In 2008, during my first stay in the Kingdom, I observed up close a struggle far more severe than anything I had ever encountered in the States. This was not my struggle, but rather it was the struggle of many of the laborers working in the Kingdom. One day while I was leaving the local mosque for the pre-dawn prayer, an migrant worker from Sri Lanka named Armanallah invited me to his home for tea. Honestly, I did not want to go because it was so early in the morning and I wanted to go back to sleep, but obliged in accepting his humble invitation. At the time, I was unaware, but drinking tea in Armanallah’s home would forever alter my life.
Armanallah was a short older man with a graying beard standing at around 5’7 with a rotund potbelly. His calm brown eyes were the perfect compliment to his gentle handshakes. We walked for 5 minutes until we reached the front of a 4-story apartment with a marble façade, like all the others in that section of Madeenah. Armanallah worked at the building as the haris, which is the equivalent of a superintendent. His job was to clean the building and complete other handyman-like duties. Following his lead, we eventually stopped at a large iron door leading to an alleyway between his building and the building next door. Inside of the alley stood what I believed to have been a shed. Armanallah walked to the door of the shed, unlocked it and then he said, Tafaddal, meaning, “welcome or enter”. The shed was his home.
(via cocoaorcoffee)
