GUANGDONG PROVINCE, China - For decades migrant workers have been the faceless engine of China's economic growth. And in recent months, they have been seriously affected by the current global economic slowdown.

A mother carries her child last week at a railway station in Chongqing, China, during the Spring Festival season.

That's why we headed to China's industrial Guangdong province, so called "factory of the world," leading up to the Chinese New Year. Sometimes called the Spring Festival or Lunar New Year, the Chinese New Year is one of the most important traditional holidays for Chinese, with millions making the trek by plane, train, bus or automobile to see their families.

From the provincial capital Guangzhou we drove south toward the city of Dongguan, one of the economic powerhouses in southern China. Both sides of the expressway were dotted by countless factories and worker's dormitories. Most of the companies in the province produce goods for export.

I have traveled here before and soon noticed that something was different. Even from the car window one can see that many of the dormitories, where up to 12 workers often share a room, are empty. Some of them carry big signs "For rent."

Our driver says the car company he works for was making its living primarily from foreign businessmen and investors who came to inspect the factories in the region. "In October, November of the last year, they just stopped coming," he said. "We have no clients now. I do not know how much longer we can stay in business like this."

Some parts of Dongguan resemble a ghost town. Closed factories, empty workers' dormitories, deserted streets, shuttered restaurants, shops and massage parlors.

Shoe factory Wei Xu is in a township of Chang'an, and closed on October 31 after its U.S. clients stopped buying shoes.

Many small businesses surrounding the factory went bankrupt, and their owners returned to their villages. Some are still open, and we soon learn why.

A married couple, Mr. Gong Xinfei and Ms. Hu Shanling, came here with their two young children from Jiangxi province less then four months ago. They borrowed money from relatives and friends and rented their shop for a year. Mr. Gong had to pay almost $1,000 as deposit money. He spent an additional $8,000 to equip and stock the shop. The factory closed one week after the store opened. Gong says he has no money left and if he leaves now, he will lose the deposit, too.

"We don't have money. What can we do? Back at home we are not registered as farmers and have no land. Where can I make money?"

Gong continues: "We are people without jobs and have to depend on ourselves. Even if we go home, we have to make money. There is nothing to do there. That is why we borrowed money to do business here and see if we could make some money. Now we lost everything.

"If we really cannot survive, we have to go. I don't know where to go though. I have no idea," Gong adds, laughing nervously.

A few hundred meters away, Ma Shenglu leans against a doorframe of her empty restaurant. The 27-year-old Muslim says she came to Dongguan a few years ago from Qinghai province: "I don't have other ways to make living. I don't have money," Ma says. "What can I do? Nothing. My kids go to school here. The store lease cannot not be transferred and I would lose the deposit money so I cannot go back home."

Those with the means have left. As we drive through Dongguan we see flocks of migrant workers walking, carrying their belongings in huge bags made of blankets or plastic wraps. Some women carry children on their backs.

Some factories are surviving, such as the Weijia plastic production plant in Ma Yong Township. But even those still running receive fewer orders from foreign buyers, and have had to limit production. That means workers have less work to do and earn less money.

Migrants usually earn most of their money working overtime. Toiling 14 hours a day with only two days off a month used to be normal here. Workers could earn between $200-$250 a month this way. Now, with regular working hours and free weekends they are earning barely half of that. For many it's not worth it. "I will stay home after spring festival. I cannot continue working like this," says Yang Jiajing. "It is not even enough to pay for my food. I will do farm work or will try something else."

One of the factories we visited did not feel the crunch. Its example speaks volumes about the whole crises in Guangdong. The printing company Tai Da in Ma Yong Township produces exclusively for the Chinese market and is not reliant on exports. The workers are as busy as always, says the security guard at the company gate. The managers of the factory declined to talk a foreign journalist.

The Chinese government is trying to re-orient production for domestic markets. This, however, is a long-term project. Thousands of factories have simply run out of time.