A guard opens a heavy glass door to allow people in and out of a shopping centre.  Another pumps petrol and offers to clean the windshield. A maid carries a child on her hip, while holding another close to her.

Who are these people? We see them everywhere, and yet we don’t.  We notice them, and yet we don’t. They are not invisible, and yet it feels like they are. It started with Indonesian maids and construction workers.  Now we have some two million foreign workers. No, we don’t call them expatriates, who are predominantly from Nepal, Bangladesh, Myanmar and the Philippines. They do jobs that not many Malaysians care to do.

I speak to the guards at my condo. They are from Nepal. They are friendly and nice people. I know a little about their families only because I have had conversations with them while waiting for a cab at the lobby or when I have asked after one or two of them after noticing their absence. I also chat with my cleaners. I have had a few over several years as the turnover is relatively high. These ladies work to support disabled husbands, growing children and aged mothers, and return to Indonesia once they have enough savings. My husband and I are familiar with and speak with a number of foreign serving staff at restaurants that we frequent. We are friendly with them but they are not our friends.

These foreign workers are real people, who have left their families and friends at home in search of a better life in Malaysia. It cannot be easy coming to an unfamiliar country and not having anyone who genuinely cares about their feelings and well-being. They are but just another foreign face to an employer. A barely decent salary; crowded accommodation; difficult working conditions; alien grub and not overly welcoming locals is the fate that greets them. Maybe not in all cases, but in many.

Some do well, some not so. But generally they arrive on our shores with a singular goal of earning a living, albeit with varying levels of difficulty, to improve their own economic and social lot and help their families at home. One of my cleaners, Chitra, returned to Indonesia with enough saved up to buy land to grow paddy and be financially less dependent. She is a clever and diligent young woman. While I wish she hadn’t left for Indonesia, I do wish her every success, which she thoroughly deserves.

The curious thing to me is none of these people are my friends. I don’t think of inviting them for tea or coffee or going out together. I can quite easily reel off a number of reasons for this non-existent friendship or relationship. Cultural and language differences; prejudices both founded and unfounded; bad press, genuine and misplaced; discomfort with non-cohorts, preoccupation with my own family and friends; and general ambivalence.  When I read them aloud, they are quite simply excuses.

Quite honestly, I am not sure if I want them to be my friends or if they want me as their friend. While it would be nice to be friends, I think what is important is being polite, kind and understanding to foreign workers, who work as serving staff, petrol pump attendants, maids, cleaners and construction workers.  We can be patient when waiters and waitresses do not understand or are slow in meeting our requests. We can show our appreciation with a tip to petrol pump attendants. We can be kind to our maids and cleaners by letting them rest after an arduous day or by giving them something to eat and drink when they come to clean our homes. If nothing else, we should treat foreign workers with consideration and respect just as we would like to be treated. We can and should be better human beings.