When the sirens wail in Qatar, 49-year-old Norma Tactacon can do little else but pray. Thousands of miles away from her husband and three children in the Philippines, the domestic worker finds herself trapped in a geopolitical crossfire as regional tensions between the US, Israel, and Iran boil over.
For decades, wealthy Gulf states have offered a lifeline to millions of workers from developing Asian nations seeking to pull their families out of poverty. But as these nations increasingly become targets in a wider Middle Eastern conflict, the economic dream is rapidly transforming into a waking nightmare.
"I get scared and nervous every time I see pictures and videos of missiles in the air," Tactacon said. "I need to be alive to be there for my family."
Tactacon has spent nearly twenty years working across Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, and Qatar. Earning a minimum of $500 a month—up to five times what she could make in the Philippines—she relies on the income to put her daughters through nursing school and her son through a police academy. Now, the looming threat of war has her contemplating a permanent return home to start a small business.
Her fears are grounded in a grim new reality. According to the International Labour Organisation (ILO), the Middle East hosts approximately 24 million migrant workers, predominantly from countries like India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Indonesia, and the Philippines. Often working precarious, low-paying jobs with limited access to healthcare, these vulnerable populations are now absorbing the collateral damage of airstrikes.
Reports indicate that at least 12 South Asian migrant workers have already lost their lives in the violence. Among the first casualties was 32-year-old Filipina caregiver Mary Ann Veolasquez, who sustained injuries when a ballistic missile struck her Tel Aviv apartment complex while she was helping her patient evacuate.
Others have paid the ultimate price. Dibas Shrestha, a 29-year-old Nepali security guard stationed in Abu Dhabi, was killed during a strike on March 1. He had been diligently saving his wages to rebuild his parents' home, which was destroyed in Nepal's catastrophic 2015 earthquake.
"He was their only son. So kind, and very smart," his uncle Ramesh recalled, noting that Shrestha had previously reassured his family that the Gulf was safe, brushing off news reports as exaggerated.
In neighboring Dubai, 55-year-old Bangladeshi water tank supplier Ahmad Ali was killed by falling debris from an intercepted missile. The tragedy occurred during Ramadan, right as residents were breaking their daily fast. Ali had been sending up to $600 home every month—a life-changing sum for his family in Bangladesh.
"It's not safe now. Nobody wants to lose a father," said his son, Abdul Haque, who had previously worked alongside him in the UAE but returned home before hostilities escalated.
As the death toll rises, Asian governments are launching frantic repatriation efforts. However, with missile threats severely disrupting commercial airspace over major transit hubs like Dubai, Abu Dhabi, and Doha, evacuations have become logistical nightmares. Recently, over 200 Filipino workers were forced to endure an eight-hour overland journey from Kuwait, Qatar, and Bahrain to reach a rescue flight out of Saudi Arabia. So far, the Philippine government has successfully brought home nearly 2,000 citizens.
The economic stakes of these mass exoduses are staggering. Migrant remittances account for roughly 10% of the Philippine economy, and the impact is similarly critical for Bangladesh, which has an estimated 14 million citizens working abroad.
Yet, for some migrants, returning home poses an even greater threat.
Su Su, a 31-year-old real estate operations specialist from Myanmar, fled to Dubai two years ago to escape her home country's brutal civil war. Today, she works from her apartment, ducking away from the windows whenever the air raid sirens echo through the city.
Drawing on survival instincts honed in Myanmar, she keeps an emergency bag packed by the door. Despite the hovering threat of missile strikes, she has no plans to leave.
"The feeling here is more calm," she explained. "I believe at the end of the day, we will be fine."