One day is all it takes to change your life

The economic boom in Mauritius, Southern Africa’s “little tiger” during the 1980s and 1990s led to women leaving their homes in droves to go and work in textile companies in the here today, gone tomorrow Economic Processing Zones (EPZs). 

 

Women seized the opportunity to gain economic independence from their husbands, fathers and sons. Despite the long working hours, low wages, and barely any benefits, women did gain some economic independence in an extremely patriarchal society. Now, even that is being threatened by rising rates of unemployment.

 

As many factories close as a result of the US Africa Growth and Opportunities Act making other locations cheaper, women who challenged the norms by taking to the workforce, are paying the price for economic globalisation

 

Rajendri Chengapen is one such woman. Her story gives a human face to the impact of decisions made at a global level, with little regard for their effect on local communities.

 

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Let us rewind a bit; back to August 4, 2004 – a date that I will remember for the rest of my life. On that day my dreams, aspirations and my life came to a standstill.

 

I gave 13 years of my life to help making an industry flourish. And in return, all I got were shattered dreams. Thirteen years ago I was only 35. Now, at the age of 48 I am considered too old for the labour market

 

After having worked at the same factory for 13 years, it was difficult to accept that in a split second my life be so disrupted. Granted I was not the only one who got the sack. There were 250 of us including 15 men. Do you realise what this meant? No food, no clothes, no shoes, no transport for the children to go to school. Water bills, electricity bills and the loan repayments for a house do not wait for you to get a new job. If you cannot pay you have no water, no electricity and risk losing your house.

 

We were taken completely by surprise. Nobody told us that the factory would close down. I left my job at Summit Textiles after having worked there for 20 years thinking that the grass would be greener at Floreal Knitwear. But our sweat was good only to oil the machines and for management to make more money on our backs. We provided cheap labour while they made and enjoyed the profits.

 

On that fatal day we were called to the factory yard by the manager who was accompanied by the shop steward of our trade union. To say we were stunned is putting it mildly. It was even worse for me as my husband worked at the same factory.

 

The shop steward advised that we accepted the one-year’s salary that management was offering us. I remember him saying: “This is very generous on their part since the factory is closing down.”  None of us thought it was generous. We were not interested in one year’s salary but with our jobs.

 

Our desperation and shock was obvious. We sobbed in each other’s arms as we tried to support each other as best as we could. But in my case it was too much for me to deal with. My heart failed – literally – and I was taken to the cardiac unit of the hospital where I stayed for a week.

 

Can you imagine, a woman who had never been ill, who had given birth to and raised three children without ever going to hospital – being admitted because she could not deal with the devastation of losing her livelihood. It was the same for my husband – but instead of a hospital bed; he was admitted to a mental institution for stress.

 

The worst thing was that during that same period, preparations for my son’s were in full swing. With both parents in hospital; my son had to continue preparing for his wedding on his own as it was too late to postpone. My brothers helped with the expenses and my son had to use money he’d saved from selling vegetables. 

 

It is only recently that I have started to work again. The manager of a small factory in my village rented me one of his sewing machines and gives me work from time to time. I am paid according to the amount of work he decides to give me which means that sometimes my pantry is empty.

 

No, I do not know what the African Growth and Opportunity Act (AGOA) means or even less the third country fabric but what I can tell you is that Floreal Knitwear is making lots of money elsewhere. While 250 of us were off in Goodlands, the village where I live, I have been told that Floreal Knitwear is mushrooming in Madagascar. The rich will become richer and the poor poorer.

 

Although my son is now married and has his own family to cater for, he helps me with the basic necessities. Fortunately my daughter has got a part time job as a Tamil teacher and is now helping with the household expenses. My youngest son is still at school.

 

As for my husband he still can not take up permanent employment as he is mentally stressed. The mental hospital has become his second home. He gets a pension from Government while in my case although I have to go to hospital every month because of my cardiac status; I am not eligible for a pension. Medication and hospital may be free but I spend quite a lot in transport.

 

Today is “aadi” which is a Tamil festival when we have to pray, make some cakes and wear some new clothes. This is the first time that I have not been able to buy news clothes either for me or for my children.