When I arrived here and learned about houseboys and maids, I mentally swore that I would never have someone else clean my house. There is something about the idea of having another person dealing with my mess that I find distasteful. I think it's a combination of my discomfort with the class system implied by that situation and my embarrassment at knowing what my dirt looks like: hair in the sink, dirty socks on the floor, knives half-licked clean of peanut butter in the sink.
And I mentioned in the post before this that I knew that I wasn't paying Upul enough to walk the dogs. But the new amount I offered to pay him was far more than just walking the dogs was worth as measured by the shadow economy here in camp. He will not simply accept money from me--it can only come in exchange for a service.
As a result, Upul is cleaning my house on Wednesday afternoons.
Wednesday is the last day of the week here, our equivalent of Friday. I come home tired, hot, looking forward an evening at home and the weekend ahead. And I walk into a house with no dog snot on the windows, no dog hair on the dining table, no dust on the pictures, a sparkling bathroom, vacuumed and mopped floors...the place not only looks clean, it smells clean. I look around my clean house, marveling.
And I feel so insanely guilty.
My house is so clean!
Then the guilt kicks in again--should I really enjoy it so much?
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