A young Indian man recounts his experience of institutional quarantine

English transcript | نسخة عربية

Nationality: Indian
Occupation: Production assistant
Date of interview: 10 August 2020
Language of interview: Hindi

Abdul Qadir arrived in Kuwait in 2018 from Udaipur in Rajasthan. He has a Master’s degree in Urdu, and started his own courier business back home, but when the business started to suffer he thought he would join his uncle in Kuwait in the hopes of putting aside some money. Leaving his wife and young daughter behind, he arrived and soon started working in a design and printing company. He shares a single room with seven other relatives in Sharq. He is in charge of cooking for everyone, so he doesn’t have to pay for the food. Conditions are not ideal, but at least he is able to send money home regularly. Or he was - until the pandemic hit. All of a sudden, Abdul Qadir and his roommates found themselves without work and without a salary. The haris threatened to evict them if they didn’t pay their rent, so a few of his roommates used money they had been saving to travel back home to pay for everyone. With curfews and lockdown, it started getting crowded in the neighborhood. All the people who would normally have been out for work ended up congregating outside to chat and share their woes. A few charities distributing food showed up. Then a few journalists showed up too. On March 18, buses arrived. The men were ushered on the buses by policemen. They were told it was too crowded where they were, and that they had to leave. “I was thinking, why are they taking me, what are they going to do? Because it is Kuwait, not our country. It is not India that we can ask. Here the language is Arabic. Can't even ask anybody. I felt frightened. If I go and ask, policemen talk less and hit more”.

Finally, they arrived in Abdali, where they were told they would be quarantining. Conditions there were good – each person was given a cubicle inside a shared room with three more people. “I spent the days sleeping. Spent time on mobile. What else to do? When it was time for namaz, we used to pray namaz. Then recite Quran for some time. There were four of us in the room so we used to have conversations. We used to recite to one another, you know Islamic juz. What is it called? We used to do isthema and pray for all that we get rid of this pandemic at the earliest.” Thirty-two days after they arrived, they were released. They were never tested for COVID – they only had their temperature taken, and anyone experiencing symptoms would be transferred to Mishref.

Abdul Qadir did not tell his family in India where he was because he didn’t want them to worry. He and his younger brother who works in a salon back home are supporting the rest of the family, which includes his parents and four other siblings. Abdul Qadir was not able to send any money home for four months. Throughout the lockdown, he and his roommates relied heavily on the food donations provided by aid organizations, both through the official charity portal as well as through local community groups. He is now working again, and has slowly begun re-paying all the money people have loaned him and his family. But his outlook on life has changed: “I had many dreams. Before the quarantine, I had a lot of dreams that I will do this. When I go to India, I will construct a house and do something new. Then all these dreams after the lockdown ended. Now, when the lockdown ended, I ended my dreams. I don't want to think of these things again. I killed all my aspirations. The lockdown has taught me that life can be spent in a [single] pair of clothes. This [initially unappealing] type of food can be eaten too [...] My aspirations are under control now”.

In the clip above, Abdul Qadir describes how COVID left him and his community reliant on the aid of local community organziations, as well as his experience in institutional quarantine.

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