A maid walks to work in historic Miraflores, Lima, Peru. n Peru, it is estimated that there are at least half a million women who work as domestic workers, with approximately 67% of that. number working in Lima. Yet the Law of Household Workers (Law Nº 27986) protecting their rights and establishing employment guidelines has only been on the books since 2003. While this law guarantees them rights of renumeration, social security and pensions, and maximum working hours (48 hours/week) it does not guarantee a minimum wage and many employees are unaware of their rights to this day. The Ministry of Women and Vulnerable Populations (MIMP) reported that for 2017 50% have social security and 46% health insurance, indicating a disparity between rights and compliance to Law No. 27986.
A empleada del hogar (household employee) hired for a weekend home in Playa Asia, takes a rest from her duties. Peru's domestic workers are overwhelmingly female, often from indigenous communities, working to support their families in one of Peru's least regulated industries.
A maid prepares to bring lunch to her employers on a small private island located near the quaint fishing village of Pucusana, Peru, south of Lima. "We are two Peru's," a friend often tells me, talking about the complex and paradoxical socio-economic relationships that divide Peru.
A maid feeds dinner to one of her young charges on a private island in coastal Peru.
Maids enjoy a fast-food lunch at the Club de Regatas in Lima. One of Lima's oldest country-clubs, its private beaches abut the working-class beach of Chorillos, separated by Regata's long pier. Maids usually do not eat with their employers, feeding the children during separate meal times or sitting silently when the family goes out to eat.
One maid for each child is an affordable luxury for many Limeños, where even the maids have maids to watch their own children, pictured here in a park in Miraflores in the early morning.
A maid plays with her young charges on the beach of Playa Asia in Peru.
A maid naps along with the child she cares for after a morning spent at the Club de Regattas, Lima's oldest country club.
Nannies play with the children in a playground in the Club de Regattas, Lima's oldest country club.
Just out of the picture, a maid/nanny waits for her employer to take a photograph of the children she is caring for on a beach in Lima.
Maids gather to socialize on a park bench near the lighthouse in Miraflores.
Maids wait on the outskirts of a group on the beach in Punta Hermosa, Lima's most southernmost beach.
Empleada, niñera, nana, chacha, muchacha – these are the names identifying the domestic workers of South America, signifying employee, nanny, cleaning person, cook, servant. It is a shock for some foreigners to realize the ubiquity of the empleada in Latin American life. “We cannot live without our empleadas,” many a Limeña has told me. And in developing economies, where the stratification of rich and poor is vast, these occupations do allow some women to come from the countryside and study in the city, and improve their prospects and potential. “Música de Plancha” a Latin American ballad form is so called because of it’s popularity among servants performing household tasks (ironing music). Yet indignities exist - in the tony private beachside resort Playa Asia, empleadas are prohibited from swimming in the beach or wearing anything other than their uniforms to the beach. It is difficult to watch them, hovering on the periphery of family life, integral and seemingly invisible. Do they accept this fate as inevitable? Or consider themselves lucky to be part of a well-known family? Are they resigned to a situation where all they have ever known is lack of access to education and wealth-building? I cannot help but see similarities to the Jim Crow South in the United States, and wonder what it will take to provide greater opportunities to the lower classes that are so often disdained by those they serve. These photographs were taken during many visits to Lima over the past ten years.