However, the reality was different. My mother was the only one supporting my siblings and me. I passed the exams to study journalism at university, but she couldn’t afford the costs. I had to sell vegetables hawking toys for very little money. Then in a Mpesa shop. I was then selling water bottles on the street to earn a living.
After an interview, I was told I would work as a patient attendant in a Lebanon hospital for two years. The day my flight left was the most challenging day I’ve ever experienced. I cried until my Brother reassured me that two years would soon be over. I didn’t know it’d be the last day I would see my Brother.
Upon arrival at the airport, I was guided to a waiting area. Three other Kenyan girls were placed there, two girls were in Lebanon for the first time, and the third girl was arriving from a vacation after three years in Lebanon. She warned us that we would be maids instead of doing the jobs we were promised.
While in that room, I saw women from Nepal, Bangladesh, Ethiopia, Benin, Madagascar, the Philippines and many more. One by one, their names were called, and they left. I also found out about women who had been abandoned at the airport for many days without food and waiting for somebody to come to claim them. Seven hours later, my name was called!
I felt relieved! I left to meet my new employer.
She was a woman in her late 50s. Although she was excellent, I was afraid, but I comported myself. She informed me I was to work in her mom’s house in Tripoli. At first, I had to register at The Office. with 15 other African Women, and I was left there for three days. On the 2nd day, we were told to unbraid and wash our hair. We bathed in the buckets of water they provided. When I finished cleaning, I felt a hot sensation all over my face. We didn’t know what it was until an Ethiopian girl who used to be in Lebanon explained that the water had been mixed with pesticide to kill the bed bugs that they believed African girls carry in their hair.
My first 365 days in Lebanon were hell. Wake up early every day to attend to a 90yr older adult. However, when I compare my experience with what others are facing, I count myself lucky to have found the family I did. They were fair. At least, I was permitted to speak to my family once a week and, after one year, I was allowed to have my own Phone. There weren’t off days for me but a few free hours on Sundays, which I really appreciated because other workers had no free time at all.
In my second year, I met a Kenyan girl named Emma. She worked in the neighbourhood. She was a single mom. She was taken to Lebanon by an agent who assured her that she would make plenty of money to take care of her son back in Kenya. But as soon as she arrived in Lebanon, the agent handed her over to wicked employers and disappeared. She was Locked up in the house without food every time they travelled. She was so overlaboured and physically abused when they were around that she wished they would leave and lock her up without food instead.
It was not only Kenyans. There was a time an Ethiopian girl arrived at my employer’s house and begged my employer to assist her escape. She had been locked up without pay and managed to escape.
My Brother died on 15 March 2014. I was broken. I wanted to come back home, but because I had signed a contract for years, I was not allowed.
I returned back to Kenya 5 years later and met my family again.
Despite the pains of my journey, I have gathered enough money to attend university, and I am grateful that I arrived home safely.
