Despite over 12,000 deaths abroad in the past decade – most of them in Malaysia, Saudi Arabia, Qatar, and the UAE – families across Nepal continue to send loved ones overseas. Debt, silence, and opaque systems turn grief into endurance, making migration less a choice of hope than a compulsion for survival
For many Nepali families, the death of a migrant worker does not arrive with certainty or explanation. It arrives through a phone call. Sometimes the caller is a co-worker, sometimes a contractor, sometimes an unfamiliar voice.
The message is brief and often confusing. Across 1,000 telephone conversations conducted with family members of deceased migrant workers as part of ongoing research, a complex pattern emerged in how families understand these deaths –and how they learn to live with them.
In these conversations, families rarely spoke in absolutes. Many described the death as fate, something written long before their loved one left home.
"What can we do? If it was not written, he would still be alive," said a father from Dang, whose son died in Qatar.
Others, sometimes in the same conversation, questioned the circumstances. Long working hours, untreated illness, extreme heat, unsafe accommodation, and lack of medical care were frequently mentioned. Acceptance, it became clear, did not mean certainty. It often meant reaching a point where questions no longer led anywhere.
Several families expressed suspicion that what they were told was incomplete –or untrue. Some questioned how a young, healthy worker could suddenly die.
"They said it was a heart problem, but he never had any illness," said a sister, whose brother died in Saudi Arabia. In a few cases, families openly suspected foul play. Words like "murder" or "something hidden" surfaced quietly, often followed by resignation. Without documents, witnesses, or access to authorities, suspicion remained just that – unresolved and heavy.
Many families recalled that their last conversations with the deceased were filled not with despair, but with longing. Workers spoke of coming home soon, of finishing one last contract, of repaying loans.
"He kept saying, 'This is my last year. I will come back and stay,'" said a mother, whose son died in Malaysia.
Another family in Kaski shared that the worker had complained of exhaustion and asked to return, but felt unable to leave because of debt. Days later, the call came announcing his death.
Over the past decade, over 12,000 Nepali migrant workers have died abroad. Their families, left with little choice, continue to accept these losses out of necessity – clinging to the official death certificates that arrive with the bodies, and carrying on as if losing a loved one to foreign labour were a normal part of life.
Perhaps the most striking finding from these conversations was not how families explained death, but what they did afterward. Despite grief, anger, and fear, most families did not reject labour migration. Instead, they continued to encourage it.
Parents in Jhapa who had lost a son spoke of sending another. Widows in Parsa discussed supporting the migration of younger relatives. The reason was almost always the same: debt.
Recruitment fees, medical expenses, household loans, and children's education left families with few alternatives.
"We know it is dangerous," said one respondent from Bara. "But staying here with debt is also a slow death." Migration, even after loss, remained the only visible path to survival.
Families were not unaware of the risks. They spoke of fear and hesitation, of trying to choose "safer" destinations or better contractors. Yet risk had become normalised. Migration was no longer framed as hope, but as a necessity.
Acceptance of death – whether understood as fate or negligence – made continuation possible, not because families believed the system was just, but because stopping felt impossible.
Over time, repeated experiences of silence and delay shaped how families understood responsibility. For many, the system appeared distant and indifferent. In this absence, fate became a language of endurance.
"If the government had listened, maybe we would know the truth," said a widow from Rupandehi. "Now we just accept."
This silence is not accidental. It reflects structural gaps in how migrant deaths are handled. Families often receive vague explanations.
Compensation, though available through the Foreign Employment Board, is slow and confusing. Over the past decade, the Board has disbursed billions of rupees in welfare funds, yet families describe the process as opaque and exhausting.
These conversations reveal how perception is shaped not only by belief, but by structure. When deaths are poorly explained, accountability is absent, and economic pressure is relentless, families adapt by absorbing loss into everyday survival. Acceptance becomes a coping mechanism.
If migrant worker deaths are to be meaningfully addressed, responses must go beyond numbers and compensation. Families need timely information, transparent processes, and visible responsibility. Without these, deaths will continue to be explained away, suspicion will remain unresolved, and migration will persist – not in hope, but in compulsion.
Dr Gurung is with the Kathmandu University School of Medical Sciences