Modern day slave trade is thriving in Kuwait. Men and women from the poorest nations in Asia are recruited to work in one of the wealthiest countries in the world, hoping to earn enough money to support their families. But once at their destination all bets are off.
Kuwait has an expatriate population of 2.3 million making up as much as 69% of the total population. Whilst most of our mental image of this wealthy oil producing country is shaped by Westerners – the local term for highly qualified professionals from Europe, North America, Australia or New Zealand – they only make up a small fraction of the expat population.
In comparison to their counterparts from other Middle Eastern nations like Lebanon, Syria, Egypt and countries like Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, the Philippines, India and Pakistan, Westerners have their pockets lined with a disposable income higher than what they could hope to earn in their countries of origin. For them Kuwait is an attractive money-well if nothing else.
The harsh reality for the poorest migrant workers in Kuwait stands in stark contrast. Recruited by Kuwaiti agencies in their home countries, they are shipped into Kuwait in their droves where many of the women work in households as live-in nannies who also clean and cook -always on call at any time of the night or day. Men work as chauffeurs and gardeners, others work on construction sites as unskilled labourers in nigh Victorian conditions and temperatures as high as 50 degrees Celsius. Many are employed as cleaning staff in public areas and buildings, as bag packers at the check-out points in supermarkets or as harris, the Arabic word for janitor. These are only a few examples of the jobs that they are destined for.
Typically their passports are confiscated by their employers upon arrival and even where this is not the case, there is little chance they have the funds to pay for a flight home.
Sexual and physical assaults on household servants are common place. A frequent flick through the national papers will return stories of murdered household servants. If the murderer is Kuwaiti the punishment is often comparatively mild.
In short, people from poor developing countries working in low-skilled jobs are fair game with little power to determine what conditions they will be working under or who for. With no labour laws in place or enforced, this leaves a lot of scope for grave exploitation. Whilst some individuals are paid 20 Kuwait Dinar a month (€51), others might find they are not paid at all for several months or hit with heavy fines of a few months wages for the slightest ‘misdemeanours’. In effect they are paid at the good will of their employer.
Bearing in mind that the people coming to Kuwait in the first place are doing so to provide for their parents, spouses and children in their native countries, they attempt to save some of their earnings from the little they do earn to send home. What seems to make this even more incredulous is the fact that living expenses in Kuwait are similar to those here. Many of the employers hide behind the fact that accommodation is paid for - and in the case of live-in household servants so is the food - to explain the low income. However, many of the living conditions can at best be described as dwellings short of being slums, with several men or women to a room. Those working as live-in servants can often be found in mansions, surrounded by the wealth and luxury of their employers’. The houses often consist of a swimming pool in the garden, a Mercedes Benz or two in the garage, Surround Sound Home Cinema in the living room and the built in box room designated to them.
The attitude toward the blatant abuse of human rights, by many people including government officials, is a complete ignorance of any wrong doing. Proof of this are a number of incidences, where live-in nannies escaped whilst accompanying their employers on holidays in Europe and America. When they sought help from the police and disclosed details of the conditions they had been living in, the Kuwaiti government issued an announcement to its people suggesting they should no longer take servants with them to America or Europe to avoid further incidences.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Kuwait's Slave Trade
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Smacked in Dublin: - A five year olds odyssey
“Get down. Get down from there.” The words were drawn out longer than is usual, even for a Dubliner accent. The woman who was slowly and passively pushing the words out, was speaking to a little boy. Maybe five years, six at best.
The kid in his dark blue tracksuit bottoms and red t-shirt was climbing on the back rests of the Luas between Blackhorse and Jervis. He first caught my eye as I had got on the Luas, standing beside his mum in a ‘don’t fuck with me because I’m tougher than you’ fashion. It was obvious, he was already a man. I suppressed a smile.
As I sat watching the unlikely couple, I noticed the time warped movements of the woman as she stared into a space beyond any of the faces in the carriage - only occasionally drawn back into the here and now to call her son to caution about climbing over the seats. She was dressed in tight light yellow clothes and brown boots. Her body was compact and strong, her face calm and her eyes turned inwards. Her sleeveless top revealed no track marks on her arms but then my gaze fell onto her hands and the blue purple tinted spots aligned along the protruding veins lifted the fog from before my eyes. She was smacked out and barely able to keep herself upright.
As she had resigned herself to the flow of what was flowing through her veins, the little boy had assumed an expression of fear that seemed fixed to his face. Too young to understand what was really happening but old enough to know that somebody had to be in charge he climbed onto the back rests to give him the extra meter in height that he was still lacking. Just behind Heuston Station a man in a grey tracksuit stepped up and revealed himself as a ‘friend’. The little boy however, did not seem to think so as he shouted “Leave my mammy alone!”
A fifth of the size of the man, the boy bravely soldiered on kicking and pounding him. It all seemed to be a cute and funny joke as they stood laughing, attempting to turn this desperate situation into a play-fight. The boy was not laughing. The man left and the kicking stopped.
The boy - with the gestures of a man already and yet still nothing but a boy - got off at Jervis glancing around the carriage one last time before he was lifted off the tram by the flow of the people, along with his mother.
Friday, August 8, 2008
The sky over Cork
Returning to the misty misery of Ireland in August - and it may as well be October - after a hot holiday of the finest continental summer sun, is never an easy thing to do. Yet rummaging through pictures I came across this photo of Corkonian twi-light. I chose to cheer myself up with it. So yes, Cork has its Kodak moments.
Hardwick Street, Cork
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Spiritual Reading - A biblical freak
I had a bit of a run in. Unsuspectingly I began to chat with a man who from a far seemed as normal as the next person, until he began preaching the gospel to me, making all kinds of bizarre connections between recent historical events and the bible.
The spiritual reading crowd were busying themselves in Bishop Lucey Park, but this guy was merely having a coffee outside of the Opera House. Maybe he was on a break.
After I confessed I did not believe in God, he tried his very best to convert me for the next 20 minutes. I was informed that Jacob – a Jewish name – meant the devil in an ancient language and that the twin towers were symbolically the towers of Babylon, oh yes and that New York is symbolised by the biblical apple, hence the name Big Apple. Indeed there was far more he tried to share with me about his infinite knowledge about world affairs, not least that he in fact sanctioned the attack on the Twin Towers. Let it be known, the roots of 9/11 lie in Cork, Ireland. Who’d have thunk it. Until I moved to this town, I had never heard of it or considered it in anyway significant on the greater scale but I have learnt better, not merely through the lunacy of a guy on the street but this towns establishment who where ever and whenever seek to celebrate as many Corkonians as they can possibly manage. One would be forgiven for thinking that Cork lies at the heart of civilisation.
Now, I would have written this conversation off as listening to the amusing ramblings of a mad man if it was not for one disturbing little fact. Asked what he thought about the Lisbon Treaty he gave a reply that could have fooled most as being almost reasonable, even if I did not agree with it. If we had not taken this amusing little detour through the bible I might have walked away thinking this man was sane.
Monday, June 2, 2008
CorkPride2008 in Black and White
"These fucking shoes are killing me!"- the words of a transvestite at corkpride2008.
Corkpride2008 was held on 1st of June and marked the third pride parade in Cork.
The carnival themed festival was like a breath of fresh air.
Whilst most on-lookers did not turn up especially for the occassion but rather just happened to be in the right place at the right time or wrong place at the wrong time - whichever way you look at it - it certainly made ya stop and stare, didn't it?
Spotted outside Merchants Quay were two women with a hound on a leash, looking absolutely disgusted and rather butch if I may add. If ever I wondered what female queer-bashers would look like, I wonder no more.
Most seemed pretty happy to be sucked into the fun though and school girls were whole heartedly singing along to "I Will Survive". Yes, you will survive!
Pride Parade (Cork)
