It is a story of suffering, exploitation and hopelessness. He was queuing for lunch at the camp. Unlike most of the Bangladeshi camp dwellers whose curiosity would be raised the moment they see a foreigner - a new face coming towards them - he barely registered my presence. Anwar Mohammad, who comes from the southern part of Bangladesh, was demure and collected. When I asked him his name, he replied without looking me in the face. I sensed he must have a story to tell.

"I do not know whether I should return home." That's how he started our conversation. Anwar left one and a half years ago. This was his first trip abroad. Growing up in a poor family, Anwar did not entertain the thought of travelling abroad as he knew that would require a fortune. But then, he witnessed his peers leave one after another, to work in Arab countries.

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One day his opportunity came, in the form of a close friend of his who told him he was in the process of migrating to Libya to do some masonry work. Upon enquiring, his friend told him of a man who would help him get a head start in this. That's how he met a man called Mustafa. Mustafa lives in the capital . He makes journeys every now and then to remote areas to recruit potential labourers.

A week later, Mustafa called in the village. Anwar made sure he would meet his possible future benefactor. He even skipped tending his family plot.

He was impressed with everything Mustafa promised him: Work in Libya with a salary of USD 500 a month.

"The amount was mind boggling," he told me, adding, "I thought with such a salary, I wouldn't have to stay away from my family for very long."

Being the eldest son in a family of six, he conjured up many possibilities: sending his siblings to school and making sure they finish their studies, not dropping out halfway like himself; building a decent house and eventually getting married and settling down.

"I calculated five years would be more than enough," he said. But there was a catch. To qualify for the opportunity, Mustafa wanted 280,000 Taka upfront (USD 4,000), 'to process all the papers needed and an air ticket,' he was told.

How could a poor person like Anwar come up with that sum? Anwar returned home heartbroken. He would not let go of the once-in-lifetime opportunity, yet he had no idea how he could come up with all that cash.

A week later he decided to break the news to the family, who suggested selling the family plot, together with three animals. He did not like this idea but the possibility of getting out of poverty was too much to resist.

"It was not an easy decision to sell off all of the family possessions," he said.

A month later, Mustafa called in the village again. He reassured Anwar that he would recoup his money in less than a year, once he got to Libya. He made him sign a contract which promised a stipend of USD 500 a month. Then Mustafa left with the money. For four months, Anwar did not hear from Mustafa, making the whole family nervous and panic-stricken. Then suddenly he reappeared. He came holding a passport and told Anwar to get ready to travel the next day. To pay for his passage, he had to borrow from a money lender and would have to repay with interest a month later.

In Libya, Anwar met other recruited labourers. Talking to them, he found out that some had paid even larger amounts. He wondered how much their monthly wages would be.

Upon arrival, they were taken to an abandoned warehouse and were told to sign a "contract" or be repatriated home if they refused to sign. This contract was different from the one they had signed back home. He noticed that everyone in the room signed a similar contract, wondering about those who had paid more for the opportunity.

This is when Anwar started to wake up to reality. The contract said he would be paid USD 250 a month, of which USD 100 would be deducted to pay the "facilitator." The remaining USD 150 would be all that Anwar would be left with for his upkeep in Libya and for his family back home. With this wage, Anwar calculated that it would take five years or more, just to repay the USD 4,000 he had "borrowed" from his family.

A month elapsed then one day someone opened the shed and called out names including Anwar's.

They were led to a brick-making factory outside. They were housed in a nearby shed and were told to fend for themselves. Anwar described to me the conditions at work: verbal abuse, long shifts and repeated arrests and releases by the Libyan police who often burst into the factory looking for "illegal migrants." Any absence from work for any reason would mean money being deducted from their wages. Hardly any worker was earning the full USD 250 a month for one reason or another. When the work was over - normally a twelve-hour shift - Anwar had to hurry up back to the shed to cook his food.

"I learnt how to cook here. I had never cooked in my life before coming here," he said.

Anwar is now heading home, not knowing how he is going to restart his life. He counts himself lucky that the money he paid up front, all came from his family possessions. His friends are not so lucky because they had borrowed from merciless money lenders who will not sympathise with them in their tragedy.

He looked up the sky and asked me, "Did you hear of the three Bangladeshi migrants who jumped off the ship into the water and died on their way home?" He was referring to three migrants who committed suicide while they were being repatriated.

I talked with a reporter from Bangladesh's leading English paper, the Daily Star, Murshed Ali Khan who arrived at the camp. "I am really surprised that there have not been more suicides. It must be because many migrants are faithful adherents of their religion. In their situation, you need a strong faith not to commit suicide."

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