The Bus Ride

The workers start their working day with a Bus ride to their job sites...Bus rides are not so uncommon to these workers whether they come from India, Sri Lanka, Nepal or the Philippines...they may have come from different parts of the world but they are sharing their daily bus ride experience with each other...In the early hours of the morning they will drag themselves to dress up in their safety wears and report for work in a Tata bus a very common sight on the roads of the Middle East where migrant workers are propping up their infrastructures, business and economy....I could only imagine their faces as in every bus ride we gaze across the bus windows to get a glimpse of the outside world...each person is engrossed in his own world with thoughts of work, home, love ones, food, and family and sometimes sex of if not thinking about women or girls...in more bizarre cases...thinking of men...maybe racing through their minds...its one the many experiences wherein we are alone with our thoughts imprisoned by our visions and dreams...bus rides are really hypnotic vehicles for day or night dreams...except for the rumblings and chit chat going on in many quarters of the bus but normally...at early dawn...the bus is silent...with some workers still catching up on ZZZZzs... These workers face the daily drudgery of their work in construction sites...the weather is cool for now early morning but in the middle east...the punishing heat and humidity of the working conditions is a challenge in itself...like worker bees many bus rides are going through their motions on the streets of the city...and one time we even saw another bus filled with ladies during a Friday as we went to church and we hollered and waved at them with shouts of glee and teasing smiles...During one of these days I tried to join a bus ride of our workers on an evening trip going back to our worker's camp...the bus itself was not cramp with people but I have much worst bus rides where it was filled to the brim with people...what you notice of course is the smell...the smell of dried sweat and different body odors is up on the air...these things the workers must endure from day to day...but it was already evening between 6:30 - 7:30 in the evening...the bus was silent but i guess most of the time due to exhaustion but more of the hunger that a body would feel after a long days work...but as the bus was going through the city streets...the street lights of the city draws my attention to the windows and I was again gazing at the skyline of the city...a city being built by the blood, sweat, and tears of migrant workers... and my thoughts were racing to the important things/experiences/people that I value in my life...and I wanted to forget about my work...why I had to be here...why the circumstances of my life has led me here...and I begin longing for the day that all these sacrifices will end and I could go home to the unwelcome arms of my country and to the loving arms of my people and my family...I was direly trying to be strong...trying to keep my tears from running across my face...my mouth was dry...and I shrugged it off with self statements that I will outlast all of these challenges...and I will be strong for myself...then I realized how much I miss them all...I was Homesick...I guess...I truly am...and its not shameful to be...you are only human...