On the occasion of International Domestic Workers’ Day, Mariam, a former MDW, community leader and member of MWA shares her journey from being a domestic worker to being trapped under the Kafala to finding herself as a community leader. This is her story:
It was my dream to study and become a journalist or magistrate. I grew up in Africa, in a country, where most women still remain at home to take care of the household rather than to pursue a career. I already believed back then that more women should be involved in changing our country the way journalists or magistrates did. So I graduated high school as a teenager in the city and planned to attend college to follow that dream.
Despite my dreams and aspirations being clear, my family and I did not have the financial means to cover the costs of going to college. So when I was 17 years old, a family friend told my mother about this ‘programme’ to go to the Middle East to earn money. It was clear from the beginning that I would do domestic work while working in Lebanon. I didn’t mind that. For me domestic work would be the stepping stone to get closer to my dream of studying journalism or law.
So my mother and I agreed that I should make the decision to travel with one of these programmes and earn money. In order for me to be prepared, my mother started to teach me the most important skills of domestic work and child care. Although I did grow up as a daughter in an African family, I was not expected to help in the household. My mother was always taking care of tidying up for us, so it was necessary for me to be introduced to the basics, such as making the bed or cleaning up the kitchen.
I don’t know why the broker recruiting me was different from the ones many of my African sisters met. When I prepared to leave my country in 2015, I was not required to pay a fee. All I had to pay for was the renewal of my passport and the transportation to the offices in the city. I think I was an exception, because in my case, the sponsor / Kafeel paid for all my expenses. However, even if I was an exception in regard to paying fees, I was not an exception in being given false promises regarding the working conditions. I was promised new clothing and a new phone, so I left most of my personal belongings back home and gave some of them away to friends, including my phone.
I arrived in Lebanon, as a minor, 17 years old, still steadfast that this ‘programme’ will open a door of opportunities for me to save enough money and return with the financial means to attend college. Although my arrival should have already given me clear signs that something was wrong. At the airport, my employer didn’t pick me up immediately and I remained in that infamous waiting room for migrant domestic workers inside the airport. The General Security officer at the airport immediately confiscated my passport and handed it over to the recruitment agent responsible for my employment. The agent then brought me to the office, where I had to undergo medical tests before being placed with my employer. I arrived at my employer's house, where my Madame immediately received my passport and then showed me my room. I didn’t even know where I was; all I knew was that I was in a village far away from the capital, Beirut. I realised that things were not as great as I was promised, but I still remained positive. My situation became clear when I realised I wasn’t allowed a phone and that the ‘new clothes’ I was promised were old rags that I wouldn’t have even worn back home, and that my bedroom was a small pantry with a foldable bed. I was explained what my responsibilities were in the household, such as waking up at 5 am to prepare breakfast and ensure the children are ready to go to school, as well as managing the entire household for the family. Although I was only a 17-year-old girl, it became very clear very soon how I was perceived by my employer. Very quickly, there were signs that the Mister objectified me, while his wife, the Madame, blamed me for her husband’s interest in me. Until today, I am not sure what happened, but during my employment, within a few weeks, I kept getting sick and losing consciousness. After this repeated several times, at one point, I ended up unconscious and woke up in a hospital. My agent met me there and said it was time for me to be placed in another household. There was an implied concern that I was poisoned.
I ended up being placed with another family closer to Beirut. Despite having hope for a better experience, I was proven wrong. During the 18 months I worked in that house, I experienced the worst forms of abuse and violence, which eventually led to my decision to escape at night and get away as far and as quickly as possible, despite losing my passport and immediately voiding my residency, pushing me into becoming undocumented in Lebanon.
I remained on the streets for several hours in the middle of the night until I met another migrant worker, who recommended that I contact a local CSO. I received support to find shelter and heal from my traumatic experiences. In order to survive and ensure an income, I started to work as a freelance domestic worker, receiving payment on an hourly basis. While working for my own survival, I also started to become a part of the various networks of migrants resisting their oppression and being able to attend sessions and capacity building. I came to the realisation that I am not alone in this experience. It became clear that many MDWs have had similar experiences and that this normalisation of violence wouldn’t change unless we start mobilising.
It was in that moment, as a freelance domestic worker, that somehow my dreams from back home became reality, even if in a different form: instead of a journalist or magistrate, I naturally developed into a community organiser.
As a community organiser, I amplified the voice of my community and shared their stories, similar to a journalist, and I also advocated with INGOs and the consulate for many cases, similar to a magistrate. Throughout the years, I built my skills and my network to advocate for the MDWs trapped as live-in workers in abusive households under the Kafala system. Throughout the years, I experienced the transformation of being a minor, trafficked into Lebanon as a migrant domestic worker, to being a survivor of violence and abuse, to becoming a community leader advocating for our rights. I always knew I had it in me: being an activist, but I didn’t have the opportunity to explore it. It was through being a domestic worker and experiencing the abuses under the Kafala and then being part of networks that I was able to discover my true calling.
Throughout my time in Lebanon, domestic work was what gave me the income to be able to support myself as well as my community. I only worked as a live-in domestic worker for a little bit over two years, but I did continue to work as a freelance / live-out domestic worker for nearly eight years. I worked several part-time jobs as a domestic worker and provided childcare.
My message is that domestic work is work, and it was the income generated through domestic work in Lebanese households that led me to become a community leader and provide support to my community, which is who I am today. In the same way that many activists have jobs to earn money and then use a part of that income for their causes, the same can be applied to domestic workers and their activism.
Although my dream used to be a magistrate or journalist, many years ago when I was a 17 year old minor arriving in Lebanon, looking back, I am exactly where I want to be. When asked if I would want to go to college now to study journalism or law, I would say no. I am doing exactly what I am meant to do. Despite the Kafala system, I am living my dream.