SUBSIM Radio Room Forums - Quatar 2023 football world championship

Subjective perosnal impressions for foreigner sin Quatar, as printed in the Neue Zürcher Zeitung:
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Qatar - the land of foreigners

85 percent of Qatar's inhabitants are foreigners. They work not only in construction, but also as influencers, managers, security guards or fitness trainers. What do they think about their temporary home? A day in Doha.

In the morning, "If someone likes you, they'll recommend you right away."

Paul Ghanem stands in the kitchen of his apartment. "You want eggs?" he asks, before slamming a dozen into a frying pan. It's 9 a.m., outside, the sun blazes down on empty streets. For Ghanem, it's already his second breakfast. At 4:30 a.m., he has already eaten cornflakes in the darkness before driving to work. The Lebanese wears a black T-shirt and a black beard and works as a fitness trainer in Doha, the capital of Qatar. He teaches cross-fit classes and has his clients run across indoor tartan tracks. "They call me captain," he says.

Qatar seems like a cruise ship: built for the few, run by the many - hundreds of thousands of employees and workers. In hardly any other country in the world is the proportion of foreigners as high as here: 85 percent. 2.4 million guest workers keep the tiny emirate running. While most Qataris are still asleep, buses filled with workers are on the road on the dead-straight highways. Work has been going on for hours at the construction sites.

Ghanem has been awake since 4 a.m. and has given several classes. Now he has an hour's break before meeting his customers. Until a few months ago, he was a personal trainer in Lebanon. But there is an economic crisis in his home country. "There is no future. The government is corrupt, and the banks steal your money. Everyone wants to leave, and those who have made it don't return."

Ghanem really just wanted to visit a friend when he first came to Doha in late 2021. "I didn't know much about Qatar, only that it was very rich because of all the oil and gas." One week turned into many months: Ghanem quickly found a job, started working and found an apartment with two other Lebanese. Qatar has become his temporary home. He hopes to lead a normal life here. "Now I can finally focus on myself."

Arriving in Qatar was not easy. "You can't imagine how cold it can get here in November," he says. "Still, I had to go to outdoor training every morning at 5 a.m." The 27-year-old has since gotten used to life in Doha. "Qatar is a strange country," he says. "Qataris are very rich, I see that with my clients. They get everything from the state. At the same time, many things move slowly because the civil servants here don't work."

All foreigners who come to Qatar to work need a sponsor. This person gets them a work permit. It's the same for Ghanem. "Of course, I am dependent. But if I do it skillfully, I get to know a lot of people thanks to my sponsor." He speaks Arabic - that's an advantage.

In Lusail's Sports City, a new neighborhood, Ghanem trains a dozen men. They all come from the same influential family. "If one likes you, he recommends you right away," he says.

How long Ghanem plans to stay in Qatar, he doesn't know. He earns twice as much as in Lebanon, "but life is expensive." He pays $1,000 a month for his room. He takes an Uber cab to work because he can't afford a car yet. He hardly ever goes out. "When I party here, I can't put money aside."

When Ghanem does go out anyway, he meets up with other Lebanese. "We wear our crucifixes under our T-shirts then, dance and drink gin with Seven-Up." They would often talk about home and rave about Beirut. "Sometimes one of my friends complains that he is treated badly, as a second-class foreigner." Ghanem usually goes home early because he has to get up early again the next morning.

At noon: "It's still better than at home"

Joe Kibet unlocks the door to the common room. "Here we can talk undisturbed." It's noon, and the 29-year-old is on break. He sits down on a sofa in the middle of the windowless room and loosens the belt buckle of his uniform. Every now and then, he glances at his cell phone, which rests next to him on the armrest. At 5 a.m., his shift as a security guard began. He still has five hours to go.

Kibet's name is different; he wishes to remain anonymous. The Kenyan is one of the foreigners at the bottom of Qatar's hierarchy. There is a kind of caste system in the Gulf emirate. At the top - after the Emir and the few locals - are Western foreigners who earn the most. The lowest social group is made up of cleaning women, construction workers and security guards. They come from Bangladesh, Nepal or East Africa. They are people like Kibet.

Kibet's name is different; he wishes to remain anonymous. The Kenyan belongs to the foreigners who are at the bottom of Qatar's hierarchy. There is a kind of caste system in the Gulf emirate. At the top - after the Emir and the few locals - are Western foreigners who earn the most. The lowest social group is made up of cleaning women, construction workers and security guards. They come from Bangladesh, Nepal or East Africa. They are people like Kibet.

Kibet works in a luxury residential tower and is responsible for security. He patrols the building and smiles at the residents. "There are worse jobs," he says. "The people who live here are nice to me." Kibet came to Qatar in 2019, previously renting motor scooters in his hometown of Mombasa. "When my business partner died, I had to look for something else to support my family." In Doha, Kibet earns $600 a month. At home, it was 300.

Every day, Kibet works twelve hours. Afterwards, he takes a two-hour bus back to Labor City, where he shares a room with five Kenyans. The accommodation is clean, but he has no privacy. "You live here just to work, nothing else," he says. "At least I don't have to pay rent. Others charge for a bunk bed in a dirty room, too."

Labour-City is a housing estate for migrant workers on the southern edge of Doha. The camp is considered a showcase project and has Internet, recreation rooms and its own health clinic. Next to the site, the Qataris have built a cricket stadium and a shopping mall. There are cheap clothes stores, cell phone stores and Indian or Pakistani restaurants. The construction of the housing estate was Qatar's response to criticism of working conditions in the country.

Some things have improved, Kibet says. "Before, sometimes we didn't get our wages at all or had to wait a long time." Since the government introduced an electronic payment system, that no longer happens. Besides, he says, he's lucky as a security guard. "Other workers are not doing so well. Especially the men on the construction sites are suffering." The extreme heat is getting to them.

Protests against working conditions have consequences, says Kibet: "The government has the instigators deported immediately." That hits the migrant workers hard. Not only do they lose their jobs, but they have also spent money for nothing. Many of them paid local agencies a lot of money to come to Qatar. Although this is now illegal, it is still practiced. Kibet says he paid the equivalent of $1,000. That's not so much, he says. "For the Bangals, it costs five times that."

Afternoon: "There are 70 nationalities working in my business"

The setting sun bathes the facades of the white single-family houses in glistening light. Housemaids in uniforms walk dogs. "People back home always think I live like a king here," says Marco Stoll, unlocking the door to his row house. "But they don't. We lead a normal middle-class life."

Stoll, 52, has lived in the emirate for ten years. He doesn't want to give his real name. His employer forbids him to talk to journalists about his job. Stoll is a hotel manager responsible for a major project.

"When I first came here in 2000, there was nothing here," he says, taking a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator. "There were just two five-star hotels. If you wanted to drink alcohol somewhere else, the best place to go was the British Embassy." There are now more than 20 luxury hotels in Doha.

Life is pleasant in Qatar, Stoll says. His two children attend a good school, the country is safe, and health care is excellent. He also likes the international atmosphere: "In my business, I work with people from 70 nations," he says. "In Switzerland, that would be impossible." Stoll always wanted to go out into the world. After hotel management school, he first moved to the Gulf, later to Asia, before returning to Qatar.

In the meantime, Stoll has even made local friends. Most of the time, they prefer to keep to themselves, but every now and then he is invited to dinner. Sometimes the Qataris set up huge tents in the desert and take cooks with them. "I then sit with the men, and my wife either stays at home or just chats with the women."

Previously, Stoll lived in Dubai. "Qatar is 15 years behind," he says. "However, I don't think Qatar will ever become like Dubai." Many Qataris are skeptical about opening up their country, he says. "Some of them think the World Cup is anything but great. They think the event is a waste of money and don't want all the fuss."

It has become dark outside in the meantime. Stoll pours more wine. He is happy to have visitors. There is not much to do in Doha, he says. "I can't take the children to the same museum every weekend. But the work is interesting. In contrast to Europe, large projects are implemented quickly in Qatar. "In my hotel, I have 800 employees, 8 restaurants, a surfing facility and a water park. Such an operation would not be profitable at all in Switzerland."

He earns well, Stoll says, but as a foreigner he has no social security. "And like everyone else, I'm dependent on my employer. If my contract ends, then I have to leave."

Just where to go? Stoll's children were born in Dubai. They have always lived abroad and don't speak German. Recently, he said, he received a job offer from Switzerland. "I seriously thought about it and then said to myself, 'You're 52, if you go home now, you'll stay there until you die.' Is that what you want? No."

Evening: "Always on the move"

On Thursday nights, "La Bodega Negra" is always packed. Waiters balance bottles of wine and tacos past diners, the lights dim. Catherine Stewart sits with a friend on a sofa at the end of the room and orders a margarita. The 30-year-old Brit grew up in Dubai and has lived in Qatar for nine years. Every now and then, she stands up to greet someone. "Doha is not very big," she says. "You meet the same people over and over again."

Stewart works as a fitness coach, model, influencer and imports designer clothes. From her apartment on the man-made island "The Pearl," she's minutes from the ocean. There she goes sailing or water skiing. If you are skilled, you can earn good money in Doha. "In London, I would fall into bed exhausted after twelve hours of work in a tiny, overpriced room," she says. "In Doha, I can manage my time."

For young people like Stewart, Qatar is an attractive country. She has quickly made friends from all over the world and can party with them. "Before the pandemic, there was something going on every night. I was often invited to events."

What Stewart lacks, however, is a relationship. She would like to have children. "But the dating scene is terrible," she says. "You either meet Arab men, who are often quite macho. Or foreigners who don't want to put down roots here, so they don't get involved in anything serious."

Seventy-five percent of Qatar's population is men, but they've come to work, not to settle down. Stewart knows how hard life is for migrant workers. Her father worked in construction in the Gulf for many years. She is also critical of the role of women. As a model, she advertises traditional dresses. In the process, she met Qatari female friends. "When we travel together, they act like Western women," she says, "but as soon as they get back, they adapt again."

By now it's 10 p.m. Stewart orders the bill and moves on to a nightclub. There, a DJ spins electronic music. A musician beats a glowing drum to the beat.

Behind the dancing crowd, West Bay's towers can be seen glowing in the darkness outside. Meanwhile, Stewart is thinking about leaving Qatar. She is a bit bored and needs a new challenge. Where she wants to go, she doesn't know. "Maybe to America."
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