By Isabel T. Escoda

One night recently, a Filipina friend on an outlying island in Hong Kong where I live telephoned me. In low tones, Lita (not her real name) asked, “Can you help me with homework for my kid?”

Lita referred to her employer’s 12-year-old daughter Meiling (not her real name) whom she has cared for since the girl was a baby. She called me, knowing that I teach English. After she read me questions from the text, I helped as best I could.

Then I asked why the child didn’t ask her parents to help. They must know some English. The mother works in a bank and the father in a commercial firm.

“Meiling doesn’t want her mother to know because she keeps getting scolded for not knowing her lessons,” Lita said. “Yesterday when she didn’t feel well enough to go to school, her mother entered our room and shouted at her to get up from bed. When she wouldn’t, the mother pulled the girl’s hand and bit the fingers hard. I yelled at her to stop, but she kept abusing the kid. The woman has high blood pressure.”

Often Lita has told me about her female employer’s cruel treatment of the elder daughter. Essentially, Lita has become like a mother to Meiling and a younger sister, age nine, who somehow escapes similar punishment.

For 11 years, Lita has stayed with the family, despite still earning the minimum wage. She lives with the two girls on a first floor, and the parents use the second floor. The girls eat meals downstairs with Lita and share a bedroom with her. Their parents, who are served meals and sleep upstairs, have little contact with their children.

Once Lita told me that Meiling had a bad cold and wanted to stay home from school, but her mother accused her of malingering and insisted she go. By mid-morning, the school’s staff phoned to say that Meiling was ill, and Lita went to fetch her.

The mother’s lack of maternal feelings (the father has nothing to do with his daughters’ upbringing) no longer appalls Lita. She’s the one who takes Meiling to doctors and supervises her medication. Not surprisingly, the child has chronic asthma, an ailment often psychosomatic in origin.

In Hong Kong, Filipina nannies routinely raise their employers’ children and serve as surrogate mothers. The vital role of migrant women is seldom acknowledged or appreciated.

Psychologists know the harm done to children by unloving, pushy parents. Meiling threatens to run away and sometimes bangs her head on a wall, saying she wants to die.

The nannies, usually with their own children in the Philippines, aren’t trained to cope with youngsters’ psychological problems. They can resort to comforting and cajoling, which is what Lita does. She’s heard of laws against child abuse, but doesn’t know what to do.

Lita seldom takes her full 24 hours off each Sunday because Meiling begs her to stay as her parents sleep late. Once Lita finally departs to attend Mass and meet friends, her cellphone rings steadily as Meiling asks her to return early. When Lita goes home to the Philippines on leave, Meiling cries bitterly.

Newspapers recently mentioned a mental-health program to train Hong Kong teachers to help students to cope with depression and suicidal tendencies. Parents may need the training more.

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