Jody Wilson and her son Ben huddle in the bean bags as if to escape the Doha heat. No umbrella provides shade, but going back to the unit at lunchtime is not an option. The two, from Chester in England, live in the Fan Village Rawdat Al Jahhaniya, one of those sad container villages that the Qataris let roll in the void around Doha. Jody bought a thermometer in the Mall of Qatar, which rises out of the dust like a mirage a few freeways away. 46 degrees shows that in the container, she says. Jody, her forehead sweating, lets her eyes wander, Iran wins late on the screen, which some here wearily cheer, and she says: “Fuck this all.”
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