One year ago tomorrow, a bisht-wearing Lionel Messi lifted the World Cup trophy into the Qatari night. That moment would not have happened without migrant labour.
Foreign workers, making up more than 90 per cent of Qatar’s population, built eight stadiums, miles of roadway and dozens of accommodation blocks. The deaths of thousands of these workers remain unexplained.
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During the tournament, FIFA and Qatari organisers have pushed back against discussion of migrant worker rights, insisting that it was time to focus on football.
Over that month, with the help of human rights researchers Equidem, The Athletic published four instalments of diaries written by migrant workers.
The format of the World Cup diary is well known. Maybe Jack Grealish describes how England bonded over games of table tennis, or Hugo Lloris talks initiation songs, or Kevin De Bruyne reveals all about Belgium’s film club.
But as Messi and Kylian Mbappe duelled in front of incredible wealth, the lives of these workers went on — their existence is intrinsically linked to that of the World Cup. The Athletic wanted to tell their story, in their voice.
Two — Karun and Jagat — are from Nepal and have lived in Qatar for years. Another two — Joseph and Victor — are from Kenya and had just arrived in the Gulf state. Each is using a false name to protect their identity from both their employers and the government.
One year on, we wanted to hear how their lives had changed. Had they managed to fulfil dreams of opening businesses back home? Were they treated any better post-tournament?
Several knew workers who died. Was there justice?
Karun
Karun has been in Qatar since 2011, originally coming from a small Nepalese farming community 4,000ft (1,200m) high in the Himalayas. When he arrived in Qatar, he discovered his contract was for 200 Qatari rials (£43; $55 by today’s rates) fewer than expected. He works as a scaffolder and plans to stay for around four more years.
I work for a manpower supply company in Qatar. I do whatever work they ask me to do — I cannot say no. When you are a worker, you are forced. If I do not work, I do not get paid and I have to take care of my family.
We do not have a fixed work site and move around every two to four months to wherever the company has an ongoing project. Sometimes I am in Sanaya, Al Wakrah, or Al Rayyan. I am currently in Al Khor — a city in the north.
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The company does not have as many projects as before the World Cup. My friends — not only at my company but others — are suffering because they do not have much work. Workers are in bed killing time, suffering without salary and getting fired. I am worried, too. At the moment, at least, I’m getting eight-hour shifts and my basic salary.
Since the tournament, I’ve not managed to return home. I wanted to, but I have so many responsibilities, so many things to do for my family, my own dreams. I would have returned home already if things had gone according to my plan, but after the World Cup, we stopped getting overtime duty. This set me back years and I do not think I can go back anytime soon.
I miss everything, being together with family, eating with them. It is worst during the festivals. We used to go to village markets and fairs, we used to have a lot of fun. It makes me feel like crying when they say that they miss me, too. We Nepalese celebrate together in Qatar, too, but it’s not the same.
Reflecting on my treatment here, it is neither good nor bad given how many different sites I have been on. Some companies treat workers well. They provided good food and accommodation — they cared for us.
But others were worse — they scolded workers unnecessarily and they did not provide good accommodation. Sometimes, we had to wait in line for hours to take a bath. Some companies did not give us cold water to drink, but warm water, which turned my stomach. There was not even a cooling room to keep our food.
Coming from a supply company, we are treated differently. They try to give us as much work as possible — like donkeys. They did not give us rest during hot summer days. They used to scold us when we could not reach our target on time. If we took one day off, they used to deduct two days’ salary. We used to do heavy duty every day, but if we took a minute break, they used to say: “Go back to Nepal if you want to rest.”
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Once, I witnessed first-hand a supervisor beating a worker for being unable to complete the work on time. The supervisor scolded him, beat him, and then the worker was removed from the site.
We migrant workers helped build Qatar, we helped Qatar realise its dreams, many of us died along the way — but I cannot say that things have become better for us.
Since the tournament ended, no one has cared for migrant workers. The government is not overseeing if workers are getting paid their salaries and overtime. Workers who are seeking justice in courts are not getting remedies — but are being sent to labour court, then high court, then supreme court, then nothing. When workers want to change jobs, we have to ask for an NOC (No Objection Certificate), but the companies often deny them, file fake cases against them, or mark us as “run away”. The system is exploiting them.
Before the World Cup, Qatar was under pressure from the world — they had to care for workers’ rights. Now the tournament has ended, they do not care for us Asians — they simply send us back to our country.
Jagat
Jagat is Nepalese and worked as a mason during the World Cup. He has been in Qatar since 2019. His dream is to start an animal husbandry business back in Nepal — while he is also saving up to send his children to school.
I was very happy when I saw my family for the first time in two years. I had not seen my daughter grow up and I was in Nepal during Dashain — our biggest festival. And I was also proud. I told them I worked at the stadium that hosted the World Cup final.
Back then, I was a mason — but now my job is to sweep the floor or dig holes at Qatar University. This part of the job is not in my contract, but I have to put up with this, to listen to my company, or I might have to go back.
You see, things have changed a lot since the World Cup ended. Before, it was very hectic for us. Even if workers died, the work did not stop. We had to complete it anyhow.
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But things have been slow recently, there are very few jobs for us here. We used to get a lot of overtime, but now companies are sending workers back and terminating us without any notice. They ask us to find new jobs, but how can we find new jobs in such a situation? I just do whatever work I can find — there is so little in Qatar and workers are just sitting idle.
I feel like living in Qatar has become more expensive, too. I am earning only my basic salary without overtime and it has been very difficult to manage my expenses with the little that I earn here.
I feel bad that they used workers until the World Cup and left us without any support after that. They have treated us like animals.
Think about this. In my own company, a worker died on another site which belonged to them. We have no idea what happened to them. Such information is not disclosed. Our friends told us that they were not allowed near the body.
If an accident happened, our supervisors and foremen coached us to say that such accidents happened in the accommodation camp — even if it was on site.
The only thing I wanted was to keep my family happy. I wanted to send my daughter to a good school, wanted to fulfil my wife’s desires. My parents are old and can no longer work. I wanted to take care of them. I am happy that I have been able to do all these things. Their happiness is mine.
Victor
Victor worked as a bus driver during the tournament, taking passengers between the stadiums and the airport. At the end of the tournament, he was told he must return to Kenya and was still waiting to be paid the “World Cup tip” his employers had promised him.
My job ended on January 21, almost exactly one month after the World Cup final — and I went back to Kenya just eight days later.
Looking back, I was generally treated well. We all heard the stories about the workers who died building the stadium, all those injuries. We were enclosed while we were in Qatar, with controlled movement, so did not see it in person — but I was thankful for the treatment at my job.
When I returned, I had in my pocket the tip that I’d been promised — the company eventually paid me everything they owed, plus the benefits — and I was looking forward to Kenya’s serene weather, the food, and my family of course.
When I left for Qatar, I made a promise. I said that I would give my family financial freedom, that I would erase poverty. But I’m sad because I didn’t meet those expectations.
Back in Kenya, life is tougher now. We live in a rural area, right by the coast, and things are especially harsh economically. There’s massive inflation and it means everything is expensive. The word is “unbearable”. I can only do my own small jobs, manual jobs doing farm work, or sometimes as a cab driver.
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It’s time for me to go out and look for work again. Here, with the state of the economy, I will not fulfil my hopes. I have tried to get a job to go back to Doha. I still have friends out there — my friends who are still there say the exchange rate is incredibly high because of inflation, so you can make much more money. I haven’t been successful — yet.
Joseph
Joseph is also Kenyan and worked as a security guard at Lusail Stadium, which hosted 10 matches, including the final. There, having been told he would only be working eight-hour shifts, he was surprised to learn that 12 hours would be the minimum. Nevertheless, like Victor, he wanted to remain in Qatar but was threatened with termination notices.
I was on duty that day. Word spread quickly — there was a huge police presence and the blaring of ambulances.
It was the World Cup quarter-final between Argentina and the Netherlands at Lusail Stadium and another Kenyan security guard, John, had fallen to his death.
Our supervisors told us not to talk about it with journalists, but to refer them to management for any comment. There was so much secrecy.
As for the rumours he was intoxicated… well, I don’t believe the same. In Qatar, it is so hard, near impossible, to get access to alcohol. Even if you can find it, it is damn expensive for a mere guard considering our small salary. I just always wonder whether his family was compensated.
(Hassan Al-Thawadi, the secretary general of Qatar’s Supreme Committee for Delivery and Legacy, claimed that a report into the death had found John Njau Kibue was “intoxicated” when he fell.)
I was immediately sent back to Kenya after the final. I’m from a rural area but am living in Kitengela, just south of Nairobi — I couldn’t go home because my two sons are at school in the city. I had missed the clean air and caring for my ailing mum.
Here, I have opened a cyber cafe, where customers come and browse the internet for a fee. It sustains me for now, but it’s not doing very well.
Because I only worked in Qatar for three months, I did not meet my targets in terms of earning for my family. I’m in the process of going back for another short-term project — the Asian Cup (which is being hosted in Qatar in January and February) — and am just waiting for the visa approval.
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I know that workers there are still suffering, especially us guards working outdoors. Some of my colleagues I left behind have been complaining of too much heat — because the areas require patrolling, the weather is so harsh. I feel nothing has changed.
But there is no chance of fulfilling my hopes at home in Kenya. There is an economic meltdown after Covid-19 and everyone is struggling. That’s why I must go back to Qatar again, even with everything I know.
(Top photos: Getty Images; design: Eamonn Dalton)