From left: Kenyans working in the Middle East, Josephine Zighe, Trizah Imbosa, Miriam Monet, Levinah Mumbi and Kephas Ogembo.
Beneath Dubai and Doha’s glittering skylines, thousands of Kenyans live out dreams that quickly turn to survival.
Yes, they have escaped unemployment in Kenya, but they say in Middle East countries, by day, they have to endure blistering 45°C temperatures, working long hours in spotless towers and homes.
By night, they return to overcrowded dorms, far from the wealth they help to maintain. Their employers, distant and exacting, allow little freedom behind polished facades.
As of mid-2024, over 416,000 Kenyans worked across the Gulf: 310,000 in Saudi Arabia, 66,000 in Qatar, and 23,000 in the UAE. The majority travel via agencies registered with Kenya’s National Employment Authority, undergoing medicals, visas, and training.
However, some travel with the 60 per cent of agencies which lack accreditation, which demand excessive fees or deceive workers. The result? A growing number lured by the promise find deceit, withheld wages, and sometimes abuse, hidden behind the Gulf’s rapid growth.
Time to go home
At 30, Miriam Monet is in Al Sailiya South, Qatar. After nine months, her journey has been marked by courage, sacrifice, and growth.
Having worked in Saudi Arabia and travelled to Dubai and Lebanon, Qatar felt unique. In October 2024, she took the leap. Unlike most waiting months for visas, hers was issued in a day. “It felt like a miracle,” she said, interpreting it as fate.
Miriam Monet is a chef in Al Sailiya South of Qatar.
Miriam works as a home chef in a large household with 50 people, managing two other chefs and over 20 staff. Her passion began in Nairobi hotels and training at the East African Institute of Hospitality Management.
Adjusting was easier than for many; she had learned Arabic in Saudi Arabia through gestures and repetition.
“That effort now makes it easier,” she notes.
Yet challenges remain: summer heat so intense that tap water burns, freezing winters, conservative dress codes, no public transport, and the emotional strain of distance.
“Sometimes people think you’re wealthy just because you’re abroad,” she said. “But many of us are just getting by.”
She has seen domestic workers treated like “second-class citizens,” eating scraps with separate utensils. Despite this, Miriam finds small joys: time with her husband (a hotel worker in Qatar), exploring malls or the grandeur of Hamad Airport. Kenyan culture offers comfort – airport staff, supermarkets selling ugali, sukuma wiki, and Blue Band. “Kenyans have taken over Qatar,” she jokes.
Grateful but ready, Miriam plans her next chapter: “I think next year will be my last... My dream is to return to Kenya, settle down, and start a family.”
Living in isolation
For Levinah Mumbi, 30, in Baghdad, Iraq, stability means isolation. She traded her failing Kenyan wines and spirits shop for domestic work in March 2023, seeking financial security. Applying via an agent for a visit visa (faster than a work visa), she arrived in shock.
Levinah Mumbi.
“The heat was unbearable, like an oven,” she recalls. The diet shift from ugali and nyama choma to daily rice was stark.
Based in Al-Rashid, Levinah spends nearly all her time indoors: “You just work, eat, and sleep. I’ve stayed indoors six months without stepping outside.”
Cultural contrasts persist; women wear full black abayas despite the heat. Loneliness is her greatest battle: “You leave your child, family, culture... to a place where you can’t understand anyone.”
Communication was initially broken: “Madam, this cup. Me, water. Drink.” Over time, she learned basic Arabic; her employers learned English. “It’s not perfect, but it works.”
Social media is her lifeline, connecting with family and Kenyans abroad via TikTok. She misses Kenyan weekends – nyama choma, spontaneity, laughter. Care packages from home (maize flour, omena) and Kenyan music provide therapy.
Crucially, Iraq offers what Kenya didn’t: the ability to save. “That’s the biggest blessing.” She invests in a future back home, buying land in Njoro, Nakuru County, for farming and selling stones.
“I’m not planning to stay permanently. Maybe next year... Working in the Gulf gives you money, yes. But you miss your child growing up... you don’t have freedom.”
Finding purpose in unexpected places
While Levinah endures confinement, Kephas Ogembo, 35, found unexpected growth in Qatar. His 2023 move wasn’t born of ambition but a friend’s urging.
Kephas Ogembo.
A pastor in Kenya, he was initially reluctant: “Qatar was too far, too foreign.” Yet a security job opportunity arose. Regency agency facilitated his hire; his visa was processed within a week.
Landing brought scorching heat, unfamiliar food, and 3:00 AM shifts. “The first few weeks were difficult. I questioned if I’d made an error.” Purpose anchored him: “I knew why I came.”
Working as a CCTV operator, he noted greater professionalism than in Kenya: “Rules are followed, systems run smoothly.” He seized training opportunities, growing in “discipline, responsibility, and mindset.”
Challenges persisted: missing his church family, subtle discrimination (“in a tone, a glance”), and language barriers with Arabic-speaking colleagues. He learned basic Arabic, used gestures, and found community in Kenyan social groups, Friday church services, and restaurants serving home food.
While saving is easier with provided accommodation and transport, Kephas knows it’s temporary: “Most contracts are short-term.” He invests in Kenya, planning his return after nearly three years. “I’m grateful... It opened my eyes. But it cost me time with family, missed birthdays, community comfort.” Was it worth it? “Yes, but only halfway.”
From Christian to Muslim
Like Kephas, Josephine Zighe, 29, arrived in Qatar seeking opportunity but found profound personal change. Frustrated by Kenyan finance jobs paying Sh15,000 monthly despite her degree and CPA, she took a chance in November 2021. Dodging agents charging Sh200,000, she secured her passport and passed medicals.
Josephine Zighe.
Initial shocks included 4 pm sunsets and the strong Muslim culture, reminiscent of a “bigger, more modern Mombasa.”
Working as a waitress earned her Sh40,000 plus tips, far better than in Kenya. However, her agency trapped her; her contract forbade changing jobs. “It was stay or go home.”
A year later, she pivoted, creating viral content teaching Arabic speakers Swahili. While rewarding, it was unstable. She now teaches part-time while job hunting. Qatar’s summer heat is “excruciating,” but she values subsidised healthcare and free transport. Shared accommodation taught cultural respect. She stays connected through cooking coastal dishes and running the “Kenyans in Qatar” support group. Living near two sisters eases the distance.
Profoundly, Josephine converted to Islam. “The coherence of the Quran and the peace I found drew me in.” She now studies religion and Arabic at an Islamic school, rewarded with gifts for progress. With her sisters, she invests in Kenyan real estate. Would she return permanently? “Maybe one day... when things are more stable for my future family.”
Life as a nanny
While Josephine transformed, Trizah Imbosa’s journey reveals migration’s darkest costs. At 35, the mother of two works as a house manager and nanny in Jordan, a path chosen from “sheer depression and desperation” after her pastor husband abandoned her.
Trizah Imbosa.
Swindled by agents for two years, she finally reached Qatar on May 10, 2024, via her sister’s contact.
Her life is gruelling: 17-hour days with no fixed rest. “When the children don’t sleep, I don’t sleep.” Worse is the abuse. The children hit her; she’s forbidden from stopping them. “They hit me... I was told not to hold their hands. Let them hit me.” The father “treats me like a dog. The yelling, the anger, it’s too much.” She feels helpless and disrespected, confined to the house, under constant camera surveillance. “There’s no protection or space to speak up.”
Isolated, she misses her children and family intensely. “TikTok helps me cope.” She battles depression rooted in betrayal and her current ordeal: “I cried. I bled. I was so depressed.” Yet, she perseveres, saving to return home, start a business, and reunite with her children. She dreams of moving to Kuwait or Dubai to “buy a better job” – escaping domestic work. “Being a house help is hard... But I’ll use it as a stepping stone.”
