In 2003, when I was just a third grader, a wave of unease swept through our household with a single piece of news: an aunt of mine had left Kenya to work as a housemaid in Saudi Arabia.

She wasn’t a direct relative—her mother and my grandmother were sisters—but as is common across Africa, that made her our aunt in every way that mattered.

She had only gone as far as eighth grade in school. She came from a family where opportunity was rare, and education even rarer. So, when she made the decision to leave for domestic work in the Gulf, it stunned everyone. Fear clung to my relatives’ faces. There were hushed conversations in corners. And though I barely knew where Saudi Arabia was, I understood one thing: this journey felt dangerous.

And yet, years later, her journey turned out to be one of transformation.

Aunt M found a good employer. She worked tirelessly and earned enough to build her parents a home and educate her three younger siblings, all of whom would eventually graduate from university. She may have stopped school at eighth grade, but her sacrifice triggered a ripple effect of generational uplift.

Was it luck? Or was it proof that, when fairness and dignity meet determination, incredible things can happen?

Unfortunately, for every success story like hers, there are dozens—perhaps hundreds—that end in tragedy.

The Hashtag Years

By 2019, I had become part of a growing digital resistance. On Facebook and what was then still Twitter, I joined thousands under the hashtag #DontGoToTheGulf. Our timelines were filled with brutal, often unthinkable stories: beatings, disappearances, withheld passports, mysterious deaths.

Women were still being recruited every day, despite our pleas, our threads, our warnings. It felt like screaming into a hurricane.

And then there was another quiet tragedy: people who worked their full contracts honorably, only to return home and discover that the money they had sent back had vanished—squandered by relatives, mismanaged by friends, invested in ghost projects.

They came home to nothing.

2020: The Breaking Point

Then, in 2020, it became personal.

A young Kenyan woman boarded a plane to Saudi Arabia with the same dream so many carried: a better life. A week later, she was dead. Her family was given no real explanation. Her mother, upon receiving the news, collapsed. She too died.

Two lives gone. One family destroyed.

That day, I broke. And with that breaking came clarity.

Hashtags weren’t enough. I needed to build something.

The Birth of Hema

That clarity gave birth to Hema.

In Swahili, hema means tent—a structure that’s temporary, yet sacred. It represents shelter. Protection. Dignity.

Hema is a tech-driven platform that connects job seekers from Africa and Asia directly to vetted, ethical employers in the Gulf. No middlemen. No rogue agencies. Just transparency, integrity, and protection.

We believe that good employers exist—we just have to make them accessible. Work in the Gulf should be safe, dignified, profitable, and transformational. Like it was for Aunt M.

But too often, it becomes exploitative, opaque, and tragic. Hema wants to change that.

More Than Just an App

Hema is not just an app. It’s a movement.

It’s a response to pain and a promise to do better.

It’s been built by people who care. With tools designed to shield them from abuse, ensure fair compensation, and preserve their dignity.

Through employer fees, strategic partnerships, and wallet integrations, Hema generates revenue without ever burdening the worker.

To Every Job Seeker Searching for Hope…

If you’ve ever typed into Google:

“Gulf jobs,” “A housemaid works in Dubai,” “Domestic jobs in Saudi Arabia,” “Oman jobs for Kenyans,” “Lebanon visa work,” “Migrant safety tips,” “How to work in Qatar safely,” or even “Help for domestic workers abroad”—

This message is for you.

There is a better way. There is Hema. We are Hema. Welcome to Hema.

From the blog