On a flight from Kampala to Dubai, I found myself surrounded by lines of young Ugandan women, all wearing the same uniform. I couldn’t help but notice the excitement and happiness on their faces. As the plane departed, I overheard some of their hopes and dreams and wondered how many of them would go back home carrying the same smiles. Statistics from the Ugandan government indicate that about 2,000 citizens leave monthly for domestic work in the Middle East, with a majority working in the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) countries. This statistic does not account for the migrants who travel illegally or irregularly through other countries. They also do not reflect the percentage of these women who come back with kidney, lung, chest, and skin health conditions and mental health issues, and the others who never come back.

This story is not new. Out of the 11.5 million migrant domestic workers worldwide, 27.4% are in the Arab states. With estimates that the Gulf countries host almost 14% of global labor migrants, labor abuses in the region have been reported for years. While some countries, like The Philippines, have been enforcing better migration conditions for their citizens, most African countries still lag behind. Moreover, black African women migrants often find themselves facing extremely harsh living conditions that are shaped by prejudice and racist discriminatory practices that are socially accepted, and often legally sanctioned or ignored by both the sending and receiving countries. 

The Gulf States are known for their unique growth model. The oil-sector boom was, and remains, the main catalyst behind the region’s economic expansion. In the past years, the region has also been exerting its political power and influence, and some of its cities, like Dubai, have become famous destinations for business and tourism alike. Celebrities, influencers, and mega football stars speak fondly of the region, and are charmed by its perfection of “modernity.” Clean streets, low tax rates, safety, and great locations that enable fast and cheap traveling are all reasons why many are choosing to move their lives and business to the Gulf. 

A closer look at this vast wealth, security, and stability shows a picture of exclusion as millions of migrant workers live in slavery-like conditions that are either overlooked, under-reported, or solely blamed on the abuses of illegal contractors and labor agencies. This labor model is not exclusive to the Gulf: rapid capitalist development has a high human cost and its sustainability is tied to the continuation of exploitative work conditions. Yet the region offers a unique example of social reproduction which allowed it to become a labor-importing hub that outsources various forms of socialized care almost entirely to non-locals.

This story happens for a reason. Under the kafala system, the rights of the citizen-employer are fundamentally interpersonal and in opposition. The colonial roots of this employment practice date back to the British empire’s attempts at regulating labor in the region as early as the 1920s. In the 1930s, the system was updated (and remains in place in different forms) to ensure migrants who are jobless cannot return to the region without first obtaining a No Objection Certificate from the political agent as well as the sponsor. The kafala system is then an employer-tied visa that is both racialized and restrictive of the movements of the foreign labor force. For most employees, the kafala system is a governance model that shapes a worker’s relationship with the employer, as well as the local citizen at large. This is made more complex, however, when we look at the household as both a site of work, yet still an autonomous space governed by the family. Domestic workers often refer to their employers in the Gulf as baba (father) and mama (mother) reflecting that although the domestic worker is a member of a foreign labor force, she becomes part of the familial and domestic social roles and dynamics. 

Looking at the private sphere, women are governed by a different set of rules that can mostly be attributed to qiwamah and wilayya regulations. Male guardianship is not a clear set of legal regulations; it is a mix of laws and practices that dictates how women exercise many of their basic rights, including in marriage, education, work, access to healthcare services, and mobility and travel and in essence treats women like legal minors. Elements of male guardianship exist across the Middle East but are more predominant in the Gulf states. When these practices intersect with the absence of legislations that would criminalize offenses such as domestic violence or rape, they can further foster an environment of violence that limits women’s bodily autonomy. Provisions of obedience in Family Laws also reinforce the power men can have over women and contradict with women’s constitutional rights as equal and full citizens. 

Male guardianship regulations are mostly attributed to the Quranic verse 4:34 dictating that men are qawammun in relation to women. This word is usually translated as protectors and maintainers, and is used to justify unequal treatment of men and women. Qiwamah is commonly understood as the husband’s authority over his wife: he provides and she obeys. Wilayah, on the other hand, is a term commonly used to refer to a more general authority that male members in a family have over their female counterparts. Both concepts have evolved over centuries to become the current patriarchal legal concepts practiced in Muslim contexts to justify male superiority, unequal legal rights and decision-making responsibilities, restricting women’s mobility, and limiting their public roles and legal capacities. 

Foreign working women, who are dependent on their husbands and fathers as their visa sponsors, also face these restrictions under both kafala laws and male guardianship practices. In most Gulf state countries, women need their visa sponsors to give them permission to work, get healthcare services, pursue a scholarship, or even get a driving license. Then where does this place domestic workers, who are foreign working women, working under the same roof of their employers? A domestic worker in the Gulf states then occupies a space that transcends both the public and private spheres: as a foreign worker, you are governed by kafala laws, while simultaneously, and as a female residing in the private sphere, you are governed by the male guardianship system. Combined, the two systems make domestic workers vulnerable to various types of abuse and puts them at a natural disadvantage where the legal system already favors the man over the women. 

This story does not happen in a vacuum. The feminized nature of domestic work is one of constant invisibilization. Whether at origin or destination countries, factors of gender, race, and ethnicity intersect with what is deemed to be of value, or what comes to be considered “work.” Care work, including domestic work, is treated as a personal or family issue that has no connection to the state or the economy. When care work is naturalized and made to be seen as an innate act, it automatically loses its value. In other words, in the origin countries domestic work is usually feminized and done for free. When this work is done in the destination countries, it is underpaid and remains undervalued as a woman’s role. Feminist theorists have long showcased that the creation of a distorted image of what work is, in addition to the sexualization and feminization of domestic labor, enabled the normalization of these exploitative conditions. Consequently, when a domestic worker is not “performing” as expected by her employers, she is an unnatural woman who can not perform a woman’s role of sacrifice and love. When a domestic worker demands better pay and improved work conditions, she is not a worker on strike, but a bad woman who refuses to act according to her nature. Adding race, ethnicity, nationality, and religion to this complex picture, domestic workers work at an extremely vulnerable intersection.

Guaranteeing domestic workers’ rights in the Gulf states have been mostly linked to abolishing the kafala system. Although this is a rightful ask, domestic workers’ limited mobility, denial of access to dignified health services and sexual and reproductive rights, mistreatment and abuse are all enabled under both kafala and male guardianship laws. Moreover, and in a global system of increased economic liberalization, countries in many parts of the Global South, including in Africa, are consistently importing their people, and their economies are highly susceptible to remittances. In that light, any analysis of domestic workers’ conditions is not possible without engaging with an anti-capitalist framework. Women’s bodily autonomy, agency, and access to basic and fundamental rights can only be guaranteed when women are seen and treated as legal equals; and when their labor is made visible and valued. Domestic workers’ rights cannot be separated from their legal and economic rights.