waiting for him, he says, are his elderly parents, whom he was previously supporting with his salary. “My home is very far from the city, and I don’t know how I’ll buy a bus ticket. This is the scariest moment.” The chaotic, shifting roles of companies, embassies, travel agencies, and individuals in the repatriation process make it difficult to determine just how many migrant workers have departed, says Kalush. “It’s clear there’s been a mass exodus from the Gulf—hundreds of thousands of migrants have returned home—but the majority are still there. In some cases, it’s people who have lost jobs and can’t get back, and in other cases, people are holding out, hoping work will resume.” In this limbo, Gurung and Mahendra, whose lodging and food is provided by their company, might be considered the lucky ones. For many others, says Kalush, worries about starvation eclipse fears about the virus. “Getting food to people has been a huge concern,” he says, “and there has been no comprehensive plan to distribute aid. It’s been piecemeal, and after all these months, whatever momentum that was there to supply aid has dwindled.” These ad hoc efforts, carried out by private charities, individual donors, and embassies, highlight the near-total lack of civil society in the GCC. Nongovernmental organizations are often heavily suppressed in the region, and the social services that do exist tend to cater to nationals. While some nations have offered free treatment to migrant workers who have tested positive, their access to other medical care, such as prenatal care for pregnant women, has been lacking, says Kalush, who adds, “When the government fails to take care of migrants, there is often no one else to step in and plug in the gaps.”