This piece is part of “The Great Migration,” a series by Lydia Polgreen that takes a closer look at the modern movement of people across the globe.
Laureen Fredah’s journey as a migrant kicked off quite unexpectedly. While living in Kampala, Uganda’s bustling capital, a friend tipped her about Emirates, the prominent airline of Dubai, seeking flight attendants. Emirates was part of the UAE’s expansive move to extend its reach into Africa.
Initially, this didn’t strike her as a grand career opportunity. Laureen hailed from a connected family that was affluent enough for her to attend college in Uganda, though not wealthy enough to study abroad. She was set for a promising civil service career in Uganda, so becoming a flight attendant wasn’t on her radar. Still, Laureen had a long-standing dream of becoming a lawyer and entertained vague notions of going overseas.
“In Uganda, my life wasn’t bad, but I craved something more,” Laureen shared with me.
Surprisingly, the flight attendant position turned out to be lucrative enough to help fund her law school ambitions. Furthermore, it offered the exciting lifestyle associated with global travel that captivates young adventurers everywhere. With hundreds vying for limited spots, competition was steep. However, Laureen’s striking looks and polished charm, honed from presenting news on Uganda’s national television, helped her secure the role. So, she flew to Dubai, launching a transformative chapter of her life that led her not only to a new city but also to a legal career at one of the Middle East’s most prestigious firms.
“I rose through the ranks,” she told me with a knowing smile.
Today, amidst the strident anti-immigration politics of the West, there is an assumption that talented individuals from less affluent countries unwaveringly aim for the West, despite the numerous challenges and unwelcoming attitudes they face upon arrival.
This perspective overlooks individuals like Laureen, who, fifteen years ago, joined a new wave of educated middle and upper-middle-class migrants from Africa, Latin America, Asia, and the broader Middle East seeking opportunities in the Gulf.
Pinning down exact figures can be tricky as regional governments rarely release comprehensive data on migrants, including their education levels or social class. Still, in a city gleaming with skyscrapers and artificial islands, indoor ski resorts, and sprawling malls, I encountered ambitious individuals worldwide. Many would have previously aimed for the West but chose Dubai due to tougher borders, elusive visas, and rising anti-immigrant sentiment, realizing they found a more welcoming environment there.
Hein de Haas, a migration scholar, challenges prevailing notions of migration in his book “How Migration Really Works.” He argues that contrary to the pervasive image of a South-North exodus, places like the Gulf are just as significant as migration destinations as Western Europe.
Historically, migration to Dubai featured a marked divide: many migrants from poorer countries undertook demanding, dangerous construction, and service roles while a few Western expats enjoyed tax-free living in a region where their skills and appearance commanded a premium.
However, Gulf governments have begun relaxing migration policies, introducing possibilities for ambitious talents worldwide, offering long-term residency without needing a sponsor for skilled workers. By welcoming entrepreneurs, engineers, artists, chefs, teachers, medical workers, and educators, the Gulf is diversifying its economies and inviting people to consider settling there long-term, not just for a brief stint.
On my visit to Dubai last year, I witnessed the cultural interplay that blurs the lines between migrant and expat. Traditionally, skilled migration entailed a predictable flow from developing economies to powerful hubs in North America and Europe. Dubai redefines that dynamic.
However, this migration experiment isn’t without its complexities. The UAE doesn’t partake in post-war agreements supporting asylum seekers or refugees. Unlike Western nations, where skilled workers can often become citizens, the UAE restricts citizenship mostly to locals.
As Dubai emerges as a transactional hub for global talent, it challenges ideas of citizenship and belonging that have dominated since the postwar era, sidelining principles of freer global movement. In many respects, Dubai offers a glimpse into potential futures.
Dubai, the largest city in the UAE, features a mostly foreign population, with less than 10% being citizens. Previously, its foreign workforce was primarily low-skilled laborers from Asia and Africa who toiled under the kafala system—harsh and contractual, it allowed laborers in with restricted work visas, and employers controlled their freedom to change jobs, often holding their travel documents.
Critics have rightfully scrutinized this system, especially as the Gulf expands its global presence. Reports from journalists and human rights activists have spotlighted the harsh working conditions that have led to injuries and deaths among migrants building the infrastructure supporting the region’s ambitions, such as Qatar’s World Cup development. This has prompted regions, including Dubai, to modestly revise their labor policies, gradually easing job changes and banning discrimination.
These reforms acknowledge not only humanitarian concerns but also the need for a diversified skill set to drive their economies.
In response, programs like the Golden Visa have emerged in the UAE, granting skilled workers five to ten-year residence permits, falling free of local employment dependencies. Initially catering to wealthy investors, it has since broadened to include anyone earning around $100,000 annually or those in high-demand sectors like education and healthcare. Visa issuance has risen, reaching 158,000 in 2023, the latest full data available.
While Western countries rigidly enforce deportations amidst growing anti-migrant rhetoric, Dubai has initiated several amnesty programs, allowing visa overstayers to resolve their status without needing to leave.
This evolving landscape has drawn countless newcomers to Dubai from varied backgrounds. During my visit, I met a young Colombian from Medellín aspiring for a career in fashion, feeling economically squeezed out due to Medellín’s tourism boom. Another was a Russian software engineer who chose Dubai for his VR startup before wartime unrest prompted many Russians to move there to evade conscription and sanctions. Entrepreneurs across the Middle East joined, as did many Africans aiming to thrive in Dubai, where they sense more opportunity than in Western capitals.
Among them was Babafemi Akinlade, who helmed a successful cybersecurity firm in Nigeria but faced hurdles securing international partners and direct flights for business expansion. Dubai offered a solution.
“I settled for the advantages it gave my family,” he explained, noting the ease of travel across Africa.
Despite trying to establish business ties in the West, Babafemi encountered bureaucratic difficulties rooted in Africa’s stereotypes. A visa rejection from Germany, despite sound business credentials, caused the collapse of a $3.5 million deal.
I met Babafemi at a Nigerian Independence Day event, where his wife, Toyin, joined our conversation. Dubai, she told me, provided a conducive environment for raising their children.
“It’s safer, and I have fewer worries when my teenagers go out,” she added.
Many parents shared similar concerns, wary of public schools’ quality in the West and the specter of gun violence there. Some were also uneasy about Western moral standards, fearing exposure to ideologies they opposed, like homosexuality—a sentiment shared by conservative Muslims and African evangelicals alike. Concerns about racism and anti-migrant biases also weighed heavily on their minds, making them question the logic of moving to places where they felt unwelcome.
Aspiring for Western passports remained desirable for simpler global navigation, though a full-time move wasn’t generally appealing. Migration expert Froilan Malit Jr. noted that skilled migrants appreciated Dubai’s lifestyle, infrastructure quality, lower cost of living, ease of travel, sunny climes, and tax-free allure.
“I own my house, pay no taxes, and my children avoid constant racism and discrimination,” he observed. “South-to-south migration is sparking infrastructures and cosmopolitan societies that skilled migrants now see as viable alternatives.”
As global birthrates decline and labor demand rises, affluent countries increasingly vie for highly skilled migrants, with competition among all migrant types imminent. Despite the attractions of the West, Dubai presents a viable alternative, albeit with its limitations.
The UAE’s monarchy precludes most foreigners from acquiring citizenship, and living under Emirati laws can be daunting. For instance, a Filipino woman faced legal scrutiny for being unmarried and pregnant after her doctor reported her. Thankfully, she resolved the situation and remained.
Although long-term visas can be renewed, no guarantees exist. During economic downturns like the 2008 financial crisis, many expatriates, regardless of visa status, were forced out. Western nations theoretically offer permanent residency or citizenship pathways, even if limited, enhancing their allure amid global competition for workers.
Yet, policies elsewhere are tightening, often modeling aspects of Gulf-style guest worker systems by imposing severe migrant worker restrictions. Trump’s attempt to eliminate birthright citizenship epitomizes attempts to make residency and family reunification more challenging for migrants.
Meanwhile, a trend of emulating the Gulf’s appeal to affluent migrants arises. Trump’s “Gold Card” proposal for wealthy foreigners reflects this, with similar incentives appearing worldwide.
In this dynamic landscape, personal choices define migration paths.
Laureen Fredah, who transitioned from Emirates flight attendant to lawyer, secured a law degree in the UK and passed the New York bar exam to broaden her horizon. Her admission ceremony in Albany, New York, struck her mother as surprising.
“She was shocked, asking why anyone would choose to live here,” Laureen recounted. “Albany seemed run-down compared to the imagined affluence.”
Through her friend, investor Isaac Kwaku Fokuo Jr., I connected with Laureen at a lavish club in Dubai’s International Financial Center. Fokuo, born in Ghana and raised partly in America, moved back to Africa and then to Dubai, where he leads an investment advisory firm focusing on the global south.
“In the past decade, there’s been significant growth of African professionals in the U.A.E.,” he remarked.
While Laureen could have relocated after passing the New York bar, she chose to stay in Dubai. The pandemic played a role, sure, but she also appreciated the straightforward journey home to Uganda and how easily friends could visit. She might consider career opportunities in Singapore, Hong Kong, or New York but isn’t fixated on obtaining a Western passport.
“At some point, we’ll likely pack up and return home,” she said, pondering the idea of belonging versus simply participating. “Perhaps we’re moving away from laying roots and more towards continuous movement.”
