A spare parts dealer living in Khaitan reflects on his experience in institutional quarantine and the challenging situation his neighbors and community find themselves in.

English transcript | نسخة عربية

Nationality: Indian
Occupation: Spare parts dealer
Date of interview: 11 August 2020
Language of interview: Gujarati

Abu Abbas is talking from his car, with the AC turned on. The maskan (an apartment shared by bachelors who split costs for rent and food) is too noisy, with people on their phones, or praying. His flat has two bedrooms, each accommodating three men. They all come from the same community in India, and they arrange for cooking in a nearby maskan, and get food rations from their community. When Covid hit, times got tough quickly. Abu Abbas has lived in Kuwait for 45 years, working first in spare parts at Nissan, and after 35 years, in his own small spare parts business. He had just been home to Pune, in India and returned to Kuwait on March 5, three days before the airports were shut. He lives in Khaitan, and upon arrival was tested and told to stay home to await his results. Three days later, he was told he should report to the institutional quarantine facility in Mishref. Abu Abbas spent 14 days in Mishref, and was then moved and spent another 14 days in Jaber Hospital. The accommodations were clean and small, and Abu Abbas said if it hadn’t been the 23rd night of Ramadan when he was in Jaber Hospital, he would have prayed to stay longer, because he didn’t want to return to his maskan. Khaitan was still locked down at that time. Because of his quarantines and the government-enforced lockdown, he was unable to work for three months, and his son ended up supporting the family in Pune. Abu Abbas says everyone is struggling - you hear them in the maskan talking to their families, and there is tension. How can you answer the wives and mothers back home? He worries more for others, and thanks God for what he has. But what about those who live paycheck to paycheck and earn 150KD a month or less? How can they now pay the community kitchen dues for their meals? The man who runs the community kitchen cannot take on any more debt--how can he keep providing meals when no one can pay their dues? Things have changed so much.

“I get many worrisome thoughts. When eating good food, thoughts like will I get to eat such food again, enter my head. Yes. Many thoughts come. Because it does not matter if I alone am happy. My sister and brother are weak. My nephews are weak. What will I do by being prosperous alone?”

Abu Abbas learned who his real friends are during Covid, and they are few. All the people who usually visit him and talk for hours now stay for only five minutes. They are afraid he will ask them for money. No one in the maskan opens their wallet in front of the others now, because of that same fear. The bakalas can no longer extend credit. Abu Abbas is lucky, he can still eat, he is in a better position although he has little income from his business now. He says that for low wage earners, the situation in Kuwait will only worsen, and eventually when all the low-skilled workers leave, Kuwait will begin to pay wages for workers equivalent to those in the EU and US. His son just wants him to leave Kuwait now but Abu Abbas has just extended his visa for one final year.

“I felt that, no I have stayed here for so many years, it is not good to leave in haste. I should leave happy from here. Like that. That's it... I should not leave from here sad and helpless. I have spent so much time here, I would like to spend some more time nicely and then make proper arrangements before I leave…”

In the clip above, Abu Abbas describes his living arrangements in Khaitan, his experience in several institutional quarantine facilities, and how COVID-19 has impacted his neighborhood and community.

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