How Ruto’s Family Profits as Kenyan Women Suffer in Saudi Arabia

The whispers had been circulating for years in the slums of Nairobi, in rural villages across Kenya, in the crowded matatus where mothers clutched faded photographs of daughters who had traveled to the Gulf in search of a better life.

Now, a damning New York Times investigation has ripped away the veil of silence, exposing a grotesque truth that many Kenyans suspected but few could prove: President William Ruto’s own family is cashing in on a labor export machine that treats Kenyan women as disposable commodities.

The numbers alone are staggering and sickening. At least 274 Kenyan workers, nearly all of them women, have died in Saudi Arabia over the past five years. Their bodies tell stories that death certificates refuse to acknowledge: broken bones, burns, signs of electrocution, extreme emaciation. Yet Saudi authorities routinely stamp these deaths as “natural causes.” Meanwhile, survivors return home with accounts of rape, starvation, beatings, and imprisonment that would make anyone’s blood run cold.

But here’s where the story takes an even darker turn. While these women were being abused and killed thousands of miles from home, the Ruto administration wasn’t just turning a blind eye. It was actively profiteering from their suffering.

The First Family’s Stake in Human Export

According to the Times investigation, recruitment companies are required to purchase insurance to cover emergency repatriation costs. Simple enough, right? Except the government has been steering these companies toward one particular insurer: Africa Merchant Assurance. And who are the major shareholders of this insurance company? Rachel Ruto, the president’s wife, and their daughter, June Ruto.

Let that sink in. The First Family profits every time a recruitment agency purchases insurance for workers heading to Saudi Arabia. It’s a twisted arrangement where those at the very top benefit financially from a system that chews up Kenyan women and spits them out, dead or traumatized.

Industry insiders say Africa Merchant Assurance has never paid out a single claim to rescue a distressed worker. Not one. The government’s Labor Secretary, Alfred Mutua, called it a “technicality” he’s trying to fix. Africa Merchant denies knowing about any such technicalities and claims it honors every valid claim. But for workers stranded, abused, and desperate in Saudi Arabia, the distinction hardly matters. The insurance they thought would bring them home has proven worthless.

A Government of Recruitment Agents

The rot extends far beyond the First Family. The Times investigation found that roughly one in ten registered staffing companies in Kenya is owned by current or former government officials or political figures, many with direct ties to Ruto’s party. Lobbyists say the real number is much higher because politicians often conceal their ownership through proxies and shell companies.

Take Kangundo MP Fabian Kyule Muli, a member of Ruto’s governing coalition and vice chairman of the National Assembly’s labor committee. He co-owns Forbes Global Agencies, which advertised 2,100 Saudi jobs in October alone. At the going rate of $1,000 per worker, Forbes stood to pocket over $2 million from those placements. Muli is literally writing laws that affect workers while simultaneously profiting from sending them abroad.

Even the Solicitor General, the government’s chief legal advisor, owns a staffing company. So does the government spokesman. When workers recently sued the government over their mistreatment in Saudi Arabia, their case could potentially be handled by a Solicitor General who has a direct financial interest in the very industry being challenged.

It’s not governance. It’s a racket.

Cheaper Than a Filipino, More Disposable Than a Burundian

To understand just how cynical this system is, you need to understand Kenya’s strategy in the Gulf labor market. Other countries, particularly the Philippines, have been sending domestic workers to Saudi Arabia for years. They’ve negotiated strong protections for their citizens. Filipino domestic workers earn $400 per month, have access to embassy-run safe houses, emergency welfare funds, and guaranteed repatriation in crisis situations.

Kenyan workers doing identical jobs earn just $240 per month, about 40 percent less. They have no emergency safety net, no safe houses, and often no way home when things go wrong. When they’re abused, they’re shuffled between police stations, recruitment agencies, and an indifferent Kenyan Embassy in Riyadh that treats them with contempt.

This isn’t an accident or an oversight. It’s deliberate policy. The Ruto government has positioned Kenya as the budget option in the domestic worker marketplace. The strategy is volume over value. Send more workers, pay them less, provide minimal protections, and watch the remittance dollars flow back home.

Labor Secretary Mutua has been explicit about this approach. He told recruiters at a private meeting last year, “We want to ensure that you do a lot of business, properly and quickly. You will have a lot of money.” When confronted with evidence of systematic abuse, Mutua blames the victims, saying Kenyan workers have “an entitlement and attitude culture” and aren’t sufficiently submissive.

Think about that for a moment. A government official is publicly stating that Kenyan workers deserve abuse because they’re not submissive enough to their Arab employers.

Gutting Protections to Maximize Profits

The numbers tell the story of how thoroughly this government has sold out Kenyan workers. In 2022, a government watchdog declared that Kenya’s mandatory training program for domestic workers heading overseas was inadequate and too easy for recruiters to evade. The report explicitly stated that insufficient training was “an enabling factor for abuse of migrant workers.”

Parliament proposed a comprehensive bill requiring better training and imposing jail time for recruiters who circumvented it. After years of women returning home beaten, raped, and traumatized, it finally seemed like something might change.

Then Ruto took office with his grand vision of sending one million workers overseas annually. The labor export industry saw its chance. Recruitment companies had been spending about $200 per worker on the 26-day mandatory training program. More comprehensive training would cut deeper into their profit margins.

So they lobbied. And because so many politicians own these recruitment companies, the lobbying worked spectacularly. Instead of strengthening worker protections, the government gutted them. The mandatory training was slashed from 26 days to just 14 days or less. The cap on training fees was reduced to around $100 per worker.

Francis Wahome, chairman of the Association of Skilled Migrant Agencies, was refreshingly honest about the government-industry nexus: “These are the only people who can get it, the people who are at good government jobs.” In other words, if you want a recruitment license in Kenya, it helps to be in government.

Patrick Mburu, another industry lobbyist, was equally blunt about why politicians owning recruitment companies makes lobbying so effective: “They will help us because it is their business.”

Training Centers That Don’t Train

The cynicism reaches absurd levels when you look at what passes for “training” in this system. The government proudly announced a new “Saudi model house” in Kenya where would-be domestic workers could learn to use the appliances and equipment they’d encounter in Gulf homes. It was supposed to be an innovation, a sign that Kenya was taking worker preparation seriously.

When Times reporters visited the facility six months after it opened, most of the appliances were still in their original packaging, never switched on. The “training center” was little more than a photo opportunity for politicians.

Meanwhile, real trainers like Violet Gatwiri, who runs the Aromah Training School in Nairobi, describe a constant stream of women being sent to them by agencies at the last minute. Many can barely read or write, yet they’re being rushed through cursory training and shipped off to a foreign country where they don’t speak the language, don’t know their rights, and have no idea how to protect themselves.

Hannah Njeri Ngugi’s story is typical. She arrived in Saudi Arabia in 2021 having never used electric kitchen appliances and knowing no Arabic. When she couldn’t understand her employer’s instructions, the woman threatened to beat her. While cleaning, Hannah’s cesarean section incision reopened. Her employer denied her medical care. She had no idea whom to call or what rights she had. She only made it home after activists publicized her case and bought her a plane ticket.

Her Saudi supervisor blamed Hannah for the ordeal, saying she refused to work. Labor Secretary Mutua would probably agree. The woman should have been more submissive.

Children Born Into Limbo

Perhaps the cruelest dimension of this crisis involves children born to unmarried Kenyan mothers in Saudi Arabia. In the conservative Islamic kingdom, having a child outside marriage can result in jail time. These children are denied birth certificates, effectively erasing their legal existence. They cannot access medical care or education. And critically, they cannot leave Saudi Arabia.

The Times investigation found mothers and their children living on a median strip near a gas station in Riyadh, following a desperate rumor that this was somehow a place where unmarried mothers could be deported with their children. The rumor was false, but it’s where mothers end up when every other door has been slammed in their faces.

Kenya’s Foreign Minister Musalia Mudavadi admitted to Parliament in April that he knew of 388 Kenyan children born in Saudi Arabia without documentation. Activists say the true number is certainly much higher. Other countries, even impoverished Burundi, provide more reliable assistance to their citizens in similar situations than Kenya does.

The Kenyan Embassy in Riyadh has become notorious among stranded mothers. They report being called prostitutes by embassy staff, being accused of seducing men, and being saddled with endless bureaucratic requirements. The embassy implemented a DNA testing requirement to verify maternity before allowing mothers and children to return home. DNA samples were collected in 2023. Many mothers are still waiting for results years later, trapped in Saudi Arabia with children who legally don’t exist.

When asked about the missing DNA results, Kenyan officials provided no explanation. After the Times began asking questions, several mothers suddenly reported renewed activity on their cases, with promises of new DNA tests “soon.”

Meanwhile, women like Penina Wanjiru Kihiu, whose three-year-old daughter Precious remains in an unlicensed Riyadh day care after Penina was deported alone in March, wait and wonder if they’ll ever see their children again. Penina said she begged police to let her bring Precious. She banged on prison doors pleading for her daughter. The Saudi government claims separating mothers and children is not allowed “under any circumstance,” but it happens regularly.

Precious no longer speaks on video calls with her mother. “She just looks at you,” Penina said.

Death Certificates That Lie

The death toll is horrifying not just in its scale but in its obvious falsification. Eunice Achieng called home in 2022 saying her boss had threatened to kill her and throw her in a water tank. She was later found dead in a rooftop water tank. Saudi police labeled it a “natural death.”

A Ugandan worker named Aisha Meeme died with extensive bruising, three broken ribs, and severe electrocution burns on her ears, hands, and feet. Saudi authorities said she died of natural causes.

Beatrice Waruguru, the 21-year-old daughter of Mercy Wanjiru Ndungu, traveled to Saudi Arabia in 2021 dreaming of university and lifting her family from poverty. Months later, her body was returned to Kenya. Her eyes had been gouged out. She showed visible signs of torture, including burns. The Saudi death certificate said suicide. Her mother believes Beatrice’s employer murdered her.

“I can’t get that image of her body out of my head,” Mercy told reporters, sobbing. “She died in terrible pain. It haunts me every single day.”

These aren’t isolated incidents. They’re a pattern. Women fall from balconies, roofs, and air conditioning openings with suspicious frequency. Their bodies show signs of violence that autopsies ignore. Families are left with grief, rage, and no answers.

And through it all, the Kenyan government’s response has been to send more women faster, with less preparation and weaker protections.

The Lobby Speaks: “They’re Like Dogs”

The contempt that drives this system occasionally breaks through into public statements that reveal its moral bankruptcy. Francis Wahome, the recruitment industry chairman, explained to Times reporters why employers lock domestic workers in their homes: “You close the door for your dog because it’s your property.”

He dismissed reports of women being thrown from buildings. Instead, he said, they try to escape by rappelling from windows using bedsheets but “misjudge the height” because “you know women, they don’t know how to calculate.”

This is the man who represents Kenya’s largest industry group for labor recruitment agencies. These are the attitudes that permeate an industry where government officials are stakeholders.

Ruto’s Response: Double Down

Faced with mounting evidence of systematic abuse and exploitation, one might expect a government to pause, investigate, and implement stronger protections. President Ruto has done the opposite. He’s announced plans to send 500,000 workers to Saudi Arabia and ultimately aims to send one million Kenyans overseas annually.

In June, amid protests over corruption and unemployment, Ruto declared that labor migration is “part of nation building.” The suffering of Kenyan women in Saudi Arabia, the deaths, the rapes, the children trapped in legal limbo—all of it is apparently the price of nation building.

When confronted with the Times investigation, Ruto has largely remained silent. His office referred questions to Labor Secretary Mutua, who denied that politicians owned recruitment companies despite documented evidence. Mutua claimed Kenya couldn’t push Saudi Arabia for better terms, even though countries like the Philippines have successfully negotiated far superior conditions for their workers.

Foreign Minister Mudavadi went further, dismissing claims about government officials’ financial interests in the recruitment industry. He insisted that no single insurance company has a monopoly and that recruiters are free to choose any insurer they want. This is technically true but deliberately misleading. When government officials steer business to a particular company, freedom of choice becomes an illusion.

The Senate Speaks Up, A Kenyan Gets Arrested

Even as government leaders defend the indefensible, cracks are appearing. Kiambu Senator Karungo wa Thang’wa recently visited Riyadh and was shocked by what he found: Kenyans living on the streets, homeless and desperate, including women stranded with undocumented children. Hundreds of DNA cases remain unresolved. Up to 300 Kenyans are detained in Saudi Arabia without proper support.

“As a Senator and representative of our people, I reached them, yet our Embassy has not,” Thang’wa said.

Days after exposing these conditions, a Kenyan man known as Kiongozi, whom Thang’wa had met during his visit, was arrested. He had been threatened for speaking out about the suffering of Kenyans in Saudi Arabia. A Saudi businessman with roots in Kenya had warned him of “dire consequences, including ‘surgery’” if he continued publicizing what was happening.

“This is exactly what I have been saying,” Senator Thang’wa wrote. “This is the reality our people face when they dare to speak out.”

A Nation’s Daughters Sold for Foreign Currency

Kenya’s labor export to Saudi Arabia has officially surpassed coffee and tea as a source of foreign exchange. Remittances from Kenyans abroad now contribute more to the economy than the country’s traditional agricultural exports. For a government drowning in debt and struggling with youth unemployment, these remittance dollars look like a lifeline.

But at what cost? How many Kenyan women must return in coffins before the price becomes too high? How many children must grow up stateless and abandoned in a foreign country? How many mothers must be raped, beaten, starved, and discarded before Kenya’s leaders decide that some economic strategies are morally indefensible?

The answer, apparently, is that there is no limit. As long as the remittance money flows and the First Family collects its insurance premiums, as long as politicians profit from their recruitment companies and labor secretaries praise the industry’s profitability, Kenyan women will continue to be treated as export commodities.

Opposition MP Millicent Adhiambo captured the moral obscenity of the situation: “This government is selling our daughters for foreign currency.”

What Happens Next?

Public pressure is building. Editorial boards are demanding investigations. Civil society groups are calling for an independent commission of inquiry. Human rights organizations like Amnesty International have documented the systematic exploitation and labeled it “modern-day slavery.”

The question is whether any of this will matter. Kenya has known about abuse of domestic workers in the Gulf for over a decade. The government temporarily banned labor migration to Saudi Arabia in 2012 after widespread reports of abuse, then lifted the ban in 2013 after lobbying by recruitment agencies. Since then, the situation has only worsened.

The difference now is that the financial interests of those in power are fully exposed. It’s one thing to ignore abuse happening far away when you gain nothing from it. It’s quite another to implement reforms that would cut into your own family’s profits.

President Ruto was elected on promises to revitalize Kenya’s economy and create opportunities for its struggling youth. He campaigned on his own climb from poverty, presenting himself as someone who understood the desperation that drives Kenyan women to risk everything for work in the Gulf.

But the New York Times investigation reveals a different story. It shows a government that has turned human export into a personal enrichment scheme, that blames victims for their own abuse, that strips away worker protections to maximize industry profits, and that treats the lives of Kenyan women as acceptable collateral damage in an economic strategy built on volume, not value.

The mothers sleeping on that median strip near a gas station in Riyadh, clutching children that two governments refuse to acknowledge, represent the human cost of a system where those with power profit from the suffering of those without it. Their children, born into legal limbo, serve as a reminder that when governments commodify their citizens, the consequences can span generations.

Kenya’s daughters are not export commodities. They are not dogs to be locked away. They are not acceptable losses in an economic plan. They are human beings who deserve dignity, protection, and justice.

Until Kenya’s leaders understand that fundamental truth, the coffins will keep coming home. And the First Family will keep cashing the checks.

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