By Etienne Mainimo Mengnjo
Behind the untouched walls and manicured gardens of Yaoundé’s wealthiest homes, a silent, pervasive sorrow weighs on the hearts of house helps whose daily work keeps these households immaculate.
For years, the suffering of these workers, often isolated and vulnerable, has been shielded by the very doors that appear to offer them opportunity and refuge.
According to these house helps, the common perception of life in an elite residence is often far from the reality experienced by domestic staff. Their silent cry for help is often muffled by the imposing walls of their employers’ compounds.
“Marie Claire” (a penname to protect her identity) worked as a domestic worker for a prominent, high-profile figure in Yaoundé. After years of service, she feels she has seen the darker side of life.
“Life behind these walls is not what people think,” she stated. “It’s been a living hell. I was only paid FCFA 25,000 a month as my salary. I know many will not believe me.”
Marie Claire adds a sobering warning to those who admire the opulence: “Do not let these walls deceive you. These prominent people are not the benevolent figures we imagine. They mistreat their house helps, but because they are highly placed, no one listens to us. Given the power imbalance, it is often better to remain silent and simply accept the minimal wage to survive.”
Another former domestic worker, who also requested anonymity, recounted her departure from her employer’s home, stating she could no longer endure the injustice and the “unbearable” salary. She highlighted the emotional toll of the job.
“The silent cry that domestic worker endure at the hands of these elites—who often present a smiling face to the outside world—is simply unbearable,” she narrated.
A gatekeeper working in the same circle confirmed the widespread exploitation. “What more can I say? The truth is that many of these domestic workers, from the gate man to the drivers and house helps, are genuinely suffering. The salaries provided are truly minimal,” he admitted.
For many workers, speaking out is not an option. They prefer to stay in “silence because the injustice is always very unbearable, yet no one can talk because the ‘big people’ are protected.”
However, the experience is not universally negative. Another woman shared a contrasting perspective, stressing that some elites maintain their humanity.
“I worked as a domestic worker in an elite home for over 15 years, and I was treated very well,” she said. “Even though the salary was not the best, the respect and care they gave me made me feel so special.”
She acknowledges the widespread complaints but urges a more balanced view. “When I listen to other house helps, I feel disappointed because their testimonies are not good. I have seen and heard their stories. But I must also say we need to look at it from another point: some of these house helps are also not being honest about their own conduct.”
To city dwellers there is need for these house helps to speak out. The disparity in experiences highlights a complex social issue where exploitation thrives in isolation, yet the entire class of employers cannot be painted with the same brush. The stories from behind the pristine walls compel society to look deeper into the silent contracts that govern the lives of Yaoundé’s essential, yet invisible, workforce.
Legally, domestic workers are classified as employees under the Labour Code and are entitled to the national minimum wage. Though the wage was recently revised to approximately FCFA 41,875 to FCFA 43,969 per month (2023/2024 figures), the wage provides little comfort.
Across Yaoundé, many citizens argue that this minimum is a “survival wage,” not a “living wage,” stressing that it is fundamentally inadequate to cope with the skyrocketing cost of housing, food, and transport in the capital and other major urban centers.
