What do Qatar’s World Cup workers fear most? Being sent home

In a dusty car park, near to one of the largest labour camps in Qatar, Worker A gets into my car. I will call him Worker A, not because I do not want to reveal his name, but because I do not know his name.

He only agrees to talk to me after I show him my name on the articles I have written and match it to my passport. I hand over my phone to prove I am not recording anything.

The reason he is reluctant to talk, he tells me, is that his employer had recently used a “spy” to root out troublemaking employees. “Everyone is afraid to speak out but we’re dying inside,” he says.

He claims they work 12-hour shifts for six days a week, but do not receive the legal rate for overtime pay. In all, he says, they earn the equivalent of about £335 a month. “Our manager has a [nice car] but on my salary I couldn’t even afford to buy its four tyres. I’m earning peanuts,” says Worker A.

In their labour camp, he alleges, six workers share a room, which is also illegal, and the food is so bad that he says “dogs wouldn’t eat it”.

He tells me about a co-worker, a young man who recently collapsed and died at his workplace, after saying he was feeling unwell but being ordered to work regardless.

Another source sent me a photo of the deceased worker. When I first met her, I asked if I could add her number to my phone so we could keep in touch. She told me to wait because her boss might be watching. A few minutes later, she discreetly slipped me a note with her number on it.

On a recent reporting trip I met up with another worker I had kept in touch with for years. Someone saw us talking and a few days later he was summoned by the police and interrogated.

This is how we report on the buildup to the world’s greatest football tournament: through