JEDDAH, 2 April 2006 — Mousawa Ali, 53, left his wife and six children with his brother in Jizan and took a bus to Jeddah to look for work. That was six months ago.
As he himself will tell you, things have not gone according to plan, as by now, he had hoped to have been employed somewhere, making enough money to pay for a small apartment in which his family could live.
Instead, Mousawa now lives alone in a two-man tent that he bought for SR50.
Still awaiting assistance promised to him by the Muslim World League months ago, he could be seen washing cars last Friday, not far from the homeless camp in which he now resides.
Last week, Ali greeted me at his tent flap, but couldn’t invite me in as the space was cramped. Instead, he walked me out to a plastic tarp laid out on the concrete a few steps away.
There, he introduced me to two other Saudis, Maher Naif Al-Assaf, 36, and Ali Ibrahim Asiri, 38 — his friends and neighbors.
Maher had left Tabuk bound for Jeddah, three months ago, also hoping to find work. Not finding a job within a month, he also bought a tent and set up camp here hoping to somehow make enough money to renew his fishing license, now three years in arrears.
Maher is particularly pleased today because he was able to convince a truck driver to angle a trailer closer to his tent. Now sandwiched between two trailers, Maher can enjoy his bucket baths almost completely out of sight.
Ali, from Jeddah, came to live at this camp three months ago after losing his job. Today, he is considered the luckiest among the three after landing a new job as a security guard just last week.
Eagerly awaiting his first SR1,600 paycheck in six weeks, he looks forward to renting a room somewhere. He is already making plans to get married.
Too proud to beg or borrow, and too honest to steal, these three men are almost always without money and must depend on charity for their single daily meal — but they have to walk two kilometers each way to get to it.
“We fill our stomachs with tea during the day, then we eat together next to the fire at night,” Maher told me as he pointed to a pile of charred wood nearby.
When asked where the tea water came from, he pointed to a mosque half a kilometer away.
“It’s the closest fresh water source to this camp. Everyone living here depends on it,” he said.
Maher, Ali and Mousawa are not the parking lot’s only residents. There are approximately 30 others — mostly pilgrims from developing countries who lack the funds to pay for their journey home. As I walked among them earlier in the evening, it became abundantly clear that they supported themselves through beggary, as several approached persistently asking for a handout.
“The beggars are the ones who have money here. In fact, the mattress I sleep on now was a gift from a Bangladeshi beggar and his family on the other side of the lot. He insisted I take it after I helped his family with a problem they had with some young locals,” Maher told me as he pointed west in their direction.
From where I sat, I could see two expatriate families camped underneath a trailer bearing the insignia of the Muslim Aid Society. Destined for Sudan, this mobile hospital stands as a testament to Saudi charitable endeavors abroad.
“The man standing next to the hospital with the baby is the one who gave me the mattress,” Maher tells me as he waves to him.
According to Maher, Ali and Mousawa, the parking lot has been raided on several occasions by a number of marauding young men intent on wreaking havoc.
“Anyone who comes here comes for a reason, so we make it our business to know what that reason is,” Mousawa said.
Most recently, two weeks ago, Mousawa chased away a young man who was running around the camp completely naked while his friends looked on and laughed.
“He wasn’t wearing a stitch, as if he had just come out of his mother’s womb,” an indignant Mousawa exclaimed as we all shared a good laugh.
“We surprised them when we emerged out of our tents shouting at them in Arabic. They must have thought we were plainclothes policemen or something, because they drove off very quickly,” Maher added.
“This is our community, and the people living here are our friends and family. In this place, every man is our brother, every woman is our sister, and every child is our child. We therefore watch over this place as we will, Inshallah, watch over our own homes,” Ali said.
For Ali, the day he intends to leave is just six weeks away. He is already looking for a small room to rent for no more than SR600 per month. “With some of the money from my first paycheck, I will get myself out of this tent and into a place with air-conditioning and a ceiling,” he told me.
“When I leave this lot and give up my tent to someone else, I won’t be at peace until I know that my Saudi brothers have also had the same success,” Mousawa added.
Maher has faith that he also will be able to leave the lot one day soon, as all he needs is SR1,800, or a job. “If I had that much money in my hand now, I would pay my coast guard fines and renew my fishing license. I can make enough money catching fish to have a place of my own,” he explained.
As for Mousawa, the only thing that can get him off the lot right now is a job. “Most places I apply at tell me that I am too old,” he tells me as he goes into his sixth month living in the lot. At 53, Mousawa has the fewest options; with a wife and six children to support, he also has the greatest need.
“I will take the first job anyone offers me. My only stipulation is that it has to be an honest one,” Mousawa said.
