Scammed and trapped in Myanmar's dirty digital camps, the daring escape

A victim of torture in Myanmar. [Courtesy] Upon arrival in the town of Myawaddy, one of the main scam centres, James Amunga and two other Kenyans, were shown their rooms and provided with basic personal effects that included mattresses, slippers and bathing soap. After an eight-hour rest, they were briefed about the new roles they were about to take up. They were frisked, and their phones confiscated but Amunga ingeniously sneaked in one of his devices. And as it would later turn out, that gadget would be his lifeline to freedom. "I had two phones with me, and when they ordered us to hand them over, I hide one. It was risky but I did it," he narrated. To keep it from curious eyes, Amunga would always hide his little phone inside the mattress, having cut a slit along the sides where it couldn't be easily detected. "I would push it as far as I could right into the middle," he revealed. "I knew if they discovered it, that would be the end of me." On the day we were meant to start working, the briefing was short and to the point but brutal. "From now on, ladies and gentlemen, your job is to scam people online and make us money. You are here to work and work diligently as directed. Everyone you see here came in as a rookie and so don't worry, you'll soon learn the trade. Any questions?" thundered one of the Chinese handlers. "But this is not what I was recruited to do," Amunga protested. "Here, you do as we say, period!" the handler snapped. Inside the work area, each recruit was assigned a workstation that had a basic desk with a chair and a computer. The room was crammed, with workers seated just a metre apart. "It was almost like a cyber cafe setup," Amunga described. "We found all sorts of nationalities. There were almost 3,000 people in there, we had Ugandans, Tanzanians, Rwandans, Ethiopians, South Africans, Pakistanis, Bangladeshis, Nepalis and Chinese, just to name a few." Any sign of defiance was met with swift and brutal punishment, cooperation was inevitable. To silence Amunga and others who would question the operation, the handlers unleashed electric shocks to scare them. "The sound alone was enough to make me comply," he recalled. "Those who had been there longer advised me to lie low or else face the full wrath of the Chinese enforcers." A four-day training programme was given to Amunga and his colleagues to prepare for the trade. "They basically train you to con people," he explained. "The scam operation was organised into teams. We had a team that handled research, scouting victims from popular social media platforms like TikTok and others while some teams waited on the wings. Once a suitable target was identified, they would pass the information to us." The process was meticulously designed to be as convincing as possible. "We operated with accounts featuring profile pictures of attractive young women. The goal was to grab attention. Once we got the victim hooked, we'd push the conversation to messaging platforms like WhatsApp for quicker and more intimate communication," Amunga explained. "I had to pretend to be a woman throughout and that was how it worked. On any given time, I remember juggling conversations with up to 30 victims simultaneously across different lines. Not an easy undertaking, it required intense focus to avoid losing track of the interactions." To make the deception more convincing and as accurate as possible, the operation had a backup plan for everything. "If a victim insisted on chatting live via video, a model who matched the profile picture would be available to play along," he revealed. "We were even supplied with pre-recorded videos of the girls doing everyday activities like driving, cooking, or doing house chores, just whatever it took to build trust." Once a victim was emotionally invested, the real game would be unleashed. "You first befriend them, gain their trust, and from there, it's all about the money," Amunga said. He disclosed that they would work for nearly 17 hours straight before being allowed to rest, with only two 30-minute breaks in between. The grueling schedule left little room for rest or even personal time. Every minute was closely monitored and accounted for, and failing to meet the set quotas meant facing harsh punishment. "The pressure was unimaginable," he added, recalling how the slightest mistake could result in brutal repercussions. "I remember once, when I didn't meet my target, they made me suspend myself in a push-up posture for hours. If you collapsed, you'd get a beating of your life, one you wouldn't forget," he recalled. One of the largest scams Amunga ever orchestrated came a few weeks into the operation when he targeted a foreign national in his early thirties who was desperately searching for love. Using the persona of 'Amy,' a beautiful and affectionate woman, Amunga carefully and meticulously reeled him in. "I used the same tactics, and the man fell head over heels," Amunga admitted. "He owned a coffee shop and drove a modest car. During my research, I realised his family trusted him to manage their wealth. I knew this was a perfect target." Through calculated manipulation, Amunga confessed to have conned him more than USD 5,000 (about Sh700,000). "In retrospect, it pains me to this day. I watched as this man's life changed from what you'd say was relative comfort to financial ruin in just weeks," he reflected. "Sometimes, I wanted to warn him, to tell him the truth, but our communication was constantly monitored, and the surveillance was on another level, you wouldn't dare" Within the Chinese-run camps, torture and inhumane treatment were commonplace and part of everyday life. Some of the horrific scenes Amunga witnessed still haunt him. "A Ugandan lady who had befriended a Rwandese man fell pregnant. I remember the horror she endured when they forced her to terminate the pregnancy. The abortion went terribly wrong, and she was immediately thrown out of the camp and abandoned in a distant town," recalls Amunga. "Luckily, she was rescued, but her life will never be the same." Amunga shared a troubling video where he is seen feeding one of his Kenyan colleagues, chained to his bed for failing to meet targets. "I bought noodles secretly, boiled them, and then sneaked into the dark cells to feed him, it was dangerous to do this. He had not eaten for over 48 hours and I could not stand it," he recounts. "Such mistreatment was an everyday thing." Another video he filmed captures a grisly scene where a Pakistani national is seen subjected to hours of relentless electric shocks after he refused to scam an innocent victim and he paid a heavy price. "His conscience couldn't allow him to con this particular man. He told the victim to back off and save his money. Sadly, the Chinese handlers intercepted this communication," Amunga explains. "They claimed he had cost the syndicate about Sh13 million. The man had already converted the scammed money into dollars but being a devout Muslim, his conscience couldn't allow him to go through with robbing someone in cold blood." And so when his defiance was discovered, the consequences were brutal and harsh. "He was dragged into the dark room and tortured with electric shocks for almost the entire day. I was in the next room, and it took every ounce of courage to record the ordeal secretly," says Amunga, his voice trembling. It had been over four months, and there was no end in sight to the everyday torture and psychological trauma. Over the weeks, Amunga and some colleagues had been plotting how to escape. Initially, it seemed like an impossible mission, but they kept faith. "Using the small phone I had hidden, I communicated with my wife back in Kenya. I scanned the Wi-Fi of that place, so I would record voice notes and drop them on her WhatsApp. Every time I moved closer to the Wi-Fi connection, the messages would send," explained Amunga. "Through online research, my wife connected me with a rescue organisation in Myanmar. I was introduced to a certain lady, and that's where the real planning for our escape began." One morning, Amunga and his colleagues noticed a weak spot on the perimeter wall. Immediately, the idea of a breakout began to take shape. "A few people who knew what I was up to nicknamed me 'Scofield' a moniker from the Prison Break TV series, but we kept everything under wraps. We began monitoring the movements of the guards, looking for loopholes," he recalled. "All this time, we were in touch with the rescue lady from Myanmar. We agreed she would connect with police officers who would wait for us at a strategic location." On the night of February, 9, 2025, the night of the breakout and under the cover of darkness, they made their move. In a desperate bid for freedom, they launched an ambush that overpowered the security men and scaling the perimeter wall in a wave. "It was tense but charged! We ran as fast as we could into the darkness beyond the fence. At that stage, no one knew exactly where we were going, we didn't understand the terrain, but all we wanted was to get out of that place," Amunga recounted. The alarm had been raised, and the security personnel started chasing them. Amid the chaos, many colleagues, weak and sickly, were recaptured, beaten mercilessly, and dragged back to detention. Amunga however was lucky and kept pressing on. "I was desperate to leave! Not even the mountainous terrain or the dense forests could stop me," he said. "At one point, I had to swim across the gushing waters of the Moei River, which lies on the Thai-Myanmar border. I pushed through until I reached the other side in Thailand." His knowledge of the landscape proved invaluable during the escape. Around 4am, he spotted a faint light in the distance and he saw hope. "I came across a shopkeeper starting his day in a town called Mae Sot. He couldn't understand English, but I kept repeating the word 'police' 'police' and that's how I found safety," said Amunga. "I was handed over to the local police and later to Thai authorities." Since his escape, the harrowing videos captured by Amunga have since gone viral showing evidence of the torture and abuse inside the camps, igniting a global call to rescue others still trapped in Myanmar's scam factories. Seen by some as an unsung hero, his footage has fueled ongoing efforts to dismantle these criminal networks and free thousands still languishing in captivity. Recently, the Kenyan ambassador to Thailand, Lindsay Kiptiness, confirmed that 48 Kenyans have been rescued from Myanmar and safely repatriated back home. However, 77 more remain trapped, awaiting intervention. "Those rescued are currently in safe houses undergoing medical and security checks before being reunited with their families," Kenyan authorities said. Even as the government warns Kenyans seeking jobs abroad to exercise caution, authorities in Thailand, China, and Myanmar are reportedly collaborating to dismantle the scam centres along the notorious Thai-Myanmar border. Targeting to free those languishing in the underworld of forced labour and cybercrime. In May last year, Kenya announced that it had revoked over 700 licences from dubious operators promising lucrative opportunities abroad, yet, even today, many others still operate clandestinely.

Scammed and trapped in Myanmar's dirty digital camps, the daring escape

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