I keep seeing this picture and people being oh so impressed by it acting like Dubaiâs Sheikhs are miracle workers or some shit. And all that skyline does is make me want to throw up. Do you understand how all of this was built?
âŚand then there is the foreign underclass who built the city, and are trapped here. They are hidden in plain view. You see them everywhere, in dirt-caked blue uniforms, being shouted at by their superiors, like a chain gang â but you are trained not to look. It is like a mantra: the Sheikh built the city. The Sheikh built the city. Workers? What workers?
Sahinal Monir, a slim 24-year-old from the deltas of Bangladesh. âTo get you here, they tell you Dubai is heaven. Then you get here and realise it is hell,â he says. Four years ago, an employment agent arrived in Sahinalâs village in Southern Bangladesh. He told the men of the village that there was a place where they could earn 40,000 takka a month (ÂŁ400) just for working nine-to-five on construction projects. It was a place where they would be given great accommodation, great food, and treated well. All they had to do was pay an up-front fee of 220,000 takka (ÂŁ2,300) for the work visa â a fee theyâd pay off in the first six months, easy. So Sahinal sold his family land, and took out a loan from the local lender, to head to this paradise.
As soon as he arrived at Dubai airport, his passport was taken from him by his construction company. He has not seen it since. He was told brusquely that from now on he would be working 14-hour days in the desert heat â where western tourists are advised not to stay outside for even five minutes in summer, when it hits 55 degrees â for 500 dirhams a month (ÂŁ90), less than a quarter of the wage he was promised. If you donât like it, the company told him, go home. âBut how can I go home? You have my passport, and I have no money for the ticket,â he said. âWell, then youâd better get to work,â they replied.
He shows me his room. It is a tiny, poky, concrete cell with triple-decker bunk-beds, where he lives with 11 other men. All his belongings are piled onto his bunk: three shirts, a spare pair of trousers, and a cellphone. The room stinks, because the lavatories in the corner of the camp â holes in the ground â are backed up with excrement and clouds of black flies. There is no air conditioning or fans, so the heat is âunbearable. You cannot sleep. All you do is sweat and scratch all night.â At the height of summer, people sleep on the floor, on the roof, anywhere where they can pray for a moment of breeze.
 âThereâs a huge number of suicides in the camps and on the construction sites, but theyâre not reported. Theyâre described as âaccidentsâ.â Even then, their families arenât free: they simply inherit the debts. A Human Rights Watch study found there is a âcover-up of the true extentâ of deaths from heat exhaustion, overwork and suicide, but the Indian consulate registered 971 deaths of their nationals in 2005 alone. After this figure was leaked, the consulates were told to stop counting.
