Work work work.

It has been a week since i got here. The labor is difficult. Everyday there are a couple of men who die. Most of the deaths account for my kind, black West Indians. People are too harsh. They mistreat us, and make us work harder than the other minorities. Sometimes I even forget what it is what I am working for, I just need the money, even if they pay poorly for such hard labor. The days routine is as followed, wake up by sunrise, and start working. We eat little by little. We stop working a couple hours after the sun goes down, it seems as if we only get three or five hours of sleep. People all around us are sick. They are throwing up, getting nauseous, and their body temperature is burning up. I just hope that this job does not take my life.