In praise of the ‘other mother’ who raised us

In South Africa, where family structures reflect the nation’s complex history, the term “mother” extends far beyond biological ties. For many, Mother’s Day isn’t just about honouring the women who gave birth to us, but celebrating those who have nurtured us along the way – the nannies, domestic workers, and caregivers who stepped into our homes to help raise our children, often staying for decades.

In many Jewish households across South Africa, where dual-income parents navigate demanding schedules, domestic workers often play roles that extend far beyond basic employment. They become co-parents, trusted caregivers who bridge cultural divides and form lasting emotional bonds with the families they support. It’s a uniquely South African dynamic, where the lines between work and family blur, leaving a lasting legacy in many adult lives.

Professor Yael Kadish, the head of psychology at Tara Moross Academic Hospital, says, “The role of domestic workers in South Africa is complex. These women typically become part of the family and by extension, the parental system.”

For 32-year-old Benjamin Schaimberg, the impact was foundational. After losing his father at the age of nine, Schaimberg reflects, “I was so lucky to be raised by two mothers. My biological mother taught me compassion, while my Tswana mother taught me consequences. She was strict; she took no nonsense.”

Connie Moguase, known to the Schaimberg family as “Mama Connie”, was a Tswana woman from Rustenburg who spent more than 20 years working in their home, helping to raise Benjamin and his two siblings. “She was part of my family before I even was,” he recalls. “She bathed me, fed me, did everything a mother would do. As a child, I didn’t realise she was employed by my parents. That understanding only came later.”

Her presence was woven into the fabric of his daily life and formed some of the best of his childhood memories. “No birthday of mine was complete without her singing ‘Ugele gule’ in Tswana, which was every year until my 18th birthday!”

Mama Connie also helped him develop cultural fluency. “She taught me Tswana, and today, my understanding of the language has opened doors for me both in my studies and my career, especially in a multicultural city like Johannesburg. It also offered me a secret insight into some hilarious conversations,” he says.

Julie Leibowitz shares a similar experience with the woman who helped raise her. “I was raised by a wonderful woman, Elsie Setsedi. My mother had a busy life as a political activist and intellectual. That’s where Elsie came in – she was a master organiser and creative caregiver. My mother often said that if Elsie hadn’t grown up during apartheid’s darkest days, she would have been running a corporation.”

Elsie was an irreplaceable part of the Gordon (Leibowitz’s maiden name) family from the early 1970s until her retirement in 2001. “I remember her cheerful, booming ‘Tsoga!’ as she shook our duvets in the morning to wake us up for school, her toasted cheese sandwiches, and the radio playing in the kitchen. She made our house a home, and I’m forever grateful to her,” Leibowitz says.

While these stories reflect privilege, they also shed light on the sacrifices many of these women have had to make. For many in this line of work, the journey is one of hardship and hope.

Forty-year-old “Abigael”, who asked to remain anonymous, said that leaving Zimbabwe in 2013 to find work in Johannesburg also meant leaving behind her then three-year-old son, who has a heart condition. “Leaving him was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,” she said.

Today, her sacrifice is paying off with her teenage son thriving at boarding school in Zimbabwe. Meanwhile, Abigael has poured her heart into raising two boys alongside her second son, born in the home where she works. “I love my job. Raising these kids feels like therapy for me. It reminds me that if I do good, good things will come to me,” she says.

“In South Africa it’s comparatively affordable to have a live-in daily domestic worker, so the children have almost uninterrupted access to these women, bolstering a child’s sense of security and healthy attachment,” Kadish says.

“For these women, however, the job may exact a heavy toll. In giving of themselves emotionally and psychologically to a family that isn’t in fact their own, they are completely personally invested in their jobs. Termination of their employment, which may be sudden or acrimonious, will be a tremendous loss for them, not only financially but in every part of their lives. This isn’t always acknowledged sufficiently by employers or handled in the most compassionate way.”

Priscilla Mahloana from Limpopo, describes the bond she shares with the children she raises as “a blessing”. Now 48, Priscilla has spent the past eight years caring for two children, including a little girl she has raised from birth. “I have two adult sons of my own, but raising this daughter is special. She’s like my own child. I carried her on my back when she was a baby, and now she comes to me when she’s sad to seek comfort in my arms,” she says.

Priscilla and the young girl share a rhythm in their days, from doing homework together, to singing songs and learning to count in Pedi. “We may come from different cultures, but love doesn’t care about that. Love makes a mother,” she says.

We honour and celebrate women like Mama Connie, Elsie, Priscilla, and Abigael, women who remind us that motherhood is defined by love, presence, and care. They provide more than just comfort, routine, and support in homes where parents are stretched; they are central figures in family life, who anchor our children, shape their values, and nurture their growth. Their contribution deserves recognition and the deepest respect.