Enslaved Nepali migrant worker rebuilds her life

This is the 58th edition of Diaspora Diaries, and a followup to #4 in this series, published in Nepali Times #1104, 25-31 March 2022. We recommend reading that piece, available online at our website, before this one.

It has been three years since I returned to Nepal from Lebanon. I did not think I would make it out alive after 12 years working for a family that never paid me.

I returned empty-handed, and it was my mother who supported me. Without her, I do not know what would have happened to me. 

For some time after returning, I did not do anything. But I finally  gather myself together, and trained as a beautician. Perhaps it was the trauma of my experience overseas, but I was introverted and did not socialise much in class.

No one knew what I had been through in Lebanon. My troubles were mine to keep. I did not share them with anyone.

The training centre also offered us jobs and I tried working for a few months on facials, hair straightening. But the chemicals made my chest hurt, so I quit.

I found it therapeutic to cook, and started preparing meals for households. I cook the morning and evening meals for a family. Sometimes I cater home gatherings.

These orders come mostly from referrals and word of mouth, and I can cook single-handedly for 40-50 people. Everyone has appreciated my food, which makes me happy. My specialty is Thakali food.

I learn a lot of recipes from YouTube. I have had no formal training, but I have a lot of experience from cooking for the Lebanese family. It is just that the meals I prepared there were less oily and more bland.

I listen to music and try to enjoy cooking, but I often have flashbacks that take me back to those 12 years in Lebanon. How could they get away without paying me anything? All the toil amounted to nothing.

Here, in Nepal, people pay me by the hour or sometimes on a daily basis. There are tips. Even though it is not a lot, at least I am paid here. It was so different in Lebanon.

Read also: “You must be having so much fun there!” Sujata Dhungana

I see migrant workers who have returned to Nepal with money they have saved which they invest. I came back with nothing. In fact, I barely made it back alive.

But, I am trying to move on and I have made progress. I keep myself busy, and get paid for it, and this work allows me to socialise a bit with my customers.

After returning from Lebanon I kept confusing Arabic and Nepali. By now, my Arabic has died. I weighed around 30kg when I came back and could not eat anything. Now I at least have an appetite even though I do not eat a lot.

I try to forget everything about my overseas experience, except an ongoing legal case for back payment of my wages. I still have not received my dues. I don’t know when or if I ever will. I have been assured that such legal cases take time and I will eventually get paid. 

I am now thinking of migrating overseas again, this time to work in a parlour or as a cook. Dubai, maybe. But with the case pending, I am hesitant to leave because what if I am needed here for official reasons pertaining to my case that require my presence? I cannot just leave and immediately come back.

If I receive all my back pay, I may not even migrate. I will start a small खाजा घर, ideally an eatery near a bus park where it is busy and there is a good flow of people. I don’t have big aspirations, I will start small and expand step by step. 

I can survive on what I am doing now. But that is it, I cannot do more. At this age, I have it in me to spend a few years overseas and return to invest in a business.

But sometimes I fear another traumatic experience. What if things go wrong again? I still have to confront the demons inside me. Then I think, just because it happened once it does not mean it will happen again.

I mostly try not to think about my time in Lebanon. One of the daughters I took care of was two-and-half years old when I got to Beirut. The other was born while I was there and I took care of her from the very next day after her birth. By the time I left, they were both grown up.

My mother keeps reminding me to keep looking ahead and forget what has happened. She reminds me that there is nothing I cannot achieve. My dream, which seems unrealistic now, is to own a house in Kathmandu. I will live on the second floor and on the first floor I will take care of the poorest, the sick, those without anyone to turn to for support. 

I will feed them and take care of them. It would give me so much joy. But I do not know if I will ever achieve this dream. To help others, you first have to be in a position to help yourself.  

Diaspora Diaries #4

Excerpt from Nepali Times,  #1104, 25-31 March 2022

I first came to Lebanon when I was 18 years old. I lived in the country for 12 years as a domestic worker. Of the 12 years, I was only paid my salary for 1 year and 9 months. 

My case is unique because unlike others, I did not realise that I was being cheated through most of my stay there. I got along well with the family that I worked for.

When they said they were saving up my wages in the bank, I believed them. Why would I not? They were like family, or so I thought. The idea of taking home a lump sum of money all at once was very appealing to me. After all, I had come to Lebanon to earn money to support my family back home in Nepal.

Now I realise that I was too trusting, and it was naive of me to believe that we were like family. They were just exploiting me, and trying to squeeze as much work from me as possible without paying for any of it.

When I had first left Nepal in 2010, I had a 5 rupee note with me given to me by my sister-in-law. I kept that red bank note with me throughout my time in Lebanon.

And that is all the money I brought home with me. I have now laminated the 5 rupee note. I will not forget this Nepali money because that is all I left with, and that is all I returned with.

Diaspora Diaries is a Nepali Times collaboration with Migration Lab providing a platform to share experiences of living, working, studying abroad.