Saved by a ball, for now

F

or 49-year-old Gigi, a migrant worker from the Philippines, the Church of St. Joseph in Beirut’s Acharafiyeh neighborhood, had always been a sanctuary.

During her only day off for the week, she would hear mass and meet with friends there. In the past several years, however, the historic church has gained more significance for her; at its grounds in Lebanon’s capital, Gigi has been indulging in an unexpected passion: playing cricket with the friends who have become her family.

“We came here every Sunday to the church and watched the boys play cricket,” says Gigi, who, like the other female domestic workers interviewed for this story, prefers to give only her first name. “Then Fernando asked us to come watch the game and try playing if we liked it. It was very hard at first, but soon we started enjoying it and formed an all-Filipino team with other girls.” 

Suganth Fernando arrived in Lebanon, also as a migrant worker, in 1996, taking a job as a cleaner. During a trip to the supermarket, a fellow Sri Lankan invited him to a game of cricket in a building’s parking lot. 

Three decades later, Fernando has become a key figure in Lebanon’s cricketing community of migrant workers, which now has 11 women’s teams.

“Personally, I was so happy because, as you know, women – especially South Asian women and others – face many challenges,” he says. “Whether in their home countries or when they migrate for work as domestic helpers, they often encounter difficulties. But when I introduced them to cricket, a few girls showed interest. I asked, ‘Would you like to play some cricket?’ and they said, ‘Okay.’ Some of them had even played back home in Sri Lanka.”

According to Fernando, the games began as a weekend activity for the women, some of whom played it for the first time. Cricket is alien to Filipinos, for example, because it not played in their country, where basketball and volleyball—and lately, soccer—are more popular sports.

But Fernando says that over the years, playing cricket became a crucial form of relaxation for the women working under extremely difficult conditions in Lebanon. His remarks hint at the Kafala or sponsorship system, a migrant labor framework common in almost all of the Arab Gulf countries, as well as in Jordan and Lebanon. 

Independent labor and policy researcher Namrata Raju says that while all these countries have their own labor laws with specific conditions, what is common among them is that migrant workers are treated differently under both law and policy compared to nationals doing the same jobs. Lebanon, a country of about six million, has been estimated to have some 250,000 migrant domestic workers from Ethiopia, Bangladesh, Nepal, Sri Lanka, the Philippines, and Indonesia, among others.

Human Rights Watch has spoken against the Kafala system, which it describes as essentially tying the migrant workers’ legal status to their employer, creating a situation where workers are highly dependent on their employers for their livelihood, residency, and overall well-being.

Such a dilemma manifests in a number of ways, including entry and exit restrictions, confiscation of passports, and abusive working conditions—all made more possible because the migrant workers are not covered by the host country’s labor laws.

“Imagine a cake with layers,” Raju says. “Migrant workers are at the bottom, facing systemic discrimination through legal frameworks and practical implementation.”

A system prone to abuse

Neetu, a 34-year-old migrant worker from Galle on Sri Lanka’s southwest coast and now the proud captain of her cricket team, recalls a time when her then employer almost sent her back to her home country for feeding the latter’s child a different dish than what was requested. She describes her first employer/sponsor as not being a kind person.

Eventually, she found a better employer, who trusts her to manage his property since he lives in the United States.

“I work six days a week in the house,” Neetu says. “It’s hard work. The only thing I look forward to is these Sunday games, where I come to enjoy and relax. It’s very exciting for me to come here and play the sport I love.”

Neetu played state-level cricket back home, but had to give up the sport after school due to family and societal pressure.

Fernando remarks that women in South Asian countries often face patriarchal pressure and are forced to abandon their dreams. In Lebanon, most of the week has them and their fellow domestic workers toiling hard. But Sundays in St Joseph Church’s parking lot provide them with a break, a chance to engage in something fun. 

“The worst conditions are faced by women, particularly those working in households,” says Fernando. “In Lebanon, as in other Middle Eastern countries, they often can’t use phones, have no set working hours, and may have to arrange meals multiple times if family members eat at different times. They are sometimes forbidden from attending church or speaking to people of their own nationality in the same building. Around 90 percent of these workers have experienced or heard of such issues.”

Dr. Jasmin Lilian Diab, director of the Institute for Migration Studies and Assistant Professor of Migration Studies at the Lebanese American University, confirms the hardships brought onto domestic workers by the Kafala system.

“Protections for Kafala workers in Lebanon are minimal and largely unenforced,” she says. “While the Anti-Trafficking Law (Law 164/2011) exists on paper and could be used to address extreme cases of forced labor or abuse, in practice, migrant workers rarely see justice.

“The 2020 attempt at a reformed contract would have provided some level of protection,” Diab continues. “But its annulment means that workers remain legally tied to their employers. This means that they cannot leave abusive workplaces without facing potential arrest, deportation, or being accused of ‘escaping,’ which can result in detention.”

In September 2020, Lebanon’s Labor Ministry adopted a new unified contract for migrant domestic workers, granting them basic protections such as the right to terminate their contract without employer consent, a 48-hour workweek, weekly rest, overtime pay, sick leave, annual leave, and the national minimum wage (with some deductions for housing and food).

The contract could have protected workers from abuse if enforced, but it was suspended a month later by Lebanon’s top administrative court after the Syndicate of Recruitment Agencies argued it harmed their interests.

The Kafala system thus remains intact in Lebanon. During the deadly Israeli airstrikes on the country late last year, many migrant workers were even left to fend for themselves by their fleeing employers, with the workers’ attempts to leave the country complicated by the fact that they had previously surrendered their passports to their bosses.

These days, Lebanon is calmer, and the migrant workers are back to their old backbreaking routines. 

A day to have a ball

Iris, another Filipino migrant worker, shares that while her sponsors are good people and treat her well, she gets only Sundays off, and any additional leave requires prior permission.

Playing cricket with her team of women is something the 44-year-old from southern Philippines looks forward to the most. “I love it here,” she says. “These women are no longer just friends; they are like family to me. I like it here so much that I haven’t been home for six years!”

During the daily bombardment in Beirut between Hezbollah and the Israel Defense Forces last year, the Philippine embassy urged Filipinos to leave Lebanon and arranged flights to fly them home.

But Iris stayed put. “If we go back to the Philippines, I cannot return because the situation is very strict, even with proper documentation,” she says. 

The Philippines has issued periodic bans on its nationals from being deployed as household helpers in Lebanon, and has stringent rules even on returnees who want to work in this country again. Ethiopia had a similar ban on its nationals, but it was loosely enforced and was eventually lifted in April 2023.

Stressing that sending countries play a crucial role in safeguarding their nationals working in Lebanon, Diab cites the Philippine restrictions on domestic work in Lebanon for its citizens.

“It’s for our protection and safety,” concedes Iris. “But there is a crisis in the Philippines, so it’s better to stay here. Inflation and the cost of living are very high. Here, we can earn money. But what will I do back home? Jobs are hard to find, so it’s better to stay here.” 

Raju, for her part, says that governments of both sending and receiving countries have a role to play in the situation faced by migrant workers. 

“For receiving countries, low-cost labor is an economic advantage,” she says. “On the other hand, sending countries face economic pressures where workers seek employment abroad due to limited opportunities at home.

Raju adds: “Many migrant workers leave with aspirations of a better future—whether it’s owning a home, buying a car, or securing education for their children. Others migrate out of necessity, living hand-to-mouth and needing to support their families.”

Now that Lebanon finally has a new government, though, many migrant workers are hopeful that it will be more sympathetic toward them. But Diab remains skeptical.

“Realistically, meaningful reform to the Kafala system remains unlikely in the near future,” says the academic. “The political climate in Lebanon is not conducive to reform. Economic instability, sectarian politics, and entrenched business interests mean that protecting migrant workers is simply not a priority. While international organizations and local civil society continue to push for change, the reality is that without a significant shift in Lebanon’s governance and labor policies, any reforms to the system will likely remain symbolic rather than substantive.”

Raju echoes the sentiment. It all comes down to economic incentives, she says, adding, “It is simply more profitable for these governments and industries to exploit workers than to grant them rights.” 

But at least for several women domestic workers, a ball, a bat, and lots of running around are helping them forget—even for just one day in a week—that they are part of a system that has been described by some rights advocates as “modern-day slavery.”

Says Iris: “We work from Monday to Saturday, and we’re very excited on Saturday night because we know we’ll be coming here the next day. I love the friendship and togetherness, meeting my friends, and playing the game all day.” ◉