Once Nobody, Now Somebody

by: Mimi Jalmasco

A Journey of Struggles and Victory

Before everything else—before I became Deputy Director of The Voice of Domestic Workers (VODW), before I was elected as the first Domestic Workers Branch Secretary of Unite the Union, before I found the courage to speak on platforms where people listened to my voice—I was, first and always, a mother.

In 2013, I made the most painful decision of my life: to leave my children behind and work as a domestic worker in Dubai, UAE. No mother ever dreams of being separated from her children. But poverty is a thief—it stole away my choices and left me with only one path. I wanted to give my children what I could not provide if I stayed—a decent life, a safe home, food on the table, a good education, and the assurance that when they were sick, I could take them to a doctor without fear of not being able to pay.

Yet the promise of opportunity came at a heavy cost. In Dubai, I endured abuse, exploitation, and mistreatment at the hands of my employers. The distance from my children cut deeply, but what hurt even more were the wounds of being treated as less than human.

In 2014, my employer brought me to the UK. I thought perhaps my life might change for the better. But instead, I found myself undocumented, living in the shadows for two long years. Those were some of the darkest days of my life—living in constant fear of being discovered, silenced by my immigration status, hopeless about the future. I was invisible. I was nobody.

Then, in 2016, a spark of light broke through the darkness. I discovered Justice for Domestic Workers (J4DW), now The Voice of Domestic Workers. For the first time, I was surrounded by women who understood my struggles, who carried the same scars, who held the same unspoken pain. Through Kalayaan, I was referred to the National Referral Mechanism (NRM) and recognized as a victim of modern slavery.

That recognition was not just a label—it was a turning point. It was as if someone finally looked at me and said, “We see you. We believe you. You matter.”

Through collective struggle, I found my strength. The woman who once trembled in silence began to rise and speak—not only for myself, but for the many domestic workers still suffering quietly in kitchens, in locked rooms, and in hidden corners of the world.

Director Marissa Begonia became my mentor. Under her guidance, I was sent to NCVO for financial training. I attended workshops, joined campaigns, and started to sit in board meetings as a shadow trustee. Every opportunity was a seed, and I refused to let any go to waste. I studied, I trained, I pushed myself beyond my fears. Slowly, I transformed from a frightened worker into an activist, a community leader, and a fighter.

In 2019, I was formally recognized as a survivor of trafficking. Still, I was denied discretionary leave to remain, and even my court appeal failed. It was devastating—but when I was later granted a two-year domestic worker visa, it felt like life breathed hope into me again. Finally, I could work with dignity, live without fear, and dream of reuniting with my children.

But then the pandemic came, and those dreams were shattered once more. The chance to see my children disappeared before my eyes. I was heartbroken, but I refused to sink into despair. Instead, I threw myself into community work, telling myself: “If it is God’s will that I will see my family, then it will happen. If not, then I must accept it and carry on.”

In 2020, I became a member of the Board of Trustees, all while continuing to work as a nanny. Balancing both was exhausting, but passion gave me strength. I knew I was fighting not only for myself but for others who had no voice.

In 2021, my ODW visa expired. I applied under Article 8 of the Human Rights Act, and while waiting for the decision, I also applied for asylum. Both were denied. It was one of the lowest points of my journey. I felt my world collapsing. Hopelessness surrounded me, and I reached the point where I almost gave up completely.

I remember crying silently at night, hiding my pain so no one would see. Yet even in my tears, I continued to work as a nanny—I still had the right to work—and I continued to volunteer in my community. Deep inside, I reminded myself: “If the people around me—my colleagues, my friends, my allies—still believe in me, if they refuse to give up on me, then who am I to give up on myself?”

And I was not alone. I was carried forward by the solidarity of The Voice of Domestic Workers, by allies and academics, by Jess Phillips MP, by ATLEU, and above all by my solicitor, Julian Bild and Marissa Begonia who fought tirelessly for me. Their faith in me gave me strength when mine was gone.

Then, just this year, 2025, a breakthrough I had long prayed for finally came. The UK recognized my contribution and granted me refugee status. For the first time in many years, I felt free—free to live without fear, free to belong, free to dream again. I was also elected as the Domestic Workers Branch Secretary in Unite the Union—the very first domestic workers’ branch in the entire world. Soon after, I was hired as Deputy Director of The Voice of Domestic Workers and appointed Deputy Safeguarding Lead.

Today, when I stand on a stage, I do not stand there for prestige or position. I stand as a mother who once left her children in search of a better life, only to find exploitation—but who refused to remain broken. I stand as a woman who chose to rise, to resist, and to fight for justice—not only for herself, but for every domestic worker who is still unseen, unheard, and unprotected.

My journey is proof that resilience can grow from pain, and strength can rise from struggle. Behind every domestic worker is a story of sacrifice and sorrow—but also of courage, dignity, and hope.

And until every domestic worker is free from abuse and exploitation, my fight will never stop.

---

Join Us in Supporting Migrant Domestic Workers Escaping Abuse DONATE HERE 

Migrant domestic workers who have fled abusive employment urgently need your help. They’ve left behind exploitation and are taking brave steps toward safety—but they need support for basic needs like shelter, food, clothing, and counseling.

 "With your donation, we can provide immediate relief and a pathway to rebuilding lives in dignity and safety."