The Bangla cleaner

Rehna left the UAE last week. Forever. She returned to her 8-year-old daughter and farmer husband fending for themselves in a village that is a 3-hour bus ride from Dhaka. She will now lead the cloistered life of a Bangla Muslim as opposed to her life here, running from house to house by the hour vaccuming homes and scrubbing bathtubs and what not.
Judging from the timing of her departure, one can assume that she made use of the amnesty programme for visa defaulters that allowed them a safe passage home with embassies and expat associations aiding them in settling bills or buying a flight ticket. Though she claimed she worked on a visa she bought off a local (which comes at a hefty price for poor women like Rehna), she was probably working illegally like many other Bangla - and some Sri Lankan - women scurrying  around the residential areas of Sharjah in their black robes, rexin bags and cheap sandals often looking at you in the hope of another part-time employment. Many Arab housewives and some South Asians employ them on a regular basis because as Rehna said, A**i log sirf khhate hein sothe hein and need someone to do the dirty tedious chores.
She came to me first as a chimney cleaner sent by the watchman; she apparently had received some professional training in housekeeping before coming to the Gulf. I called her Rihanna for a while,  going by her accented pronunciation of her name. What a cool name, I thought.
To me she was a luxury I dared to afford once a month or in two-three months. When she left each time, the house would be sparkling clean because she would have dusted every nook and cranny and shifted heavy sofas to vaccum dust underneath them. Mirrors, chimneys and window panes shone once she was done with her chore. She was nothing like the maids I was used to in India. She talked little except when asked and expected no refreshments except a glass of water. Her chubby face and tiny frame exuded tremendous energy as she worked, and in the  two years I knew her I grew to trust her around the house.
I think I am going to miss her, and this write-up is a small tribute to the young (cant be more than 30) gutsy woman from a somewhat hostile neighbouring country I am not likely to see again.