The Kafala System - Slavery and Human Trafficking in Lebanon

Travel Writing Part 1 Lebanon

The familiar sound of car horns and the babble of Arabic chatter drifted up to the balcony as I sat with my coffee. It signaled 'business as usual' on the congested streets in Ras An Nabaa. This was reassuring, given the bellowing clouds of black smoke rising from the mountain of rubber tyres, thrown onto blazing bonfires the previous day. I welcomed the arrival of my French flatmate Arielle, who joined me with a pot of tea. She reckoned it would be safe enough to explore the city, albeit with caution. Being an Arabic student living in Beirut, I trusted her advice, gleamed from local networks.

Glancing over to the flats opposite, a young Asian women dressed in a white work uniform stepped onto the balcony. Getting down on her hands and knees, she began scrubbing the surface of the lengthy veranda with active vigour. As she did so, a frowning Lebanese women towered over her, cross armed, scrutinising the frantic cleaning. Aghast and confused, I turned to Arielle who casually told me live-in maids were common in Lebanon, seen as 'property' and treated like dirt. It became clear that the 'normalcy' on the streets of Beirut, was underpinned by a darker side that began to unfold. The kafala system, an inherently abusive sponsorship arrangement, makes migrant domestic workers vulnerable to a gateway into slavery and human trafficking.

They call it the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon, a frequency bias. You know the way you notice something new, at least it is new to you and suddenly you are aware of it all over the place? In reality, there is no increase in occurrence, it is just that you have started to notice it. No prizes for guessing what I began to notice everywhere. On reaching to close the bedroom shutters to get dressed, a middle-aged Black women was hard at work directly opposite. Looking drawn and exhausted, she wore a shabby nightshirt, along with a yellow scarf sitting askew on the side of her head. Heavy blankets were shaken over the balcony, given their weight, she had perfected the knack of throwing them high in the air, to land perfectly on the elevated clothesline.

Given the close proximity of living spaces, when our eyes met, I flashed over a friendly smile. The look of alarm etched on the woman's face in return, took me aback. In a flash, her back was turned, and she hastily unwound the wide canopy, when the blank screen dropped, she was out of sight. My heart sank at the possibility that fear was behind her failure to return a friendly gesture. Perhaps, being warned not to communicate with others. Staying in what was a relatively low-income neighbourhood of Beirut, I found it surprising that domestic workers were hired here at all. However, they are excluded from Lebanese Employment Law, including the National Living Wage ($450 per month). Instead they are governed by the kafala system when salaries vary significantly or not paid at all.

Migrant domestic workers in Lebanon (and across the Middle East) are trapped in a web woven by the kafala system. At any one time, there are over 250,000 women in Lebanon, mainly from the poorer African and South East Asian countries. They expect to complete their contract period, before returning home to the families, who sorely depended on their dollars wired from abroad, for survival. The legal residency of the worker is tied to the contractual relationship with the sponsor, leaving workers vulnerable to exploitation and abuse, with little prospect of redress. The necessary written consent from sponsors, to change jobs or return home early; is rarely granted. The systematic and harrowing abuse of migrant workers is endemic within the available reports. Women suffer regular beatings and are assaulted for minor errors, imprisoned in small rooms, banned from leaving the home and passports are routinely confiscated. More extreme reports tell of sexual abuse and exploitation, often culminating in torture and murder.