Bring to mind, for a minute, an image of your stereotypical Dubai expat. Are you seeing the brash, champagne-guzzling show-off who lurches from brunch to Porsche to golf club just about fitting in work somewhere between trays of drinks?
Or the brittle housewife trapped in a gilded cage of emptiness as her husband slaves to pay off the mortgage on the five-bed house in Surrey?
Now picture the migrant workers from the Indian sub-continentyou’ve heard so much about: those sweat-soaked labourers in grubby blue overalls and yellow hard hats; the guys with desperate eyes who’ve hand-built our Emirate; the men who live cheek by jowl in accommodation camps, sending every spare dirham home to feed their families.
