India
Some days, Abha Kujur, 39, feels like the family “servant”. The housework is unending at the tiny rented flat in New Delhi she shares with her husband and three children. Her son, Nitesh, 18, goes to college, and her daughters, Neha, 23, and Nisha, 20, work as apprentices, but Kujur’s daily grind is as busy as it ever was.
“When they were young, I used to get up at 5.30am to make their breakfast and cook their tiffin (packed lunch) for school and a tiffin for my husband, Amrit,” says Abha.
It’s the same routine now, even though school is long finished. Amrit has worked for 25 years for an agency that distributes cooking gas cylinders, and has an unbroken record of never doing a thing around the house.
Cooking, cleaning, dusting, washing clothes by hand, ironing and dishwashing are Abha’s responsibility, although the children do now help out at weekends. Her only “break” from the drudgery was when she had a hysterectomy a year ago and was in bed for a fortnight. “Neha stepped up and handled the whole house. I couldn’t do a thing,” she says.
After the morning whirlwind, Abha gets on a bus to go and clean someone else’s house for three hours. She returns at around 3pm, has a short nap, then begins ironing the clothes she washed in the morning and preparing dinner.
Over the past year, Abha, a Christian, has started helping out at the local church several days a week. “It makes my mind fresh to get out of the house because the housework is never finished. My husband doesn’t like it if I’m not there when he comes home, and he grumbles. But I’m not going to give it up. I need to get out, and I have my responsibilities at the church, which I have to fulfil,” she says.
She dreams of less drudgery for her daughters. Their education will get them a better job, and she hopes there will be other changes for the better. “If the man and woman both work outside, then they have to share the housework. It’s only fair. It’s the only way both of them can have a life.”
Amrit Dhillon
Bangladesh
Ayesha Sabrina wakes up at 7am and is out of the door by 7.30am. She hits the gym and by 9.30am is at the investment bank where she works. “Being a working mum means I have to be extremely efficient and make the most of my time, wherever I am,” says the 31-year-old.
Home at 6.30pm, she spends time playing with her 20-month-old daughter, Inaya, who is cared for during the day by her grandparents and a housekeeper. “I believe in quality over quantity, and my goal once I’m home is to spend as much uninterrupted time with my daughter as possible,” she says.
Ayesha’s schedule means she rarely has time to stop and listen to what others think of her parenting style. “I try to live up to my own expectations as a mother, but it’s tough. I often feel the things I do for my daughter are vastly unappreciated or unrecognised – even by my own mother, who was a working mother and my role model growing up.”
After giving birth, Ayesha felt pressure to return to work. “In Bangladesh, it’s not desirable to have gaps in your résumé, so women in professional jobs often go back after four to six months of maternity leave,” she says. “It can be extremely stressful.
“As a society, we need to stop guilt-tripping mothers and encourage them to return to work only when they are ready.”
Soon after having Inaya, she felt judged at work. “Of course, it doesn’t feel great to leave behind a crying baby at home but I wish people would stop questioning my choices.”
Her husband, Bijon Islam, 38, helps out where he can. “I work from home at least two days a week,” he says. “If I stay at home, I juggle my work and meetings with taking care of Inaya, and help out with household chores.”
The couple live in an apartment in Dhaka, the capital of Bangladesh. Ayesha plans tasks such as their daughter’s activities, meals, shopping lists, and medical check-ups, while Bijon helps to implement them.
The couple believe equity can only be achieved through shared responsibility but realise their situation is rare. “A mother is a human being first and everything else later,” says Ayesha. “We live in a world that expects women to do it all but rarely gives them what they need to do the bare minimum.”
In Bangladesh, a mother’s role is considered sacred, but Ayesha believes society’s expectation of mothers as primary caregivers lays the ground for guilt. “More men need to step up. Parenting is not a one-person job. A father should be an equal parent, not a supporting one.”
She acknowledges that men also don’t always get support. In Bangladesh, paid paternity leave is nascent, and those lucky enough to get it usually have only five days.
The couple are hopeful that things will change and that Inaya will not have to struggle so much with the burden of care when she grows up.
Bijon believes giving visibility to female role models like his wife is key. “Bangladesh is a country where the prime minister, the leader of the opposition, and the speaker of the parliament are powerful female figures. Making women role models more visible across the spectrum will not only encourage women to pursue stronger careers but show that breaking glass ceilings is entirely possible.”
Thaslima Begum
Vietnam
Tran Le Xuan wakes up at 4am every day to make breakfast and lunch while the rest of her family sleeps. At 6am, she leaves for work, an hour away by motorbike.
As a construction worker, her day is spent mixing concrete and loading bricks at a building site. “I am always drained after a long day at work,” she says.
With no time to rest, when she gets home she starts on her evening chores: making dinner, washing dishes, doing laundry and cleaning. “Then I take care of my grandchildren until they sleep. Sometimes I go to bed at 1am. It’s more exhausting when the kids get sick, but I want to support my family as best I can.”
Xuan, 44, is a mother of three adult children and lives in a two-room apartment with her husband, Chau Van Den, and their youngest daughter’s family, in Binh Chanh, a suburb of Ho Chi Minh City.
Her only support with the housework is provided by her daughter, Chau My Ngoc, 17, who married at 14 and has a three-year-old girl and a baby boy, born prematurely. Ngoc can only provide a little assistance, says Xuan, because she is often out on the street selling lottery tickets and is not skilled in domestic duties.
Xuan and her husband came to Ho Chi Minh City in 2009, leaving two of her children with her mother in Vinh Long province. “That year, the flood destroyed the dam. The river water overflowed into my garden. All our fruit trees died. We got into huge debt and had to move to the city. It’s so hard to make a living here,” she says.
Last year, Xuan was diagnosed with ovarian cancer and had surgery that left her weaker. She can’t go to check-ups. “I don’t use western medicine because it’s too expensive, and I paused using traditional medicine last month because I didn’t have enough time. I have to go to work.”
Yet the burden of duties at home has not changed. “I’m dead tired. It’s my fate. My husband watches TV in his free time while my son-in-law plays games on the phone. They are men, so they don’t do anything.”
Xuan wishes she had some time to herself. “Women of my age should feel free, with a husband’s and children’s support. But I hope my sacrifice makes them feel relaxed after a long day at work.”
Sitting on the floor in front of the TV, her husband adds: “Men do not have to undertake home duties.”
Lam Nguyen
Colombia
Alejandra Martinez Arevalo, 29, is an administrative manager for a French-run NGO in Colombia. Once a week, she leaves her home in Suba, on the fringes of Bogotá, and makes the two-hour round bus journey to the office. For the rest of the week, she has the “luxury of being able to work from home” – a considerable advantage in a city ranked as the world’s most congested.
“I realise how fortunate I am. Most companies don’t offer flexibility. You have to rely on your mother or mother-in-law for help, or hire a nanny, which we couldn’t afford,” she says.
Alejandra has a seven-year-old son, Jeronimo. Her day begins at 5am, an hour before her partner, Mauro, gets up, and two hours before their son rises. “I dedicate the first 45 minutes to exercising, which I’m very disciplined about, and having a quiet cup of coffee.
“Then, from 5.45am, I cook eggs for breakfast, followed by chicken and rice for lunch so that my husband and son have a nourishing meal to take to school and work.”
Mauro’s morning tasks, meanwhile, are leaving the kitchen tidy and walking the dog, before setting off to work. Alejandra says she carries 70% of the domestic “and mental load”.
She credits her parents as role models. “My father used to work close to home while my mother worked far away. Although Mum did most of the domestic work, waking up early to get as much done as possible, Dad would be waiting for us after school and have dinner ready for when my mother got home.
“The idea that men get a free pass from chores is alien to me. It may have been different when I was a child but I think things are changing now. We expect more from our men because more is also expected from us.”
Soraya Kishtwari
Uganda
Hope Acio Manzi’s days are long. As a baker, wife and mother-of-two, she gets up at 4am to make porridge for the children and get them ready to leave for school by 6.30am. Then she divides her time between the bakery and domestic chores, preparing every meal, as well as doing the washing up and ironing. She falls into bed exhausted at about midnight.
On the days when she has special orders, she can be up for 24 hours straight, fitting childcare around her work handcrafting an elaborate multi-tiered wedding or birthday cake alongside the daily bakes for her walk-in-customers.
Despite this, Hope is the primary caregiver for their five-year-old Methuselah, and their two-year-old Katrina. The children return from school to more porridge and fruit and, later, dinner. “We do homework, take a walk, dinner at 7pm, and I put them to bed then return to my baking,” says Hope.
The only chore she doesn’t do is mopping the house, because of her caesarean scar and backache. For this, she has outside help.
Her husband, Patrick Manzi, works at a bus assembly plant many miles away in the capital, Kampala. He says he helps as much as he can. Hope relishes the days he is home because he helps bathe the children and do their homework.
“When my husband is home early, they know that shower time that day is with Daddy. He has [also] helped drop and assemble wedding cakes with me for the past four years, despite having his work,” she says.
In the past, she has tried to outsource childcare but saw that her children did better in her care. When they were much younger, she would carry them on her back while she worked. Now, she has moved from baking at home to working at her shop. “Working from home was tough; the children always thought it was Mummy time,” she says.
Patrick takes the children to any hospital appointments and helps with her business. He takes on the family’s biggest expenses; he bought the house, pays the children’s school and health insurance and does home renovations.
Hope pays for all the labour she outsources, and the water, electricity and estate maintenance bills. They split food bills. Much of her earnings go towards caring for her parents, seven siblings and extended family, which is normal for working-class Ugandans.
She would like to buy a fondant-making machine to reduce her workload, but they are expensive. Her wish is that all the hard work will pay off, and her children will remember that she was there for them whenever they needed her.
Caroline Ariba
Brazil
Beatriz Attilio, 30, has two children, a flock of chickens and a home with a garden. She works as a doula and breastfeeding consultant in Rio de Janeiro. “It’s a complicated balance – not really a balance at all,” she says.
Most of her day is taken up with chores and childcare, as her seven-year-old daughter, Sophia, and four-year-old son, Gael, spend only four hours a day at school (most Brazilian schools provide half days of teaching). Beatriz often ends up spending more time on domestic tasks than on her job as a doula, as the flexibility provided by working from home blurs the lines between her paid and unpaid work.
“It’s Sunday to Sunday, there’s no rest, there’s no break,” Beatriz says of her responsibilities.
She shares the burden with her partner of 12 years, Raffael Attilio. He is at home three days a week, although his job running a museum coffee shop requires him to work weekends.
“Women do more in the home, without a doubt,” says Raffael, 35. The couple have always communicated openly about sharing parental responsibilities, but both agree that the pandemic was decisive in bringing about real change in Raffael’s involvement in domestic work.
“Being at home day after day, he realised how much there is to do,” says Beatriz.
Now they divide chores and childcare more equally than any other couple they know – yet unevenness persists. “The legwork is quite balanced at home – anything that doesn’t require initiative,” says Beatriz. But “the mental work, thinking of everything that still needs to be done or not, that still lies with me”.
Raffael acknowledges this: “As much as we [men] try to do something, there is always a bigger weight on [the woman], societally.”
Constance Malleret
