All shaken up while abroad

Last year, under a scorching September sun, Jupiter Ghimire, 30, took a few minutes off from his food delivery work in Qatar's oppressive heat to scroll through Facebook.

His feed was full of news of a devastating flood and landslides in Nepal. Suddenly, he froze: one news item mentioned that among the worst hit was Gotikhel, his home village in Lalitpur.

Panic gripped him as he frantically dialled home, but the phones were down. The news was all bad: floods had ravaged Kavre and Lalitpur, killing 217 people. Ghimire’s heart sank as he saw familiar names and places. 

Social media became both a lifeline and a source of torment, as video updates streamed in about the rising death toll. About 40 people were dead or missing in the Gotikhel area, and Ghimire knew most of those who perished.  

“There were names of people I grew up with,” he recalls. For three agonising days, he was in the dark about his family, consumed by fear for his loved ones, especially his 11-year-old daughter.

Ghimire finally learned that his family had survived. But the flood had swept away their farm, and part of their home. He did not go home for Dasain last year to save money to rebuild the house. He isn't going this year either.

As the monsoon rains lash Nepal again, nearly a year after the 2024 disaster, Ghimire and other Nepalis here worry about another flood threatening their families, homes, crops, and livestock. 

Added to that is more recent worry of the Israel-Iran conflict spilling over to Qatar, as it did recently when Iran fired missiles at a US military base in Doha.

Ghimire’s life working overseas had begun with another disaster: the 2015 earthquake that killed nearly 9,000 people. He left for Malaysia and stayed there for three years to make enough money to start a new life back home.

After returning to Nepal, he invested his savings in a small canteen to support his family. But business faltered, and before long Ghimire was forced to leave once again, this time to Qatar where he has worked for the past seven years.

“If there were opportunities in Nepal, who would want to leave their families behind and live in the heat and solitude of the desert?” he asks, in between sips of Nepali-style milk tea in a street cafe.

Tirtha Gautam, another worker in Qatar, got a call on the morning of 28 September last year that turned his world upside down. The flood on the Rosi Khola had ravaged his family’s home in Kavre, destroying their farm and ready-to-harvest paddy crop.

“I couldn’t believe that this time it was happening to me,” Gautam says, recalling earlier misfortunes that had befallen families of other Nepalis in Doha. 

Gautam clung to fleeting moments of connection with home, often parking his bus near buildings with free wi-fi during breaks to check in on news from Nepal. Tragedies in his homeland have always been a source of sorrow, but this time it was deeply personal.

“I was devastated, but also furious,” says Gautam, who is critical of the government’s slow response even one year later to the disaster. “During these times, I wish I could help or donate, but with my little salary, do I look after my family or help my community?”

Gautam was working as a driver in Kathmandu when he left Nepal in 2012, hoping to work a few years and come back with enough savings to buy his own vehicle. Twelve years later, at 34, he is still in Qatar. 

Read also: Qatari leader in Nepal reminded of workers’ rights

He is married with two children, but the distance from family weighs heavily in his mind. His second son was born just two days before this interview. Gautam embraced the joy through a video call, but had to cut it short to return to work.

“I want to go back to Nepal and be with my family and my new son,” Gautam says. “I am done living here.”

Yet for workers like Gautam and Ghimire, that is easier said than done. Each disaster, natural or economic, forces them to extend their time abroad indefinitely.

“I am not staying here by choice but compulsion,” adds Gautam, who has not gone home for Dasain for the past 12 years that he has been in Qatar. “My parents get very upset every time they hear I can’t come home.”

Gautam does visit Nepal every two years, but feels like a stranger. “There is a stigma about working in Khadi,” he says, using the Nepali term for the Gulf. “People who go to the US or Europe are held in higher regard.”

Despite sending money to Nepal that keeps the country's economy and their own households afloat, migrant workers are sometimes met with subtle disdain. 

This unspoken rejection deepens a sense of alienation, since most workers sacrifice time with family and children to earn enough to support their folks in Nepal. 

“To truly belong, I’d need to be home, surrounded by my family and culture,” Gautam tells us. “But economic reality keeps me here, away from everything that makes me feel Nepali.”  

Diaspora disaster response

For professional migrants in the West with resources and opportunities, the focus tends to be on organised aid and advocacy in times when Nepal suffers disasters. But for economic migrants in the Gulf or Malaysia, challenges of daily survival limit their ability to help. 

Yet, there is a collective will to support Nepal in times of need. As political instability and economic challenges persist, the government must find ways to mobilise this emotional attachment in the diaspora.

Disasters, upheavals, and economic turmoil in Nepal often spark fervent discussions when Nepalis abroad meet up. The conversations highlight both the ways the diaspora strives to help the homeland, and the helplessness felt by many. 

In the aftermath of the 2015 earthquake, the 2020-21 Covid lockdowns, and the 2024 floods, donation and advocacy campaigns emerged spontaneously in the diaspora. 

Nepal Rising’s Fill the Bucket campaign after 2024 floods, for example, raised $7,000 through global donations, targeting both international and Nepali migrants. For a donation of just $40, a family of four received essential food, sanitation, and medical supplies in Nepal. 

The campaign gained significant traction on social media, with hundreds of shares worldwide.   

“It’s an emotional response,” says Preeti Pandey Adhikary of The Great Nepali Diaspora Network (TGTN). “Whenever a disaster strikes, everyone is incredibly generous with their donations.” 

She adds: “People back home see us as the lucky ones who don’t have to worry about basic needs. And yet, when we share ideas about how Nepal could be improved, we’re dismissed with, ‘How dare you tell us how to run Nepal?’”

TGTN fosters collaboration within the Nepali professional diaspora to bridge this divide. She rejects the term “brain drain,” arguing that geographical distance doesn’t diminish the ability to contribute meaningfully to the home country.

“Nepali identity is fluid,” Adhikary says, “whether you live in Europe, the US, or Asia, you can adopt new homes while still retaining your Nepaliness.”

This fluid identity has enabled professional migrants to reconnect with Nepal in innovative ways, from volunteering to establishing impactful projects. 

Connectivity through phone apps is a lifeline. These donations are a reaction to disaster, but do not help with preparedness and prevention. 

Says Adhikary: “There’s a lot of excitement, optimism, and a sense of empowerment. There is growing collaboration and active engagement within the diaspora as well as an evolving sense of national identity and responsibility.”