Dubai-The Car Washer

His name was Tyson. Shortly after I arrived in Dubai, he appeared at my house, grinning from ear to ear. He stood up straight and tall. Trying to make the best impression. He was from India. He spoke clearly, and his English was quite good, considering this was his second language. One day, when he was leaving, he waved and said, “au revoir.” I looked up, surprised, and responded the same. I asked him if he spoke French. I think he was surprised that I responded, too. He said, “M’am, I am trying. I have many French customers”. I was floored. Here was this young guy with no education, and he was doing everything to be the best car washer in our town. He took so much pride in his work. I was so impressed with him. When I got to know him better, he explained how he had originally come to Dubai as a gardener. It is important to explain that the gardeners you see everywhere in the U.A.E. are probably the country’s lowest-paid workers. There are thousands of them, and it is thanks to them that these very green and lush communities are thriving in the desert. They water and prune, water and prune from early morning until the sun goes down at night. They have a quick lunch break, and it’s back to work. They work in the hottest of temperatures, and they are there all day, every day. I often wondered what they must have thought of us. You see them all over Dubai. I was told that these gardeners were hired in their own countries and brought over by the companies in Dubai. They are paid peanuts and offered a place to stay (which is usually a room that is shared with many). Their passports are taken from them upon arrival so that there is no chance for them to mess up, and they cannot leave without permission. They have one day off a week, and they spend most of that day going to the mosque and buying what they need for the coming week.

Tyson started like this. Apparently, over time, he had gotten to know one of the landlords where he often worked. This man took a liking to Tyson and asked if he would like to come and live at his house and take care of things around there. He, without hesitation, said “yes”. It was a promotion for him. I asked him, “So, you are now living with this family?”. He responded, ever so proudly, “Yes, Ma’m. I am a house boy”. He said it with the biggest smile, and he was so proud. He had made it out of the bottom rung. He, who had no education, lived in a house, in the maid’s quarters, taking care of a families’ every need, and washing cars to make extra money to send home to his family in India. He was learning new languages and was doing everything he could to better himself. He told me about his situation in the same way someone we knew would explain how they’d graduated from Harvard with top honors. I was very humbled by this, and I will never forget this young man. He went on to get married, and when I asked him how his wife was enjoying Dubai, he told me that she was back in India. In their world, this was how it was. He would stay and work in Dubai, and he would visit her once a year. He was one of the happiest people I ever me