Always start from the top and work your way down to the bottom.
Look for chances to show your boss you’re more than a cleaner. For example, remind her that the food in her fridge is about to go out of date, or if you see that one of your boss’s plants is not doing too well, find out why. The plant may be a plant that needs shade and your boss has planted it in full sun. Tell your boss about it. Materena has saved many of her boss’s plants that way.
Grab every single opportunity to show your boss that you’re honest. Let’s say you find a banknote in your boss’s husband’s shirt, well, don’t you go slipping that banknote in your wallet. Slip that banknote in an envelope instead and write the boss’s name on the envelope so that the boss’s children don’t open the envelope and take the money. Write a short note to explain the situation about that banknote to the boss.
Always remember that your boss is just another woman and that she’s got feelings. If you find a love letter in your boss’s husband’s pants, don’t you go showing it to your boss. Flush the love letter down the toilet instead. When Materena gets to that rule, the nieces always ask her if she has ever done this and Materena always says, “Of course not!”
All in all . . . when it comes to being a professional cleaner, Materena is unbeatable. That is why she’s always pushed her daughter to see beyond the scrubbing brush and the broom. Cleaners never recommend their children to follow their path. You’re more likely to hear cleaners tell their children, “Don’t you dare be a cleaner like me.” Materena said this to her daughter many times, and it seems Leilani understands her mother’s message.
Today she told her mother what she’d like to do when she finishes school.
She’d like to be a pilot. Materena said, “And why not? We’re not living next to the airport for nothing!” But deep down Materena thinks, “I hope Leilani isn’t going to be a pilot. Planes are so dangerous.”
Leilani would also like to be a psychiatrist. Materena said, “Ah, that’s nice.” But deep down Materena thinks, “She’s not going to have a lot of business in Tahiti—we talk to a favorite cousin or to the priest. Tahitians who pour their troubles out to a psychiatrist don’t exist.”
Leilani would also like to be a mutoi (She’s going to see the worst in people as a cop, thinks Materena) and a militaire (What about the war?). Leilani wants to be so many things. Ideas keep on coming into her mind and she can’t decide, unlike her younger brother, Moana, whose mind is set on becoming a chef.
Then Leilani asked her mother if she always wanted to be a cleaner. She was very shocked to hear her mother exclaim, “Of course not!”
“How come you’re a cleaner, then?” asked Leilani, puzzled.
Materena didn’t feel like replying to this question. Instead she went to get the washing off the line, and now, shampooing her hair under the shower, she thinks about how it wasn’t her plan to be scrubbing and sweeping for years and years and years. She visualizes herself scrubbing walls when she’s sixty years old. Her hair, all gray, is thin and falling in her eyes. And she’s muttering under her breath with a croaky voice, “Ah, scrubbing and scrubbing, a woman’s job is never done.”
But at least it pays the bills.
Catholic Girls
Anne-Marie Javouhey is the Catholic girls’ school facing the magnificent cathedral in Papeete. It’s hidden behind a high concrete wall with an iron-grilled gate.
Although the school looks like a prison, it is not. It is the best school in Tahiti. In this school, young girls are trained to become independent, free women, and although it costs much more than the Catholic school in Faa’a, Materena doesn’t care.
Her cousin Tapeta’s daughter Rose attends Anne-Marie Javouhey. The whole family is on a constant breadfruit diet so that Rose gets her chance to become somebody. That is what her mother wishes for with all her heart and soul.
Tapeta complains to Materena that every now and then Rose puts on airs like she’s a rich little daddy’s girl, and Tapeta just slaps her daughter back to reality. And when Rose gets teased at school about her plain dress, thongs, and pandanus bag, Tapeta tells her that she can do with a bit of suffering. In Tapeta’s opinion, people need a bit of suffering to become better people.
Tapeta is determined her daughter will always work hard at school so that she will not be poor when she grows up. She wants her to get a top job that pays big money, or marry a man who has a top job that pays big money. And then Rose will be able to pay her hardworking mother back and perhaps take her to Rome too. It is Tapeta’s dream to see the popes’ graves and to stand in the arena where the first Christians sang their faith as lions devoured them raw.
The last time Materena saw Tapeta she asked her how Rose was doing at school. “She’s not first,” Tapeta said, “but she’s not last. My Rose, she’s in the middle and it’s not bad at all to be in the middle.”
The two cousins spoke for a while and Materena found out that Rose had been on the waiting list for Anne-Marie Javouhey ever since she was in primary school. Tapeta would visit Anne-Marie Javouhey four times a year to remind the headmistress or the headmistress’s secretary that her daughter deserved a chance just as much as any other woman’s daughter. Tapeta also reminded the headmistress or the headmistress’s secretary that she always paid her bills. And Tapeta’s daughter Rose got in.
Today, at two thirty, Materena has an appointment with the headmistress at Anne-Marie Javouhey.
It is now two fifteen and Materena is waiting inside the cathedral. Wanting to make the right impression, she is wearing a white missionary dress that falls right near her ankles. In her pandanus bag Materena has Leilani’s exceptional school reports and a Colorful Imagination School Merit Award Leilani won for her story about a young girl who lost her savate. Materena thought about wearing her gold necklace with the gold Virgin Mary pendant, but that necklace, blessed by the archbishop himself, is reserved for special occasions like baptisms, communions, and confirmations. Not that she needs such a necklace to prove to the headmistress that she regularly goes to mass. Tapeta did say that the only two things the headmistress cares about are:
You can pay.
Your daughter is not going to jump over the wall to go meet boys lurking on the other side.
Six girls in Rose’s class aren’t even Catholics. But it really helps if you are one.
At twenty-five past two, Materena walks onto the grounds of the Anne-Marie Javouhey College. There’s concrete everywhere except for a tiny patch of green immaculate lawn, and there’s a covered hall with tables and chairs and a life-size statue of the Virgin Mary, Understanding Woman.
The school office is even more immaculate. The pristine white walls are plastered with framed black-and-white photographs of serious-looking nuns, and Jesus Christ is nailed to the cross in the middle of them all.
The woman at the front desk is busy putting a letter into an envelope. Materena, standing straight and tall, goes on admiring the nuns in the photographs as she waits for the front-desk woman to acknowledge her presence. The woman, after a half a second glance at Materena, opens a drawer, gets a stamp, licks it, rubs it on the envelope, closes the envelope, places it in an office basket, and buttons up her crocheted white sweater. She does all of these things very slowly and Materena would like to shake that rude woman a little.
At last the front-desk woman lifts her eyes to Materena and looks at her as if she has no idea what Materena is doing in her office. “May I help you?”
Smiling a polite smile, Materena replies, “Good afternoon. I have an appointment with the headmistress at two thirty today.”
“What is it in regard to?”
Smiling still, Materena says, “It is in regard to my daughter, Leilani.”
The front-desk woman gives Materena a blank look.
“I’m here to enroll my daughter, Leilani.”
The front-desk woman sighs and painfully reaches out to a thick book, opens it to a page filled with names. “Name, please, school details, and con
tact details.” After writing the information down, the front-desk woman tells Materena that she will be advised should a place become available. But Materena is not leaving before showing off Leilani’s school reports.
“You can see the school reports of my daughter, she’s a . . .”
The woman is not interested in the reports that Materena is almost shoving in front of her face. “That won’t be necessary, madame.” She goes back to her envelope ritual and completely ignores Materena.
“Thank you.” Materena walks out, smiling. But once outside the school, the smile drops off, and twenty yards later, Materena loudly tells the front-desk woman off.
Well, at least Leilani has her name in on the waiting list, and that is a start. Materena certainly intends to visit Anne-Marie Javouhey College four times a year, rain, shine, or cyclone. To celebrate, Materena buys a watermelon at the market.
Mother and daughter, in the kitchen, are now enjoying the sweet watermelon together. The boys are outside flying their kites.
“Girl,” Materena says, “I did something today.”
“Something naughty?” Leilani asks, giggling.
“But!” Materena can’t believe that Leilani sometimes! It’s funny, though. “Aue,” Materena says, chuckling, “I’m too old for that kind of trick.” Then seriously, “Non, I went to Anne-Marie Javouhey College today and put your name on the waiting list.”
Leilani widens her eyes. “And the money? It’s expensive!”
“Eh, money we can always find.” Materena smiles to her daughter. “The money is not your concern, girl. You just keep working good at school, okay?”
“I promise, I swear!” Ah, Materena feels so happy. It’s always good when your kids show their appreciation. She’s at the stove stirring the stew with Moana carefully watching when Pito, in the company of Ati, walks in.
“Something smells good, woman!” Pito is in a happy mood. He pinches Materena on the bottom and, turning to his son, he says, “What are you doing in the bloody kitchen again? You’re always skulking around in here these days. Go and play outside.”
“Pito.” Materena brushes Moana’s shoulder to show him not to worry about anything. Mamie has got everything under control. “We’re not going to start again.”
She’s getting sick of having to defend Moana’s ambition to be a chef. His older brother, Tamatoa, doesn’t get teased at all for his ambition to be a bodybuilder, but poor Moana takes it all the time. It’s like it is a crime for a boy to cook, but it is fine for a boy to spend hours and hours building his muscles and oiling his body in front of the mirror. When Materena bought Moana a ceramic bowl last week, Pito shrieked, “A bowl! What’s next? An apron? I’m not having one of my sons wearing an apron!”
But today, Pito chuckles and messes Moana’s hair. This is as good as his saying, “Oh, all right, then, stay in the bloody kitchen.”
Materena laughs with relief and invites Ati to stay for dinner. Without waiting for him to accept the invitation she gets another plate. The fact is that Ati always stays for dinner when he visits around dinnertime, but Materena doesn’t necessarily always invite him to stay.
“So,” she says, winking to Ati, “what have you two been up to?”
But here’s Leilani charging into the kitchen. “Papi! Guess what? I’m going to Anne-Marie Javouhey College. Mamie went to see today!”
Materena looks over at Pito. She expects him to say something like, “What a good mother you are.” Instead he says, “I’m not sure about that.”
Materena, thinking he’s making allusion to the money, exclaims, “I will sell my body if I have to! I will find the money!”
Pito gets a beer from the fridge. “Ah hia, relax, don’t go jumping on your horse. I wasn’t talking about the money. I just don’t like Catholic schools.”
“I went to a Catholic school and there’s nothing wrong with me!” Well, Materena feels she’s a bit of a martyr sometimes, because when you’re Catholic, you’re not supposed to enjoy yourself. You’re supposed to think about all the people in the world who are suffering. That is what the nuns at Notre Dame des Anges School have taught her. “I’m a good and caring person and it’s very good to be that way.”
“Catholic girls,” Pito says, smirking, “they’re . . .” He looks over to Ati, who starts chuckling. And the men go on drinking their beer.
“What?” Materena would like to be informed. “What about Catholic girls?”
Pito gives Leilani the signal to make a disappearance, and Leilani stomps out of the kitchen, mumbling, “Why can’t I listen if Moana can? You’re talking about my future!”
She is gone now, and Materena orders Pito to go on about Catholic girls, but all he does is chuckle.
“They’re what, Catholic girls?” Materena eagerly asks again. “They’re too nice, they’re too martyrish? They’re what?”
Pito and Ati look at each other and smirk.
“What do you think, mate?” Pito asks with a smile that says many stories.
“Oh . . .” Ati glances at Materena for a brief second. “Well . . . I’ll have to say that . . .” Ati glances at Materena again. “Maybe what I think is not what you think.”
“I’m thinking what you’re thinking,” Pito says.
“Ah oui?” Ati asks, feigning surprise.
“Ah oui,” Pito confirms, cackling.
Meanwhile Materena is still waiting for an answer about Catholic girls, but all she’s getting here is a story that’s going around the pot. Typical men, she thinks.
“Aue bof!” she says, waving a hand in the air. “Anyway, for me, Catholic girls are really nice girls.”
Ati and Pito look at each other and burst out laughing, with Materena looking on, puzzled. She asks her son if he understands these two clowns.
He says, “I wasn’t listening.”
Standing in front of the intimidating iron gates a few months later, Materena rearranges her daughter’s immaculate plaits and says, “Show respect to the nuns, girl. Don’t get into trouble.” As she straightens Leilani’s long brown dress, Materena adds, “You’re very lucky you can go to this school for free. I’m very proud of you getting that scholarship. Be good, okay? Don’t talk back to the nuns.”
Then, to her son, whom Materena is taking to the hospital for his cast to get taken off, Materena asks, “Tamatoa, say something nice to your sister.”
“Your school looks like a prison,” he says.
All right, time to walk in.
The place is swarming with girls running all over the place. They all eye Tamatoa (the only male around) and giggle into their books. The two nuns on duty don’t seem like they’re in control. Here they are calling one name after another, and nobody is listening. But it’s madness here this Monday morning!
Meanwhile, as Tamatoa is shaking his head and telling his mother how the girls here are so ugly, they walk into the office for the formalities. The headmistress, a large black woman with the most beautiful teeth Materena has ever seen, officially welcomes Leilani into the school and introduces her to another young girl, a small cute brown girl with hazel eyes, freckles, crooked teeth, and flaming red hair.
“Vahine,” the headmistress says, “this is Leilani. Say good morning.”
“Good morning.” The young girl smiles, blushing in front of Tamatoa, who is looking her up and down.
“Good morning,” Leilani says. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you. And how are you?”
“Fine, thank you.”
The headmistress places her hands on her chest and smiles. “Go on, girls,” she says. “Off to class.”
Materena thanks the headmistress profusely and follows her daughter and her daughter’s new friend outside.
She watches them walk away.
She hears them say, “You like pancakes? So do I!” “You believe in aliens? So do I!”
Into Womanhood
A girl is officially a woman the day she has her period. Tears fall out of the mama’s
eyes when she welcomes her daughter into womanhood. There are nonstop lamentations. Aue! I can’t believe you’re a woman! Life goes so fast! It seems like only yesterday that I was pushing you into the world! I’m still the boss!
After the crying, the lamentations, and the embrace, traditionally mother and daughter sit at the kitchen table for the Welcome into Womanhood talk, beginning with the rules that are passed on from generation to generation, from mother to daughter, and on and on. The mama talks, keeping in mind that the purpose of the Welcome into Womanhood talk is to enlighten the new woman, pass on her experience as a woman of many years so that her daughter’s life will be a bit easier.
Cleaning tricks may be revealed, secrets that are not meant for the grave, recipes that fill the stomach and take less than ten minutes to prepare, advice on curtains, plants, men, life in general.
It generally starts with: Don’t wash your hair during your period, otherwise the blood is going to turn into ice and you’re going to go mad. Don’t touch plants, trees, or flowers during your period, otherwise they’re going to die. Make sure to rest. You lose pints of blood when you have your period . . .
The daughter is supposed to listen dutifully and nod. Comments are not required.
But Materena is not going to give her daughter, who became a woman about ten minutes ago, the traditional Welcome into Womanhood talk. She’s going to do it the new way. Let’s move on to the new century!
So what is she going to say?
“Mamie?” Leilani is waiting for her mother to begin talking. “Are you dreaming?”
“I’m thinking, girl.”
“And my Kotex?”
“Don’t panic, I’m going to get you a packet of Kotex at the Chinese store soon.” Materena wipes the corner of her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Mamie,” Leilani says, cackling, as she affectionately takes her mother’s hand in hers, “stop crying.”
“I’m not crying because I’m sad, I’m crying because I’m moved, I’m happy.” Materena smiles through her tears. “You’re going to understand when you’re a mother . . . Just give me one minute.”
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