“After my Senior Six exams, I had no hopes of joining any higher institution of learning because I was one of many children supported by my aunt who had limited resources to make ends meet.
My mother, a water vendor at Najjembe market, was struggling to find the money to help because she was also looking after my sick brother who was born with a heart complication.
A doctor told my mother that my 15-year-old brother would fully recover if we could find Shs50m to fly him to a hospital in India.
My aunt came up with the idea that I go to the Middle East to work so that I could help my mother and my siblings who were still going to school.
We sold land to get a passport
When the idea of going to the Middle East came to me, we had no money to get a passport and at that time, the labour agency had told us that they would cater for everything but the passport.
Because my aunt supported the idea with hopes that I would get money to support the family, she sold a portion of her land and gave me Shs250,000 to get an express passport book.
It was a painful decision but hope was high and whoever had briefed her told her that money would be recovered in less than a month and I would be rich.
The process at the labour agency was very swift and a few weeks later, I was given documents and notified that in a few days we would be travelling.
I remember reading the word housemaid somewhere. Though I had been promised a supermarket job, I was never bothered because at that time what mattered was the mission to accomplish my dream.
Actually, even the profession that was stated in my passport was housemaid. It was alright.
Mysteries at Entebbe airport
At the airport, all 15 girls from the labour agency were subjected to a pregnancy test and two girls were disqualified because they were pregnant.
A man from the labour agency stashed money in our passports and told us not to tamper with them. He showed us to a specific till at the immigration desk while he stayed on the phone.
I saw some girls from other agencies getting tossed but our experience was swift. We boarded an Emirates flight to Dubai.
We spent a night at the airport in Dubai without water and food as we waited for our next flight.
On the flight we used from Dubai to Saudi Arabia, meals were not catered for but people would buy food with their money.
Among the 13 girls, I was the only one who had money. It was Shs5,000 that I tried to exchange on the aircraft in vain.
An Iranian man seated next to one of the girls bought two sandwiches and gave one to her. She made sure that each of us got a small portion.
We arrived in Saudi Arabia and we were piled in a dirty room and given some water as our employers kept arriving to pick us one by one.
In that room, a receiving labour agent asked for all our passports but I refused to hand mine over. I stood my ground.
My employers arrived and I was driven in a car for nearly a day until we reached a home where I was meant to work.
At the home, I made it clear to my employer that I was in their home for work but I am a human being who deserves to be treated right.
Whatever I requested, they allowed and I also negotiated with them to buy me a phone on condition that they deduct its cost from my salary.
My uncle got in touch with them and he emphasised my demands. Indeed, they respected me.
At one point, as I was developing complications on my fingers because of the soap called Clorex that they were using, they bought me gloves.
I was never treated badly though I was never given an opportunity to step out of the perimeter wall of the house where I worked.
Saving girls in the Middle East
While in Saudi Arabia, a phone became my only friend and whenever I finished my work, I would log onto WhatsApp and other social media platforms to talk to my family and friends.
I created a WhatsApp group where we communicated with the other 12 girls and later other girls joined in and the network became bigger.
I became close friends with Joanitah Joshirah Ndagire who at that time was trapped in Oman where she had been trafficked to do domestic work.
Joan shared her ordeal on the platform and together with other friends we kept exchanging knowledge.
At one point, together with Joan and others we rescued a girl who had been dumped in a desert by her furious employers.
We would identify cases, share with embassies, non-governmental organisations and police to seek help using the Internet.
We got the money
When I first arrived in Saudi Arabia in late 2015, I was told that I would be paid Shs900,000 but my employers in Saudi Arabia paid me Shs800,000 monthly.
My mission was to work for as long as possible so that my brother could get treatment and also attain my other goals.
For a long time, my young brother had struggled with heart problems and I had seen my mother soliciting help from organisations and radios to raise money for my brother’s medical bills.
Luckily after starting my work in Saudi Arabia, my mother got an offer from an organisation to fly my brother abroad for treatment on condition that we cater for visa, air tickets, hotel and a portion of the hospital bills in India.
I started working hard to cater for the said demands and luckily, I paid for air ticket, visa, hotel and some hospital bills nearly two years later in Saudi Arabia.
Other demands had been sorted back home in Uganda and my brother was meant to be taken to India in 2017. Suddenly, after contributing my two-year salary to my brothers’ hospital bills, my brother died before he was flown to India.
I did not bury my brother
When I reached Saudi Arabia, my employers asked me the inspiration behind my decision to work in their country and I told them that I wanted to treat my brother.
They kept asking me about the progress of my dream and upon his death, the labour agency in Uganda informed them first.
I had hoped that they would allow me to attend my brother’s burial by terminating my contract but they refused.
My employer told me that she was sorry for what had happened to me but I had to stay and work. A day later, she bought me a beautiful dress and she allowed me leave from work for a week.
At that time, the job no longer made sense to me. All I wanted was to return home and grieve with my mother.
I worked and concluded my contract in 2017 and I returned to Uganda. My employer appreciated and gifted me for the good job done.
Upon returning to Uganda, Joan and I joined Omuti creative, an organisation owned by artiste William Mpaata Otako to use art to sensitise girls against modern slavery.
I still have a dream to build a house for my mother and also study film production but the resources do not allow it.
Often, I was tempted to return and make money but I believe it is not worth it and finding a home where you are treated well is hard.”