only my stepfather, but my biological father (not mother…, hello sexism).

The families really do put a lot of trust in their hired help. We know the codes, have access to their property and belongings, do their dirty laundry, are often left alone and generally, we know we’re being underpaid and working under often unfriendly conditions.

I suppose they know this though, because at the end of each day I joined a line of other domestic workers waiting to have our bags checked. I don’t know what they were looking for. Silver candlesticks? How do they know whether something belongs to me or the family? If I was stealing small items like jewelry they’d be in my pockets or deeper in the bag they only ever really glanced into.

I’ve come to the sad conclusion that the bag checks are more psychological than practical. Even so, I find it hard to believe people are so evil; would they check bags just to make workers feel like crap? Perhaps it’s just the security staff pacifying the residents. But then, the residents must be dumb enough to think bag checks actually do anything… For me, all the checks did were threaten to make me late for my bus and wait in the cold for 30-50 minutes… They sometimes succeeded.

Mistrusting the help might also explain why at least the house I worked in was totally bereft of ornaments, art, knickknacks, lamps or really anything nice. It could be because they’d moved in five months ago, but there was literally nothing. I didn’t even see a jewelry box or nice perfumes. Was everything hidden? What’s the point of owning nice things if you have to keep them out of view?

It was an interesting experience with family #2. I for one know that I prefer to live with culture and people around me, eat non-dried-up dinners, enjoy my garden sans bug attacks, drink virus-free water and feel safe enough to display my possessions and drive home from work. They can have their ‘country’ life!

Needless to say, I feel less guilty about leaving family #2. Carolina and Alfredo took the news well though and wanted me back if I returned to Buenos Aires. After only 3.5 weeks I was still sad to leave the kids (especially Kirra), and I made the boys promise to keep their lego containers organised!

Nannying in Buenos Aires; a Tale of Two Families, Part 1

On 9 April I met with Stefan and Eloise; a Scottish-Argentine couple I’d emailed about a babysitting ad they’d placed on Craigslist. They lived a two-minute walk away which was not only convenient but made me less resentful of being paid $5.30 an hour (plus, it went up a dollar as they quickly just started paying me 100 pesos each two-hour shift).

For 2 hours on Wednesday afternoons and Sunday evenings I looked after their two lovely children; Katia (4) and Elliot (18 months). Stefan worked from home as a property developer so it gave him a break to focus on work while Eloise did yoga after her international relations job at the State office of health (I think). On Sundays they went out for dinner and we often shared notes on good places to eat.

Their apartment was on the fourth floor and whilst pretty small, it was really nice. In fact, their similarly styled place in… somewhere-in-Eastern-Europe, was featured in a magazine. They lived there for a while and it’s where Katia learnt English. She would use Spanish words sometimes, but it worked well as we learned together. When playing board games, I’d read the instruction and have to trust her to interpret it fairly! 99% of the time she did, and I was a quick learner!

The living room, where I spent the most time (& sometimes played the piano, especially when Elliot was sick!).

View from their corridor window.

The family’s Eastern European apartment feature article (wish I could remember where!).

Elliot was usually sleeping, so I mostly played with Katia. I was proud that the parents were surprised I could (mostly) keep her from playing games on the tablet. She was going through the dinosaur phase almost all kids seem to go through, so we often played ‘mummy, daddy and baby’ with toy dinosaurs. Now and then I got her to play some spelling games, but it was difficult to draw her strong imagination away from the dinosaur family dramas.

I find it curious how many kids make-believe family situations. Each time, the mum got sick and had to go to hospital, the dad left the baby (always me) because he didn’t like him anymore and the baby had to ask for help and forgiveness. She had so much aggression playing the dad! I doubt this had any relation to real-life; the same aggression was there when playing with cars or pretending to be a mammoth or stag (her Scottish grand-mother had her hooked on them too!).

It could be a struggle keeping both kids entertained simultaneously, and I focused more on Elliot when he got chicken pox. A sick child is such a sad sight but he was a trooper! I thought of my mum, particularly as the only lullaby I really know is German; Elliot seemed to like it!

The only real down-side was that they owned two cats that I was quite allergic too; especially as Katia and I usually sat and rolled around on the floor! However, the family was nice, it paid well comparatively, was very close to home and I often got offered a glass of wine and some cake. Don’t mind if I do!

I worked with them until I left on 1 June, but only once a week towards the end as I got a job that needed me on Wednesdays. Of course, families prefer baby-sitters to stay for longer than that and I led them to believe I would. When I left, I told them there was a family emergency back in Australia. I’m probably going to feel bad about that forever, especially as they showed real concern and I considered them friends. I would have liked to stay in touch but I’m not sure it’s possible due to my big fat lie. In justification, all I can say is that I needed a job and knew I wouldn’t get one if I was honest about only being in town for two months; short-term nanny positions just didn’t exist. My last shift was really sad; it always amazes me how quickly you get attached to children!

Working as a cleaner in Buenos Aires.

We’d left resumes at Ostinatto Hostel around the corner and they were our one and only call back! While they had no receptionist or bar positions available, a cleaner was going on a months leave from mid-April and they offered us her job. The hours were 8am to 2pm, Tuesday to Thursday and we decided to job share. Our salary was a flat monthly rate paid in two lots, which came to $3.90 an hour. Ouch. Beggars can’t be choosers!

We put out breakfast, cleaned the kitchen, rooms and at least four bathrooms, changed bedding and swept, mopped and dusted communal areas. Each morning we started from the top floor terrace, bringing our trolley of cleaning goods, mops and brooms with us. It was nice starting the day with a view over Buenos Aires (cue singing from the Evita musical).

“Hello! Buenos Aires…”

It was a real pain in the arse if someone left the lift door open, as it meant climbing up to five floors of stairs to get it working again! The middle of the building was open air; like a big shaft with balconies on all sides. It made it feel nice and airy, but once I dropped a broom over edge and it smashed a big light in the reception area. Thankfully no one was hurt and my boss Barbara didn’t seem too mad!

Other than failing health and safety standards, the cleaning tools, cloths and chemicals weren’t very pleasant. The toilet bins were decidedly very unpleasant, as in many South American countries, that’s where you put used toilet paper…

Other than sneaking a coffee and some food while packing away breakfast, we had no breaks and in most shifts I didn’t even use the bathroom; I was non-stop for six hours, and believe me I moved fast! Tristan seemed to take more breaks though and usually finished on time or early, whereas I always worked past 2pm. On the first day I finished after 4pm; I guess I’m a bit of a perfectionist!

My back has never been as sore as it was after each shift and I feared I might be doing permanent damage (I didn’t). I really wondered how people older than me managed, especially if they had children to go home to and didn’t have the luxury of a 30 second commute and a partner to run you a bath and make lunch.

As I started another job, I only did six shifts. Tristan did more though, because we realised that we were expected to work for five weeks, not the four-week ‘month’ we’d planned. This of course brought the pay rate down even further… Luckily Tristan was able to negotiate some more money.

We also shared a shift at the hostel’s bar, serving a total of four customers, wild! Whilst boring, I did get to take home some cake and left over BBQ from a wine tasting event held on the hostel’s terrace. Ostinatto Hostel really was great and I recommend it. It was clean (of course!), the roof top terrace is nice (and clean!), staff are helpful and they offer discounts and free weekly yoga and Spanish lessons.

View from behind the hostel bar.

The job gave us a real understanding of the pay and conditions domestic workers in Buenos Aires (and probably many other places) have to deal with. Certainly the staff and guests weren’t used to seeing a cleaner who was (relatively) young, white and English-speaking and some questioned what I was doing there.

The cost of living did not make up for the low pay. Sure, it was cheaper than back home but not enough to bring balance. For example, I worked an hour to buy a coffee. On minimum wage in Australia you’d get around five coffees. Having said that, I’m sure there are ‘off the books’ workers in Australia getting by on similar rates too.

Looking for work in Buenos Aires.

Before I arrived, my plan was to find work as an English teacher, nanny or even better, as a copy-writer. If that didn’t work, I’d be happy working in a bar or café, as a cleaner or as life model for art schools. I gave up the latter idea after a quick and predictable look online and consideration of my Spanish skills. While I’d life modelled a little back home, it’s definitely one field where’d I’d very much like the comfort of fully understanding what’s going on (and being able to speak up should the need arise).

In the first week, we printed basic resumes in English and Spanish and distributed them to hostels, bars, cafes around Palermo and San Telmo. We also checked ex-pat websites and Craigslist Buenos Aires everyday and contacted anyone who had a job we thought we were remotely capable of doing. Months before, I checked and created a profile with some nanny agencies. The lack of them told me that nannies in South America are very unofficial. In terms of job vacancy ads, Craigslist won out in every semi-skilled, no-Spanish -required field I considered.

Tristan had an advantage in that he speaks almost fluent Spanish, and I spoke basically none! After about four weeks, this helped Tristan get a job as a waiter at ‘Complejo Tango’; a dinner and show place a half hour bus ride away and popular with tourists. Work was thin and he had to call and remind them he was available. Even then, he only worked six shifts at $10.70 a six hour shift, plus dinner and around $40 in tips. He also made around $15 going to three supermarkets, checking the price of certain items and reporting back to an interested online company. Weird, but comparatively lucrative!

Writing and editing.

My fantasy plan was to find some writing or editing work to add to my experience in communications before I head home and apply for a ‘real’ job. I gave my résumé to a few tourist agencies, posted a profile to Craigslist, followed up on job ads and contacted people wanting help editing academic papers.

I was very excited to receive an enthusiastic invitation to an interview for a copy-writer position at what looked like a big company. Sadly, I didn’t have the necessary work rights (I had no work rights!). The only other lead I got in this area was through a U.S.A based hip hop production company wanting a copy-writer for their website. We exchanged positive emails but they never skyped me for the interview. Oh well.

Teaching English.

A friend had taught English in Buenos Aires eight years previously for only $1.35 an hour. Even so, I figured that surely rates had risen and that the cost of living would make up for it. I intended to hit the Universities and put up ads to teach from home, thinking that schools wouldn’t take anyone unqualified or who would be leaving in two months (though this could always be ‘worked around’ via a sudden need to leave…).

I ditched this plan for a few reasons. 1) I’d feel bad taking on students only to leave shortly thereafter. 2) It’d take quite a while to build up enough students to earn the money I’d need. 3) I’d need the time and resources to prepare lessons. 4) If the student didn’t speak a little English already, my Spanish was basically non-existent so teaching would very difficult. With the help of our Spanish teacher, we considered working as English conversation group aids but by then had other jobs and were soon to leave.

Dog walking.

I loved this idea so much that I brainstormed business names (of course all pretty lame) and planned my flyer distribution. Hiring someone to walk your dog is probably a little dumb and it only really became a profession after the global financial crisis. I’ve worked for rich people before though, so it’s not as if I haven’t indulged their sometimes silly whims before. More importantly, I think dogs are great companions with underestimated therapeutical benefits and that as long as you treat them responsibly (for example by hiring a walker!), you can keep one in an apartment without being selfish.

The scale of dog walking in Buenos Aires means that as well as the dog getting exercise, they’re socialising. Every day I saw walkers with between five and twenty dogs each, and usually big ones! It was quite a sight seeing them walking around town and the dogs always looked happy and well-behaved. They’d pick them up from their apartments while the others waited tied to a pole below. Most walkers headed to the parks where they’d often let the dogs off their leashes; did I mention well-behaved?

Thinking of myself as a bit of a dog whisperer, I was keen to spend my days with various pooches, exploring the city and getting in some exercise. I didn’t even need to speak much Spanish! I would not be one of those few walkers I saw leaving their dogs tied up somewhere while they went off doing other things. I’d be a great dog walker!

This plan fell through because, like teaching English, unless one of the few small companies were willing to share their clients with me, it would take too long to build up business and make enough money. Even if I did get clients, the only information on rates I could find indicated that people paid around $7 to have their dog walked for four hours. Apparently it’s quite lucrative once you get going, but it would be very slow starting. No wonder people walk 20 dogs at a time!