Bleary eyed and weak-limbed after having stood through the overnight duty, Dangol hands over his walkie-talkie and trudges towards his apartment, which is a good 30-minute walk away. His uniform—the red hat, white shirt and black pants—has become a burden for him: because of it, he might be stopped anywhere on his way home and interrogated by the Malaysian police. To avoid being picked out, he crosses the street every few minutes. “I was once stopped here and they demanded 50 Ringitts. I had to give it to them. I was scared that they would put me behind bars,” says Dangol.

Dangol, who is originally from Bhaktapur, is among eight well-built Nepali hulks assigned to secure a bayside luxurious hotel on this island. Their common problem—they do not have valid work permits; and their only fear—the police’s taking advantage of their situation. They all live together in a poor neighbourhood, in a makeshift shuttered shelter, which must have been built as godowns. Inside their quarters, some clothes hang on the walls while others have been packed tightly inside polythene bags.

Three Nepalis from Dangol’s shift are already home and taking a nap after a long night-duty. A loud announcement of “hooch in the house” is made, upon which everyone springs awake, forming a circle to partake of some well-deserved shots.

The men sleep here on rotation. When four go to work, their space is taken by the four others. There are no proper beds here. Everyone sleeps on plastic sheets or on a bed-sheet thrown over the floor. “The agent in Nepal showed me pictures of some beautiful rooms and toilets and said I was going to live in one of those in Malaysia. The photographs were probably taken in the hotel we work in,” says Prakash Shrestha.  “When I first entered this place, I shed tears. Not because I had to sleep here, but I had been deceived”.

Everyone in the apartment always has to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. The agent might call them anytime; if such a call does come through, he will ask them to pack and will take them to a similar job at a location far away. Most of them have already been transferred at least five times in less than a year, while some have been relocated 12 times in eight months. “We have been forced to become nomads. Because we move so often, there’s no point in buying a proper bed,” says Shrestha.

Bodh Prasad Pandey is the most recent addition to the group.  Although he doesn’t sleep here, he makes it a point to visit these guards, and he brings along cigarettes, drinks and snacks. “I have my own problems, but I have my legal work permit, which enables me to walk freely and buy things without fear,” says Pandey, who was brought to work in a steel company for 1,500 ringgit but works as a dishwasher for 800 ringgit a month at the same hotel as the security guards. “To own  a permit is even worse,” he jokes, “as I have to go and buy everything for them every minute. And I earn much less than them.” Although the Malaysian government recently set a minimum salary rate of 900 ringgit, many migrant workers make less than that.

All these workers once possessed work permits, photocopies of which they carry with them. To make the small piece of paper look more legitimate when they have to be offered during interrogations by the police, the copies have been printed in colour, and some of the guards have even laminated them. “These are our priceless possessions, although they are expired and the company hasn’t issued new ones. It’s been months since we have been asking them to re-issue the legal papers for us,” says Dhiraj Chaulagain, from Jhapa. A few months ago, Chaulagain had also dared to ask that the agents give him back his passport if they were to continue delaying with the work permit. “I was on duty when they took me to their office and said they would kill me and send my corpse home,” he says. “These contractors hate Nepalis and take us for granted. But we are very dependent on them.”

It’s a reality lived by many Nepalis among the thousands of Nepali security guards who work for Malaysian contractors. For a good number of them, most of the initial promises that were made to them have been broken, contracts have been breached and passports have been seized. While they had been promised that they would receive double their daily wages on Sunday (the weekend holiday), triple the wages on public holidays and additional pay for overtime work, they haven’t been paid accordingly. “The Malaysian contractors are entitled to a cut of 154 ringgit from our salaries a month, but they sometimes rake in over 200 ringgit,” says Pandey.

And yet despite these problems, the Nepalis pour in. Malaysia is one of the top destinations for Nepali migrant workers as the country’s visa processes are not too stringent and the demand for foreign workers is higher here than in the Gulf. Records at the Nepali Embassy in Malaysia show that around 700,000 Nepali workers currently work in the country, mostly in the agriculture, labour and security sectors. Every year, around 200,000 Nepalis enter the country. Malaysia is also popular among agents because of the huge commission and cuts they receive for the Nepali workers. It is also estimated that around 40,000 Nepalis are illegally residing in Malaysia, and around 10,000 have been deported home.

As the men down more rounds of the hooch, the discussions begin to heat up and they talk about their problems. But everybody is careful not be too vociferous. “Once we were talking about these things and some guy whom we didn’t know came over and threatened us. We didn’t understand his language,” says Hom Gurung, the shy one in the group, after two shots of the local stuff.

The men talk about how they have been deprived of basic facilities like health insurance and bank services. “I broke my credit card, and all my salary gets deposited at the bank. I don’t have a passport to go and open a new account or get a fresh credit card. I have around 8,000 ringgit in my account—useless money that I cannot withdraw,” says Chaulagain.

Sitting in a circle like this after work and talking is how the men find solace. While they know they cannot return to Nepal anytime soon, the space within these four walls of this crammed apartment is their refuge. They know they have to be united and commiserate with one another. “These are not individual problems anymore. It’s a common problem. We don’t have the solutions, but talking about our problems like this helps,” says Chaulagain.

Drinks done, the security guards hang their uniforms on the walls one by one. While it’s time for most Malaysians to start their day, for these Nepali security guards, it’s time to catch some sleep.

(Names have been changed)