I am Youga, and I never imagined my life would be reduced to sleeping on the streets of Phnom Penh with only $100 in my pocket.
One night, I was grateful just to lie down on a bed — even without a pillow or blanket. For two days before that, I slept outside after escaping from a scam compound in O’Smach, near the Thai border. I had run from a place where I was beaten, threatened, and forced to commit crimes online. I refused to work for them. For that, I was punished.
The people who trapped me — the scam compound bosses — never showed their real faces. They hid behind operations, scripts, fake police stations, and soundproof booths. They are criminals, but their names remain hidden. They are part of a larger network running cyber scams across Cambodia, Myanmar, and Laos. Thousands of us were trapped inside those compounds, forced to scam innocent people around the world.
I was lured there through deception. Someone I did not know contacted me on my phone, then followed up by email. They promised a job. All expenses paid. I said no. They moved forward anyway. That is how these criminals operate — they push, they manipulate, they lie.
Before all this, I was a university student. I had dreams. But conflict separated me from my family, and I fled to Burundi. That is when the trap closed around me.
Inside the compound, I was beaten repeatedly because I refused to scam people. I could not do it. I would not destroy other lives to save my own. When mass releases began recently, I seized my chance and escaped. I asked to be identified only by my first name — Youga — because I am still afraid of those men.
When I reached Phnom Penh, I had nowhere to go. I slept outside until the Caritas shelter took me in. It is the only shelter helping victims like me who escape scam compounds. But even it is overwhelmed. More than 300 people have been turned away. The shelter once had proper funding, supported by USAID through Winrock International and partially by the International Organization for Migration. That funding was cut after U.S. foreign assistance was suspended in early 2025. Now the shelter operates with a third of the staff and barely enough food. We sleep in common rooms without proper bedding. It is survival, not recovery.
Cambodia is now seeing thousands of workers leaving these scam compounds. Amnesty International verified videos showing mass releases. They described chaos and danger. Survivors are traumatized and abandoned. Activists call it a humanitarian crisis. The government denies failing victims, saying people are screened and helped. But on the streets, we see the truth.
Many of us wait outside government or international offices for hours, only to be told shelters are full. Rescuers like Li Ling are using their own money to house desperate survivors. She cannot sustain it. Some victims are returning to the very compounds they escaped because it is either that or sleep on the streets.
Some survivors end up in immigration detention. Others are pressured for bribes. Those with embassies nearby may receive help. I do not have that privilege. I am from the Democratic Republic of the Congo, from the Banyamulenge ethnic group. I cannot safely return home. I have no embassy in the region to protect me.
The compounds themselves are sophisticated criminal factories. They use foam-lined phone booths, multilingual scripts, and even fake police offices representing countries like Brazil and China. The United Nations estimated that up to 100,000 workers were involved in Cambodia alone in 2023. This is not small crime. It is industrialized exploitation.
And now, after international pressure, Cambodia says it is prioritizing cybercrime and has deported more than 1,600 foreign nationals linked to scam operations. A suspected kingpin was extradited to China. But for those of us who survived, none of that erases what happened inside those walls.
I was beaten for refusing to scam strangers. I was trapped in a system built on deception and fear. I escaped with nothing.
I am Youga. I am not a criminal. I am a victim.
All I want now is safety — and the chance to rebuild my life with dignity.