Ironic Qatari Law

I haven’t developed the habit of reading the news here in the Gulf, preferring my silent existence of work-home-work than having to worry about how good or bad the economy is doing as, it really has no direct effect on me. The economy may be at its all time high and more construction is bound to build this desert country into the next Dubai but truthfully? … until they do something about expatriate laws … then it is really worth shit to me.

 Out of sheer curiosity, however, the headline of the “Daily Gulf Times” caught my attention as it read “Council seeks re-entry ban of five years.” See, the existing law provides that any individual who resigns from a current job and returns to his country of origin is banned from returning to Qatar within two years. This is, they say, a deterrent for people who are tempted to shift to other jobs when offered better salaries and benefits. Furthermore, that this protects the sponsors who have spent money in bringing the employee into the country.

 Let’s look at the unsuspecting employee for a moment here … Jose comes to Qatar with promises of salaries and benefits. He later learns of the huge gap in salary between himself and his Arabic colleague who has no other advantage over him except for knowing the language. He then learns that Pedro and Felipe are employees of the same company and have been working there for 10 plus years without being promoted and with very minimal salary increment. With this dark future looming in the horizon … he inquires … alas, he learns that he needs a “release” or No Objection Certificate (NOC) from his sponsor should he decide to resign to look for other options. His passport is held by his sponsor, to leave the country he needs an exit permit … and to top it off … he cannot return to Qatar for two years. If he decides to resign from his current job, his contract stipulates that he has to pay everything his sponsor has spent for him including his air fare back to his country of origin. Now … back to the topic.

 The council is seeking a law to better protect the sponsor … protection from what? … losing employees? … the Qatari laws are already anti-expatriate and one of the most self-serving in the history of mankind. Despite the outer sheen of technological advancement and economic boom, the country’s laws are just the opposite. Instead of following the footsteps of Dubai and Bahrain that boast the best expatriate talent that money can buy, they scrimp on crumbs and enforce laws that drive these talents away.

 It’s ironic, as one of the Emir’s five-point course towards “Qatar National Vision 2030” states that it needs to look into the “Quality of the expatriate manpower required for ther various projects”.

 Have I made the right decision in coming here? … I’m starting to think not …

 … z …

Posted by tuliro at 08:25 PM | 1 comments

JUNE in QATAR

My job demands that I leave the “comfort” of the office to meet clients. Normally, I would cherish the experience, looking forward to the drive to and from wherever the potential customer decides to meet … to exchange wits with the ever-shrewd and oft-philosophical buyer. At times I would even roll down the car window and allow the occasional breeze and June rain, caress my face while in transit.

 That was then … that was there …

 The Qatari customer is no-less shrewd despite his overflowing wealth, nor is he in lack of wit … my business trysts hence, are no-less exciting. The change, however, lies in the weather. Qatar is extremely hot … and bound to be hotter. As I walk towards the car, the 46-degree Celsius heat extinguishes any lingering coolness of the office air-conditioning in my clothes … the sudden change in temperature threatening to overwhelm me. Opening the window does not help, as the wind carries a temperature just as intense as the fevered air around it. There is no cool breeze, nor is there the June drizzle I used to love … only this … heat and sand … lots of both.

 … Z …

Posted by tuliro at 05:35 PM | 1 comments

Metaphorically Monday ...

Metaphorically Monday, I have taken the first few steps away from a dark episode in my life. I have breathed the air and despite the lingering ghost of loneliness that has been my companion all these months, I feel better … “bikhair al hamdo lilla” …

Although the recuperation process has but taken days, it seems that the few people I have shared my “work-life” here in Qatar are new acquaintances. Their “hello’s” and “good morning’s” seem distant … tunnel vision … like voices detached from their bodies. I am suddenly acutely aware of their movements, their conversations and unfortunately … even their smells.

I have gone back to my normal routine of work-home-work-sleep yet somehow … It all feels new to me. It’s quite amusing, actually, how it so closely resembles daydreaming, yet not.

I know I have disappointed more people than I intended by splashing my emotions over my blogsite … I also know that I have inadvertently hurt my son when he came across this website and read my entries (I’m sorry, buddy). I know that in my healing process I have been unpredictable and a jerk … uncompromisingly stubborn and unbelievably dense. I do not justify these actions by an apology … rather, I prefer to say “Thank you” …

Thank you for bearing with me … thank you for your concern … even thank you for berating the bejeezus out of me. It takes all this to make a grown man realize that selfishness has no place on this road that he has chosen.

It is Monday … metaphorically so, on a Sunday …

… z …

Posted by tuliro at 01:06 PM | 3 comments

Eight Ways to Sunday

It is not in my nature to remain in one single state of emotion for a very long time. For those who have aged as ungracefully as I have … where shit falls all around you and still remain clueless of which divine ass it fell from, I have learned to be elusive. I am not a bad person … deep in my heart, I know this. Why fate taunts me and screws me eight ways to Sunday, I have no fucking idea. Regardless, I have developed a rather impressive sense of “fixing” things.

 I fix my emotional traumas by either clamming up and become oblivious to everything and everyone around me … or I immerse myself in work and hobby to shrug off any further burdens … I become a recluse. I punch a small hole on this dark velvet blanket … enough to breathe … to heal from my poignant thoughts that fast become only memories.

 Andre’ is both my elixir and my kryptonite in these times. Just as much as he still gives me strength despite our immense distance apart, my thoughts of his misery seeps into my soul and I am once again, the lonely father.

 I am now trying to raise myself from my self-dug grave … to make the most of what I have, which is almost close to nothing. My family is a gazillion miles away, my pride is shattered and money? … yeah right … don’t even get me started on that topic. Nevertheless, my gloom and close self-destruction seems to have uncovered one realization … that I “fix” things and could probably still keep my bat swinging. 

 Let the crap fall … surely, it can’t last forever.

 … z …

Posted by tuliro at 04:06 PM | 1 comments

Breathing

I watched a movie the other night … The Bucket List … about two old men stricken with cancer and how they created a list of the things they wanted to do before they “kicked the bucket.” They say there are five stages of grief … in their conversation, five stages before suicide – denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. In retrospect, I went through a deep depression a few nights ago … enough to almost, just almost end it all. It didn’t work … and until today, I still wonder what the missing ingredient was, to ultimately push me over the edge.

 Bargaining … I don’t remember having wanted to bargain for anything. I was in and out of anger, denial, depression and acceptance so fast, my head was practically spinning … my mind was dead to the world. It was insane and it still chills me to realize how deep I had fallen into my own emotional chasm. Lucidity does not guarantee sanity … in the scraps of clarity that I recall … not one thought was rational.

 Needless to say … I have survived that storm … my arm still stinging from another act of stupidity … emotions still reeling from the tempest that has come and gone with viciousness I have never witnessed before. As I stumble forward away from the aftermath, I look behind to see minimal collateral damage … just the now-torn and ragged flag of hope I raised the day I came here.

 As it flutters wildly in the tailwinds of the storm, I realize that I am still lucky … although my hope of succeeding in this harsh land seems all too unlikely … and that I may have verily wasted a year in my life … at least … I am still breathing.

...z...

Posted by tuliro at 01:10 PM | 1 comments