The Labour of Love

FEATURE | MAHI

Written & illustrated by Tashi Donnelly (she/her) | @tashi_rd | Feature Editor

It’s easy for me to dwell on how capitalism has made work unsustainable for the health of humans. We aren’t designed for 40-hour work weeks. The unpaid domestic labour performed primarily by women is undervalued. The nuclear family dynamic strips us of community support. Staying informed on the latest studies and solutions to the world's problems is tiring work. I often feel I have little time to appreciate the mahi that matters to me. 

I clean my grandma’s house weekly. Dusting the shelves, decorated with photos of her four daughters and nine grandchildren, I look into the familiar faces of my whānau. She gives me updates on my young cousin's achievements, and I turn the ancient hoover on and off so I can hear her. The iPhone comes out, a piece of miracle technology for someone who grew up without a flushing toilet, and we lovingly awe at pictures and videos of school plays, award ceremonies, and craft projects. Filling buckets with hot soapy water, I catch her up on my artistic ventures. While I mop the floors, we discuss ‘when’s good’ to help with grocery shopping or running errands for my aunty, who’s ill and has two high-needs disabled children. She asks me about my work. I put all the rugs and chairs back in place. In one hour we’ve accomplished more than we expected. The wheels on our family unit turn smoothly for another week. 

Every December, my family start the preparations for Christmas. I loathe Christmas. I hate its capitalistic overtones and Coca-Cola’s red Santa. I hate that in Aotearoa, we celebrate it in the middle of summer when I already feel forced to be happy about sunshine and beaches. It makes more sense as a pick-me-up to the chilly misery of European winter. I resent how stressed-out people get about performing Christmas correctly, breaking the bank to ensure there are gifts under the plastic pine tree. My Grinch tendencies aside, every year, I watch my whānau achieve an amazing feat. Organising gifts, seating, food, and drinks for 20 people, plus whoever gets invited along. For many years, I’ve had friends or partners whose own family Christmases aren’t happy ones. They’ve attended mine and been treated to gifts and meals catered to their dietary requirements. They’ll often say, “This is so kind, you didn’t have to do all this”, to which my entire family would respond, “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re welcome any time!”, this standard of care is our bare minimum. 

Work doesn’t just keep food on my family's table and roofs over our heads; it keeps my family together interpersonally. Love isn’t just a feeling: it's an action. When I spend my time writing emails, editing, writing, and coordinating with clients, I count myself lucky to have a job I don’t hate. Picking up my cousin's prescription and driving my grandma to the doctor never feels like a chore. When members of my family ask me to help cook, drive, or clean, I am deeply fulfilled. It comes with the knowledge and security that, should I need it, I would be taken care of as effectively as I care for others. This is the kind of mahi that I cherish. The work ethic my family has instilled in me doesn’t involve bending over backwards for money or status. They taught me that the labour of love can create a sustainable interpersonal ecosystem. It branches out into my relationships outside of my family, so I’ve never felt bitter about helping someone in need.