Despite promises, workers do not have the right to change jobs freely Of all Saudi Arabia’s migrant workers, those in domestic work – who are not even covered by the labour law – are the most vulnerable. Behind the walls of private homes, the rules are effectively set by the families they work for, as […]
Despite promises, workers do not have the right to change jobs freely
Of all Saudi Arabia’s migrant workers, those in domestic work – who are not even covered by the labour law – are the most vulnerable. Behind the walls of private homes, the rules are effectively set by the families they work for, as Shakirun Khatum, 25, found to her cost.
Despite the long hours, Anwar says he earns just 600 rials, or 160 US dollars, a month. Some of his colleagues say they earn marginally more, but they all claim they work without rest, seven days a week. Many say they have not had a single day off in years.
“As long as I’m here, I have to be under this contract. I have no choice to leave. My kafeel [sponsor] will not allow me to change the job,” he says.
In the mind of the owner, since he had paid for Shakirun to come to Saudi Arabia, he owed her nothing.
“I’m satisfied because at least I can now provide for my family,” he says.
Days were filled with washing dishes, cooking food, cleaning the house and tending to the garden. Work began at 8am and did not finish until 1am. Shakirun says she did not get a single day off in two years.
And yet it took him about 10 months to pay off the recruitment debt he had racked up to secure the job. He works a 12-hour shift, with only one day off a month, meaning his hourly wage is the equivalent of just 1.25 US dollars.
Shakirun only made it home after her family raised enough money to effectively buy her back.
Recent reforms to Saudi’s labour system – which featured prominently in its World Cup bid and FIFA’s evaluation of it – were meant to allow workers the right to freely change jobs, but Anwar and his colleagues say it is impossible.
“Now people are harassing me, asking for the money back, which I don’t have,” he says.
“You have been sold to us, so you are not allowed to ask for anything,” he told her. “I brought you with my own money, so why should I pay you?”
The prospect of Saudi Arabia hosting the World Cup is viewed with dismay by some migrant workers.
For some the decision to come to Saudi Arabia pays off – money is sent home, land is bought, a new house is built – but even those who are getting by, often do so against the odds.
Domestic workers are the most vulnerable
If he stays, his debts will grow. If he leaves, he will have to give up on his missing wages. If he goes to the police, they will deport him for not having a valid residence permit, which his employer failed to renew years ago. Mukhtar is now asking his wife to sell her jewellery and send him the money so he can repay his debts and return home.
His employer went bankrupt, owing him nine months of wages. Unwilling to give up on his unpaid salary, he stayed on but had to borrow 8000 rials (2130 US dollars) to get by.
Some names have been changed.
At six in the morning, it is in pristine condition. The railings glint in the rising sun, the plants are freshly watered and there is not a scrap of litter in sight, thanks to men like Anwar, one of dozens of Bangladeshi migrant labourers who work the shoreline. They have been here since midnight but say they have another five or six hours to go.
When asked whether the country deserves it, Mukhtar, the stranded Pakistani worker, says, “I don’t think so. The government knows about our problems, but they cannot find any solution for us. They support their [fellow] Saudis, but poor labourers have no status here.”
When a broker convinced Shakirun’s family that she could earn good money as a domestic worker in Saudi Arabia it sounded like an opportunity too good to pass up. She would not even have to pay a fee to secure the job.
Adbur, a Bangladeshi employed as a hotel cleaner in Al Khobar, earns a regular monthly wage of 1700 rials (450 US dollars), much of which he sends home.
An hour’s drive north, in the industrial city of Jubail, Mukhtar, a construction labourer from Pakistan who has spent 14 years in the country, is also trapped but for a different reason.
But despite the years of toil, she was never paid a thing.
A short drive from the stadium brings you to Al Khobar’s corniche: the promenade that skirts the seafront.
“When I asked for my salary, they beat me with a metal pipe,” says Shakirun. “Whenever I raised it, the owner told me to shut up, beat me and locked me in my room.”
