To escape poverty and build a better future, thousands of Nepalis leave their homes and families each year to work in the Gulf. In countries where they do not understand the language or laws, they build roads, clean homes, and prepare food. But when things go wrong—when they are wrongly accused, face broken contracts, or become victims of employer retaliation—they can end up behind bars. Alone. Silenced. Forgotten.
“Who would want to leave home and work so far away, if not for a better life for your wife and children?” Al Jazeera quoted migrant worker Suresh Prasad Shah as saying.
Consider the case of Durga Prasad Timsina, a man from eastern Nepal. Arrested in India for a crime he denied committing, he was imprisoned for a staggering 40 years without ever facing trial. No concrete evidence was ever presented against him. In 2021, he finally returned to his village of Lumbak after being released on parole from Kolkata’s Dum Dum Central Correctional Home—a broken man. He had lost two-thirds of his life to a system that had forgotten him. He returned home traumatized, frail, and unable to walk on his own.
Sadly, Durga’s case is not unique. Take Govinda Prasad Mainali, a Nepali laborer falsely convicted of murder in Japan. In 2000, he was sentenced to prison despite a lack of evidence. He spent 15 years behind bars until a DNA test proved his innocence. Deported immediately after his release for overstaying his visa while incarcerated, Govinda’s case highlighted deep flaws in Japan’s legal system—including, as Amnesty International noted, the routine denial of legal counsel and basic rights to the accused.
14,000 Nepali workers perish abroad in 16 years of foreign empl...
Such stories underscore how uncertain justice can be for migrant workers—not only in the Gulf, but wherever they go in search of work. According to Migrant-Rights.org, at least 360 Nepali migrant workers were detained in Gulf countries in 2021 alone, including 136 in the UAE and 143 in Saudi Arabia. And those are only the documented cases. Some reports suggest more than 1,300 Nepalis are imprisoned abroad. They are voiceless and abandoned, trapped in systems they do not understand.
Nepal does have a legal aid fund. In 2018, the government pledged to provide up to Rs 1.5 million in legal support per worker through the Foreign Employment Welfare Fund. Yet, in the past six years, only two jailed workers in the UAE have received any help. The rest? Forgotten. Embassies are either overwhelmed or indifferent. Many do not visit the detainees. They do not provide lawyers or translators. Some are even accused of siding with recruitment companies instead of supporting their own citizens.
Behind every statistic is someone like Durga or Govinda—workers who risked everything for a better life, only to be deserted by their country when they needed help most. Meanwhile, the money keeps flowing. Nepali migrant workers sent home over $8 billion in 2023 alone, according to the World Bank. Their labor sustains our economy, yet our system abandons them at their most vulnerable. It doesn’t have to be this way.
Sentence transfer—allowing Nepali prisoners to serve the remainder of their sentences in Nepal—is one way to address this injustice. It is especially critical because foreign inmates often face harsh conditions, particularly in Gulf nations. These agreements are not just humanitarian gestures; they are essential tools for protecting Nepali citizens abroad. Nepal now has a legal framework to implement sentence transfers, which in some cases can even commute a foreign death sentence to life imprisonment at home.
Some organizations, such as Pourakhi Nepal, have stepped in to provide legal aid and support to imprisoned workers. But without government leadership, their efforts are like using a teacup to bail out a sinking ship. Nepal must do more. Legal officers must be appointed to embassies. The aid fund must be used swiftly and transparently. And justice must never depend on someone’s immigration status.
But the responsibility doesn’t lie with the government alone.
As citizens—especially as youth—we have a role to play. We can raise awareness, amplify migrant voices, confront institutional indifference, and demand accountability. Youth can support grassroots efforts, start digital campaigns, push for policy changes, and share these stories in classrooms, communities, and online. Awareness is not passive—it is a call to action.
Real change begins when we refuse to ignore the suffering of those who build our future from afar. What does our flag even stand for if we cannot protect our workers when they are alone, voiceless, and imprisoned?
