Credit: World Vision International
In the quiet suburbs of Harare, as the city yawns awake to the hum of traffic and the chatter of schoolchildren, another rhythm begins – cleaning and preparing for the day. Behind many of these scenes stands a domestic worker, a woman whose labour anchors countless Zimbabwean households but whose story too often remains untold.
Mendy Lerato Lusaba, has worked closely with domestic workers, those stories are not abstract to her. They are personal. Known variously as Mrs. Tarenyika in her church, or “Mai Mrehwa” in her community, Lusaba has made it her life’s mission to humanise and professionalise the world of domestic work in Zimbabwe, a world she says has long been defined by neglect, abuse, and misunderstanding.
“I am a decent work advocate,” she says matter-of-factly, speaking to The Besana Mail. “Domestic workers raise our children, they run our homes, they carry the emotional weight of other people’s families, and yet, they are among the most exploited workers in our economy.”
Through her organisation, the Domestic Workers Association of Zimbabwe, and her recruitment agency, Chris and Geo Executive Placement, Lusaba has spent years bridging the gap between workers and employers. She offers training, placement, and advocacy for thousands of women, and increasingly, men who have found themselves in a sector often dismissed as “unskilled.”
But there is nothing unskilled about raising another person’s child.
“Domestic workers play a huge role in the raising of our children,” Lusaba says. “They are pivotal. Children are impressionable, they absorb the behaviour, tone, and values of the people they spend time with.”
In homes across Zimbabwe, from affluent to middle-income suburbs it is common for domestic workers to spend more waking hours with children than their parents do. They prepare meals, help with homework, manage tantrums, and provide comfort in moments of fear or loneliness. Yet, this closeness often goes unrecognised or undervalued.
According to Lusaba, many domestic workers face a silent but pervasive crisis: a crisis of dignity.
“Too often, they are physically abused, emotionally humiliated, or even sexually exploited. I have seen employers beat their workers, or make them work from dawn to midnight without rest days or proper pay,” she says.
It’s a contradiction that cuts to the moral heart of Zimbabwe’s urban households, those who rely most heavily on domestic labour often know the least about the rights of the people performing it. Lusaba notes that most employers have never read the Statutory Instrument for Domestic Workers, a legal framework that outlines fair wages, working hours, and benefits.
And then there’s the subtler form of abuse, the one that begins in the nursery.
“Children can be cruel,” she says, “Some insult or hit domestic workers, learning from the disrespect they see around them. Even teenage girls can be verbally abusive. Employers need to set boundaries and teach their children empathy and respect.”
Lusaba confirms she has seen the transformative potential of their work.
“They don’t just clean or cook,” she insists. “They shape the next generation.”
In countless households, domestic workers are tutors, storytellers, and counsellors. They help children with homework, establish daily routines, encourage learning through play, and provide emotional stability in homes strained by economic pressures or parental absence.
“Parents must realise that these women are not just employees; they are extensions of the caregiving structure,” says Lusaba. “A well-trained, well-treated domestic worker helps nurture confidence, empathy, and discipline in a child. That’s nation-building work.”
Her association has developed a domestic work curriculum in partnership with Zimbabwe’s Ministry of Higher and Tertiary Education. It includes modules on childcare, hygiene, first aid, and even emotional intelligence, a holistic approach that seeks to professionalise domestic labour.
“We want domestic workers to have certificates, confidence, and dignity,” she told The Besana Mail.
Many work six or seven days a week, often starting before sunrise and finishing long after dark. Yet, the law is clear; domestic workers are entitled to 9.5-hour working days, with tea and lunch breaks, weekends and public holidays off, and 30 days of annual leave.
“Fatigue leads to mistakes,” Lusaba says. “When someone is tired and frustrated, they might snap at a child, not because they’re cruel, but because they’re human.”
She argues that decent rest is not a luxury but a safeguard, for both children and workers.
“A well-rested domestic worker is a better caregiver,” she adds.
Lusaba’s organisations offer caregiving and childcare training, both free and paid.
“The best training they can get is caregiving with a focus on child care,” she explains. “It’s not just about knowing how to feed or bathe a child, it’s about understanding development, communication, and behaviour.”
Beyond her own initiatives, a handful of local NGOs and online platforms have joined the effort, offering free courses in child safety, nutrition, and home management. But Lusaba believes more can be done.
“Training gives confidence. Confidence creates professionalism, and professionalism earns respect,” she says.
One of Lusaba’s greatest concerns is child labour in domestic work, a problem still lurking in Zimbabwe’s informal economy. The law prohibits employing anyone under 16, yet young girls, some as young as 13, continue to work in homes.
“It’s a crime, and we take it very seriously,” she says firmly. Her agency refuses to place anyone under 18 and runs awareness campaigns through radio, TV, and church groups.
