I think therefore I write.
I haven't written in this blog for a long time. In fact, it was the end of my Spring semester at Camosun College when I last wrote an entry. An immense amount of things have happened in my life since then, whether important or not, I'm spending this entry reflecting on my Christmas in Qatar.
Man, it was good to back. I feel at home every time I step out of Doha International; the warm and humid breeze, the bright lights of the city, nice cars, the occasional serious waft of body odour, and the symphony of car-horns echoing in the distance.
I don't know what it is about Qatar that makes me love it so much.
Maybe it's how everything you need (food and cigarettes) is so cheap? Maybe it's the adrenaline rush when circling a roundabout overcrowded by 30 Indians driving Arrawis and Hiluxes who would rather stare at the white kid in the Landcruiser than pay attention to the Mercedes they just rear-ended? Maybe it's the hospitality of your old friends and the overwhelming feel of nostalgia? Maybe it's because home is where the heart is and heart is where the family is? Maybe it's flipping your quad-bike down a dune on two separate occasions and only losing a shoe? Maybe it's finding the acquaintance of people from thousands of miles away, whose first language is not your own, and realising that they could easily become one of your best friends if your visits weren't temporary?
I would say it's all of that and more.
However, there is one thing that sticks out strongly in my memory for this visit and hopefully it just might serve as a little food for thought.
It was Christmas eve, my Mother and her good friend (our Dutch neighbour) were seriously excited for a special event they had planned for the evening. They had been talking about all about this party they were going to throw at our compound's clubhouse, on Christmas eve, for the past week. They had gone around for the past 3 weeks collecting money to fund the party; decorations, exceptional catered food, drinks, gifts and presents, the works. Some members of our compound were sightly belligerent or just hesitant in donating money while others leaped at the idea. Some friends and I spent the latter-half of the afternoon and my evening helping these ecstatic women write cards, make over 30 party gift bags, and set up balloons and decorations all over the poolside of the clubhouse.
8 o'clock rolled around and the party had started. The thing was, not a single resident of our compound was attending this particular party, as my Mother and her friend had organized it for the compound staff.
I'm going to give the people who haven't lived in the less-regulated countries a little background information. Qatar has a population of roughly one-million people. About 20-30% of the population is Qatari while the rest are expatriate workers who have a temporary work visa in the country (there is no immigration policy, you can't). These expatriate workers are 80-90% Pakistani, Indian, Sri-Lankan, Filipino, or Nepalese. These nationalities are brought into the country to do the jobs that the Qataris and oil workers don't. Be it cleaning, garbageman, receptionist, or a personal trainer. They are brought into the country usually under false promises of exceptional wages and benefits and are paid incredibly little upon becoming established in the country. Once in the country, they don't have the capital to pay for their expensive flight home upon learning their dream job became a nightmare. They are paid usually between 500-1500 Riyal (3.44 Riyal to $1 CAN) per month depending on their nationalities and job. The lucky workers in our compound get to live beneath the clubhouse where their bunks are set-up, the unlucky ones like our gardeners, security guards, and garbagemen live in labour camps set-up out of the city. No air-conditioning, small mattress on the ground, tin walls. They are bused in every morning at around 5AM to start working a 10-12 hour shift. The little money they make, they send home to their families. All the wealthy expatriates (the ones who live in these compounds) are aware of all of this and for the most part turn a blind eye. Some even try to mimic the Qataris and pay their personal maids and workers as little as they can. These people lead a horrible life for the time that they spend in Doha and are instantly forgotten as they leave the country. The Arabs and the wealthy treat them like lesser human beings, not only with completely disrespect but with physical abuse on a regular basis. My father once said that "The Middle-East is built on the backs of those less-fortunate" and he is, I am sad to say, right.
My Mom and her friend took up organizing this party for the workers when one of them came knocking at our villa door early in December. They were looking for small donations for a Christmas party they were trying to organize for themselves that had been approved by management. My mom asked to see their budget and what money they had to work with and upon learning how little they had and how little they were asking for, decided to take this into her own hands. My mother and her friend had collected and donated themselves such a substantial amount of money that the party was fit for kings. Every one of the 35+ gift bags had a bottle of aftershave, candy, and a signed Christmas letter with a 50 riyal-note inside.
Halfway through their party, our family and the Dutch family walked over to shake all of their hands, wish them a merry Christmas and a happy new year, and give them their gift-bags. As we entered the clubhouse and they began to notice us pour in, they all went quiet and stood up. They were apparently very uncomfortable to eat around us and enjoy themselves, as if they still had to maintain a very respectable and professional environment when we were present. We tried to sit them down, talk and joke with them, and encourage them to have some fun but to not much avail. This is how much these people are oppressed. So we came in, shook their hands, spent about 10 minutes chatting with them, gave them their gift bags, and left. We didn't want to stay too long because we wanted them to enjoy themselves. They had huge smiles on their faces and wouldn't stop thanking us. As we gave them their gift bags and they began opening them, some even began to cry.
To know that someone finally noticed them, appreciated them, and treated them like real people broke my heart. It also made me feel really good inside. I can only imagine how they felt.
Moments like this really help to ground you. I know that I can be very selfish and material-oriented at times and I need a little nudge to remember what I have. I have my family, a strong roof over my head, and a stomach full of shawarma. For the first time, I had really learned in my own personal way what Christmas was all about; family, the spirit of giving, and aiding those who are less fortunate.
I really hope everybody enjoyed their Christmas and new year. My best wishes to all for 2010!
Jack
(As for Chris Brussow: I know I never made a "Summer Bloggin' 2009", sorry buddy)
