Dubai

Ejo #27 – Distributing Food To Labourers and Construction Workers (Karama Kanteen Strikes Again!)

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The alarm went off at 9.00am and I groaned.  I’d only been in bed about an hour and it was already time to get up.  But I didn’t hit the snooze button.  I had somewhere to be.  Somewhere important.  I won’t lie and say I bounded out of bed, it was more like an oozing motion.  You see, I had finished work that morning at 7am and by the time I got home, showered and flopped into bed there was only enough time for a quick nap.  But still, I was charged up on the excitement of the day’s project (and the seven espressos I’d had during the night shift).

 

After a quick breakfast (and yet another espresso), David and I headed off to meet Roshni Raimalwala at her apartment.  Roshni is the woman and driving force behind Karama Kanteen, an initiative which strives to provide food and general assistance to the beleaguered men who build the foundation upon which we all live in Dubai.  The poorest, lowest class of citizens.  I’m talking about the construction workers and labourers.  Every single weekend, Roshni is out there at the labour camps, or neighbourhoods in which these men reside, handing out food which is donated by schools, companies or individuals.  Late last year David and I donated some food for Christmas hampers that were handed out during the festive period.  Unfortunately, we had been unable to co-ordinate time off to help distribute it.  This time around, we both had the weekend off and arranged to meet with Roshni to help give the food to the men ourselves.

 

When I published my Xmas ejo last year I asked for donations from readers so that we could, collectively, bring a small ray of light and hope (in the form of a hot meal) into the lives of a few over-worked, underpaid labourers.  Several, very generous, people contributed towards the cause and together we raised 4500dhs (equivalent to about AUD1135).  This was enough to provide a hot chicken biryani meal to 450 men.  That is amazing!

 

We got to Roshni’s apartment building a little early and had to wait a few minutes for her to arrive, but when she got there at about 10.20am she lit up the room with her energy and vitality.  Even after having attended a presentation in Sharjah at 5am earlier that morning she was dynamic and bouncing with enthusiasm.  Soon afterwards, several of the volunteers that Roshni had organised to assist with the day’s work also started arriving.  We met a lady who happened to be from Mulgrave in Melbourne (two suburbs away from my parent’s house – it sure is a small world).  Also helping out was an Italian catholic nun.  Yep!  Habit and all!  I must admit it was strange to see a nun in a Muslim country.  Certainly, it was a first for me.  Sister Agnes has been helping out with Karama Kanteen for a couple of years.  I got the chance to talk to her a little, and she was so sweet, warm and generous.  I hope to meet her again the next time we attend one of Karama Kanteen’s events.

 

After the other volunteers arrived we all drove to the restaurant where we were to buy the food for the day.  We loaded up the three cars with boxes of hot chicken biryani, mint sauce, pickles and crispy pappadums.  And then we set off for Sharjah, a convoy of delicious smelling vehicles.  It really did smell incredible, and my mouth was watering!  It felt great to know that we were giving out quality food that I would have liked to eat myself!!  Nothing but the best for our guys.

 

David helping to load the boxes of food.

All the volunteers loading the boxes into the cars.

 

When we arrived in Sharjah there was already a line of about 75 men, queuing up in anticipation.  They were all dressed very nicely in pants and brightly coloured shirts.  These guys work six days a week, 12-14 hours a day.  During these long work hours, they must wear coveralls (the colour depending on the company they work for) that remind me of the jumpsuits Death Row prisoners in America must wear.  And in a way, they both serve the same purpose – to dehumanise the person wearing them.  It was nice to see them in their off-duty clothes looking like regular guys.

 

The handout happened in a sandy square, dotted with a few trees and anchored by a huge boulder in the centre.  It was on this boulder that the volunteers started unpacking the boxes and preparing the food.  We all worked together to bring the different elements of the meal into one plastic bag to hand to the men.  Because David and I had organised this donation, the others were kind enough to allow us to hand out the food.  It was a lovely gesture because it really felt more personal, actually giving the food to each person ourselves.  What I found interesting was that after passing the bag to each man with the handles closed (to make it easier for him to take it), I realised that they would, almost without exception, open the bag to look inside.  So, after a while I started passing the bag to them open.  They seemed to like this better and the line moved quicker after that.  All the volunteers worked so well together, like a well-oiled machine, to make sure that everyone got their meal before it got cold.  It was so wonderful to be part of this great team, even for just one morning.

 

Sister Agnes helping to unpack the food on the large boulder in the square.

A long line of hungry guys.

 

Not all the men were able to express their gratitude but a great many of them looked me in the eye and thanked me with a shy smile, wishing me a good day.  It was these exchanges that really touched me and made the effort of what we were doing so worthwhile.  I wish that those of you who helped to finance this cause could have been there to help out with the distribution.   The feeling was incomparable.  But please let me just say thank you, from the men and from me, for your generosity and kindness.  Without you some of these men would have gone hungry.  I know that our contribution is just a drop in the ocean, but surely every single drop helps?

David finishing off the handout.

  After all the food was gone and we were packing up, I noticed a large group of men had gathered around Roshni.  They were asking for her help.  They needed assistance with medical problems, visas, looking for work or even perhaps repatriation back to their home countries.  In a way Roshni is indeed like an angel of mercy (though I’m pretty sure she’d hate to hear herself referred to in that way).  All of the men treated, and spoke to her, with a great deal of respect and reverence.  One man even trembled as he pulled out his passport to show her.  He was very nervous and the fact is that she is probably his absolute last hope for help.  What Roshni does each and every week is provide an incredible service to the neediest people in this country.  She steps in and does whatever she can, when the government and the rest of society just turns away.  It felt great to contribute just a small bit towards what she does every week, but more than that it actually felt like an honour.  

Roshni holding court - looking over paperwork, trying to help in whatever way she can.

 

I was so blown away by how much my friends and family from Australia and America contributed.  I mean, I am directly affected by these guys on a daily basis.  Their plight assaults me every day.  I kind of feel like I have no choice but to do something to help them.  But you guys, the ones that gave money, are thousands of miles away.  The labourers’ problem can only really be just an abstract notion, and you still found it in your hearts to dig deep and give.  I take my hat off to you all.  Not only that, most of you said that you’d do it all again the next time.  That has inspired me to organise an event like this once a year.  I will probably continue to personally contribute food to the labourers and workers of Dubai on a regular basis (albeit on a smaller scale) but I plan to make this larger donation an annual project.  So, expect me to nag you for more funds this time next year!!!  In the meantime, if anyone wants to just make a general contribution, it will always be welcome and I promise to always make sure that 100% of what you donate goes to the workers.

 

On that note I’ll leave you with a quote that Roshni signs all her emails off with.  “Life becomes harder for us when we live for others, but it also becomes richer and happier”.

Ejo #25 – Sheikh Zayed: The Father Of The United Arab Emirates

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Every day I drive to and from work on a freeway called Sheikh Zayed Road.  It’s a 16 lane behemoth, flanked on either side (in the downtown area) by the soaring skyscrapers that define the city’s skyline.  It’s a very impressive thoroughfare and so it should be, for it is named after a very impressive man.  That man is the topic of this month’s ejo.

 

Sheikh Zayed bin Sultan Al Nahyan is widely regarded as the father of the United Arab Emirates.  Before 1971, the country as we know it didn’t even exist.  The seven emirates that make up the country (Abu Dhabi, Dubai, Sharjah, Ajman, Fujairah, Umm Al Quwain and Ras Al Khaimah) were then collectively known as The Trucial States.  They were called that because in 1820 they all signed a treaty with Britain, called the Perpetual Maritime Truce.  In layman’s terms, the treaty gave Britain exclusive rights in the region in exchange for protection against external threats, particularly from Europe.  England allowed the emirates to rule themselves but oversaw governance – which involved, amongst other things, arbitrating the frequent disputes between the sheikhs.

 

Almost 150 years later, in 1968, England announced that they planned to withdraw from the region and Sheikh Zayed (ruler of Abu Dhabi at the time), sensing an opportunity to form a coalition with the other emirates, proposed to them that they unite to become an independent country.  Of course, now it seems obvious that they would do so.  But at the time, this idea was revolutionary.  The states may have agreed to form a trucial union way back in 1820 as a British protectorate, but the ruling Sheikhs of 1968 were prone to disputes, and in particular Abu Dhabi and Dubai had clashed a number of times.  They weren’t exactly on friendly terms.  In addition to this obstacle, some of the other states (namely Bahrain and Qatar) had plans for their own independence and wanted no part of Sheikh Zayed’s preposterous idea.

 

However, such was the Sheikh’s conviction that unity would provide strength, that he diplomatically persisted for three years until he convinced the others to sign on.  On 2nd December 1971 six of the emirates signed an agreement to form the country the United Arab Emirates.  A few months later, Ras Al Khaimah joined them and the country as we know it was born.  Last year marked the 40th birthday of the UAE (an excellent vintage, if I do say so myself)!  Now, if you think the USA puts on a good show for their Independence Day (4th July) celebrations, you ain’t seen nothing!  The citizens of the UAE are not just proud of their country, they absolutely adore it.  The National Day celebrations each year are bigger than anything else on the social calendar, including New Year’s Eve.  Emiratis, and expats alike, adorn their cars with the national colours of red, white, black and green.  Ribbons, stickers, flags, paint (yes, people paint their cars) and streamers.  They fill the streets, covering everything with glitter and silly string.  They sing, they dance, they do cartwheels.  They beep their car horns and shriek with glee.  There are parades and concerts and fireworks.  It’s quite something to behold and you really can’t help getting caught up, not just in the excitement but also the great sense of national pride.  And of course the undisputed hero of National Day is the man that made it all happen, Sheikh Zayed.

 

National Day car decorations

 

Zayed was born in 1918 into Abu Dhabi’s ruling family.  When he was ten years old his father died, leaving Zayed’s older brother Shakhbut ruler of the emirate.  Back then the entire region was poor and underdeveloped – oil hadn’t been discovered yet and the economy relied heavily on pearling and fishing, which provided scant income.

 

Zayed spent most of his youth in Al Ain (a desert oasis outpost), hanging out with his Bedouin tribesmen.  They taught him their way of life, skills and traditions – a love of which stayed with him for the rest of his life.  In fact even after he became very powerful he preferred to spend time with the Bedouin rather than with people of his own status.  It was in the desert that he felt most comfortable, and it was there that he was taught, and became passionate, about hunting and falconry (though when he was 25 he famously gave up rifle hunting to set an example for wildlife conservation – another of his passions).

 

When Zayed was 28 his brother appointed him ruler of Al Ain and his political life was born.  He started travelling extensively, particularly throughout the Middle East, Europe and the USA and it was on these travels that he noticed the high standard of education and health care available in the more developed countries.  He saw how large the divide was between the Trucial States and the rest of the world, and he believed that it was imperative to bridge that gap.  Unfortunately, as long as his brother Shakhbut was in charge, Zayed’s hands were tied and he was unable to effect any change.

 

When oil was discovered in 1958 things started to look up economically.  Sheikh Shakhbut, however, was a frugal and cautious leader accustomed to a more austere lifestyle in keeping with Abu Dhabi’s historically hard times.  Members of the ruling family became unhappy with how slowly he was progressing with oil exploration and development and in 1966, with Britain’s backing, they decided to oust him and appoint Sheikh Zayed as new ruler of Abu Dhabi.  Zayed took to the role as though born to it.  Using his own funds, he immediately set about making many changes and improving the emirate – developing housing, schools, hospitals.  Later on when the oil money started pouring in he spent it on ports, roads, an airport and other infrastructure.  He also began a lifelong project of conservation, responsible for the planting of millions of trees throughout Abu Dhabi (becoming known in the process as “The Man Who Turned The Desert Green”).

 

After taking power, he also realised that for Abu Dhabi to truly prosper it would need to co-operate and join forces with its neighbours.  And when Britain declared its withdrawal from the area his vision for the UAE was ignited.  At a time when the Sheikhs of the other emirates were looking at how they could gain advantage over each other, Zayed was looking at a bigger picture.  He saw that if they got together they could achieve much more than if they remained separate entities and just a few short years later, his vision became a reality and the country experienced unbelievable growth (bolstered of course by the discovery that Abu Dhabi sat atop nearly 11% of the world’s natural oil reserves).

 

When the UAE came into existence in 1971, Sheikh Zayed was naturally elected President.  He continued to be re-elected, and serve as ruler of the country, until his death in 2004.

 

Sheikh Zayed in the desert wearing traditional Bedouin clothing

 

When he died at the age of 86, the entire nation went into deep mourning.  They were shattered.  They had lost not just their leader but their father.  And Zayed loved his people in the same way.  He was once asked in an interview why he donated land and housing to his people, why he gave them free utilities, education, health care and many other advantages.  To paraphrase, his response was, “Don’t you feed your children?  Don’t you put a roof over their heads, put them in school and take care of them when they’re sick?  That’s all I’m doing too – I’m taking care of my children.”  His vision of the UAE as a powerful force in the world wasn’t restricted to economics, or finance, or oil.  He wanted his people to be educated and healthy so that they could in turn contribute to their country, and to the world.  Idealistic?  Perhaps.  But it was these ideals that made him one of the most adored rulers in history.

 

Why was he so loved?  The basic answer is that he took care of his people.  But it goes much deeper than that.  He actually loved them, and no matter how powerful he became he never presented himself as being better than anyone else.  He remained accessible.  He prayed in the mosques with the common men, he sat and drank tea with the Bedouin, and if someone approached him in the street with a gripe he would listen.  And yes, he would walk the streets.  The idea of locking himself up in a palace didn’t appeal to him.  Even after he’d amassed a personal fortune of over USD20 billion it wasn’t in his nature to act the privileged Sheikh.  To the end he remained within reach and open to his people.

 

Perhaps what made Sheikh Zayed different was that he understood he was lucky, and he generously shared his wealth, not just with the citizens of the UAE, but with other countries in need.  He donated fantastic sums of money to charities and causes around the world.  He was also famously moderate in his views, believing in and encouraging women’s rights in the workforce.  And even though he was devoutly Muslim, he was open-minded enough to allow the building of temples and churches in the UAE.  This was something that more conservative Muslim countries such as Iran and Saudi Arabia thought was outrageous.  But Sheikh Zayed firmly believed that tolerance, not tyranny was the right way to govern.  His intelligence and perspicacity made him a visionary leader.  His warmth and wisdom and approachability made him a loved one.  Sheikh Zayed was considered the country’s national treasure, and today the UAE is a living memorial to his greatness.

 

The friendly and wise Sheikh Zayed

 

I have developed a deep respect and love for the father of my adopted home.  Every day when I drive past his enormous memorial poster on Sheikh Zayed Road, I look up and think about what kind of man he was, I think about everything that he achieved, and how to this day I have not heard one bad word said about him.  There seems to be something almost magical about Sheikh Zayed.  And every day, his warm eyes and wise countenance look down upon me and it feels as though, even though he’s now long gone, somehow he’s still watching and looking over all his children.

Ejo #24 – Christmas In Dubai (And How We Can Help The Construction Workers Just A Little Bit)

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Well, this is my twelfth ejo for the year, which means I have achieved my goal of writing an ejo a month.  Taking my cue from a lovely friend who set herself nine goals in 2009, I specified 11 things that I wanted to accomplish in 2011 and this marks one of them as completed!  I am so pleased with how motivated I’ve been to finish my goals that I will definitely continue it next year and beyond (though I imagine that 45 goals in 2045 won’t be nearly as much fun as 12 for 2012, or 13 for 2013)!

 

I’m lucky enough to live and work in a country that provides me with a great deal of fodder and I’m never at a loss about what to write about next.  This month I have chosen to write in a little more detail about the men who have created the amazing city David and I live in.  I’m not talking about the Sheikhs who run it, and I’m not talking about the architects who designed it.  I refer to the hundreds of thousands of Indian, Pakistani and Bangladeshi men who, day by day, brick by metaphorical brick, have built this city from a handful of low-rise buildings scattered across the desert thirty years ago, to the skyscraper filled metropolis of today.  I am talking about the construction workers and labourers.

 

Construction workers being herded onto their bus

Before I get into that though, I’ll briefly touch on what at first may seem like a completely unrelated topic.  Me.

 

I am not ashamed to admit that I have suffered depression exactly twice in my life.  I don’t have a predilection for it, unless you count my melancholic teenage years when I would lock myself in my room for hours on end, writing awful poetry and listening to George Michael’s “Careless Whisper” on repeat (c’mon, it was the eighties!).

 

The first time I experienced real depression was when my Dad became ill and died of lung cancer.  It knocked me sideways.  Forcefully.  I sought medical help and, slowly, I climbed out of the depths of despair that I’d fallen into and back into a normal life.

 

The second time was when David and I moved to Dubai.  You might remember that, initially, I wasn’t offered an ATC job as promised, and this gave me a great deal of professional anxiety.  Would I work as an ATC again?  Who the hell was I, if I wasn’t an Air Traffic Controller?  Also, even though I loved living in Dubai, I found it a cold and indifferent place.  I didn’t make many friends and started feeling that there was something wrong with me.  My self-confidence crumbled.  I hadn’t realised how important the support network of all my friends and family back home was.  And without that support, I floundered.  I forgot who I was.  In addition to all this, I found the obscenely large divide between the ‘haves’ and ‘have-nots’ of Dubai a constant slap in the face – this alone would be enough to distress even the hardiest of optimists.

 

There were two things that helped me get out of my Dubai depression.  The first is a woman called Zimmy Khan, a clinical hypnotist and theta healer, who in just a few sessions stripped away all the fear and doubt and negativity I’d accumulated, leaving behind the person I’d been when we first moved here (someone I’d actually feared was gone forever – that’s what depression can do to you).  Even though I am perfectly OK now I still see her every couple of months to make sure that I stay that way.  I can honestly say that she totally changed my life for the better and I would recommend her to anyone going through any kind of crisis, big or small.

 

The other thing that helped lift me out of my doldrums was the labourers that work outside our apartment building (Ejo #3).  How could they possibly help, you wonder?  Well, they didn’t exactly come up to the apartment and make me cups of tea while we chatted about what was getting me down.  No, they helped me in another way.  By smiling.  In 48ºC heat, sweltering in their yellow, full-body jumpsuits, big heavy boots and protective helmets, whenever they spotted my car they would cheerfully smile, salute, jump up and down, and wave.  Our neighbours, who we’ve lived next door to for three years, can’t even muster up the courtesy to respond when we say hello (let alone smile when they see us).  Literally, they ignore us when we say hello!  But these labourers, whose lives are crappier than our neighbours’ by a factor of about a billion, act as if we’re Bollywood superstars whenever they see us.

 

What have we done to deserve such fanfare?  Not much.  From time to time during summer, when we were out shopping for groceries, we would pick up a few extra bottles of fruit juice and hand them out to the guys when we got home.  That’s it.  In fact, I don’t think it’s the juice that they appreciated so much as the fact that we noticed them and treated them like regular people.  To us, unlike many others, they are not just part of the infrastructure.  To us, these guys are human beings who simply have the misfortune of being born into a life so crappy that the best option for them is to leave their home and come to work here.  And to put into perspective how bad that life must be, the average monthly wage of a labourer in Dubai is about 800dhs (~ AUD215).  To earn that, they must work outdoors for 12-14 hours a day, 6 days a week, 52 weeks a year – for three years.  And then they reach their use-by date and get sent home.

 

Because they get paid so little they are forced to live in the labour camps outside the city.  They are housed a dozen men to a room.  There’s no air-conditioning or heating (and yes, it does actually get cold at night in winter) and sometimes there’s not even running water.  The conditions are abysmal.  Even worse than this, these men are deemed sub-human by almost everyone.  It’s absolutely disgusting and shameful.  And whilst it’s the construction companies that mistreat and underpay them, I personally blame the government for allowing it to happen.  It’s not as if they’re illegal workers.  The government allows them into the country on work visas.  But once they’re here, they aren’t allowed to form unions, they aren’t offered any wage protection or even minimum conditions of service.

 

And it’s the rulers of Dubai who benefit from these men the most.  It’s the shiny, glittering buildings that attract the tourists – and tourism, not oil, is where the government makes most of its money.  The men that build these amazing skyscrapers and towers almost never see the inside of them once they’re completed.  Referred to as “bachelors”, they are considered the lowest class of citizens in the UAE.  What pisses me off the most is that without them, Dubai would still be a dull, desert village that virtually no-one had heard of.  There would be no Palm Jumeirah.  There would be no Burj Khalifa.  The city shows no gratitude, no respect and no acknowledgement of what they’ve done or what they continue to do.  So when David and I occasionally get them a drink to quench their thirst on a hot day, they are thankful not only for the cold drink but also for the gratitude and respect that we show them.  They are thankful for the mere fact that we acknowledge their existence.

 

These guys (and their cheerful smiles) forced me to put my own angst into perspective.  I have an (air-conditioned) roof over my head and I live a very comfortable life.  They live like animals, get paid a pittance (most of which they send back home to their families), and for them a treat is going to the movies twice a year.  And these guys SMILE at ME!  Their predicament strikes very close to my heart.  My father was a labourer so it’s very easy for me to put him (or even myself) in their shoes.  And to be honest, I don’t know if I would have the same strength and fortitude that they do.  So, sometimes, when they smile at me it almost makes me want to cry.

 

I’ve thought long and hard about where these smiles could possibly spring from.  The simple explanation is that the human spirit is incredibly strong.  Even under the harshest of circumstances, it will not break.  My problems are trivial in comparison to what these guys face every day.  Putting that into perspective certainly helped me conquer my own demons.  But feeling better as a result of comparing my life to someone’s less fortunate isn’t really enough.  I realised that if I could do something to actually help them, it would make me feel better still.  I didn’t want to ignore the issue, as so many others here do (because it’s so easy to do).  I didn’t want to be complicit with the problem, or contribute to it by turning a blind eye.

 

Recently, I got in touch with a woman called Roshni Raimalwala who runs an organisation called Karama Kanteen.   Roshni accepts donations of food, clothing and other goods from schools, companies and individuals, and she organises volunteers to distribute these to the labourers at the camps – often providing between 200-500 labourers a week with a hot meal.  This month she has distributed Christmas hampers to 1500 workers.  In November I bought food to provide 200 labourers with a meal.  I can’t tell you how good that made me feel.  Amazing, actually.  One of my twelve goals for 2012 will be to do this on a regular basis.

 

Karama Kanteen's Xmas hamper distribution

 

With Zimmy’s help, and by learning from my worker friends that I can be happy regardless of what the world throws at me, I am now mindfully grateful for what I have.  And I worry far less about what I don’t have.  I am hoping that, during this holiday season, you too are grateful for everything that you have.  In fact, I’m hoping that you are so grateful you’ll also consider donating to this cause.  Even just $5 will buy a couple of hot meals.  I’m not growing a moustache, running a race or even wearing a red nose to raise money.  I’m just asking, and hoping that out of the very goodness of your hearts (and that’s all it would be as it’s not tax deductible), you’ll want to do something, give something, to help make a fellow human being’s day just a little bit better.  A little less bleak.  After all Christmas is a time for giving.  Of course it feels good to give to your loved ones.  What I’ve found is that it feels even better to give to those truly in need.  If you’re interested, please let me know and we can sort out a way to transfer the money.  I’ll make sure every cent/fil goes towards food and clothing for the workers.

 

To finish, I’d like you to meet Najimasker.  He’s a 34 year old Pakistani who’s been in Dubai for two years.  He’s a little guy with an enormous heart and even though we have nothing in common (and probably wouldn’t have anything to talk about, even if we were to sit down for  cup of tea) I consider him my friend.  He brightens up my day, and it is my sincere hope that I do the same for him.  That’s what friendship is about, right?

 

My friend Najimasker

 

Merry Xmas everyone.