Much of Bangladesh’s economy is built on remittances and
money earned abroad. The owner of my
corner store saved up during the 15 years he spent in the UAE to start this
business. On St. Martins island, I stayed in a
hotel on land purchased by years of hard labor in Saudi Arabia. Just last month, I met an electronics shop
keeper cum bkash agent that had worked in Dubai for almost a decade. Millions of Bangladeshis are still abroad, and millions more
are hoping to go.
Why do people desperately want to go so badly? Recently there have been several stories of
migrants on rafts that capsized on the way to Malaysia. People are literally dying to work abroad. Who are these people? Meet Shamim*, who is one of the aspiring
millions.
Shamim was born in Dhaka.
His father worked as a gardener in Kuwait and was rarely in
Bangladesh. When Shamim was young, his
mother took him and his brother to live with her in-laws in their village. He enrolled in school, but like many others in
his village attended irregularly. After
completing secondary school, he stopped going.
For Shamim and others in his village, “success” meant going
abroad for work. Everyone his age was
trying to find a way to go. Shamim’s father also hoped that his son could find a way to go, as he had been living in Kuwait for
over 20 years, and was ready to come home.
But his family depended on his salary, so he could only return once one
of his sons was earning enough to support them.
As Shamim grew out of his teens, he became an anomaly in his
village. Almost everyone living there
was very old, very young, or female. All
the working age men were living and working abroad, or at least in Dhaka. Before a man went abroad for the first time,
his family usually insisted that he get married. Shortly after the marriage, the new bride
would be left living with her in-laws, while her husband went away and visited
only every few years. Rarely could a man
afford or manage to take his wife with him. You might think that this arrangement resulted
in a lower fertility rate, but actually the areas of Bangladesh with the
highest rates of migration, also have the largest families sizes. Compensation?
But back to Shamim.
He was a bit of a ladies’ man, and with limited competition, often found
himself mixed up in all sorts of drama.
At least once the police got involved as they had heard rumors about
adultery. His parents (his mother of
course shared everything with his father when they spoke on the phone) decided
that the best way to put an end to the trouble was to arrange Shamim’s
marriage. In a nearby village, they
found a very poor family with a beautiful, 12-year-old daughter named
Rokeya. The legal age of marriage in
Bangladesh in 18, but like Rokeya, most women get married long before
then. Especially in the villages. Dowry is illegal too, but just as common as
early marriage.
On the day of the wedding, the police showed up. Luckily the groom’s family heard that they
were on their way and drive off in a three-wheeler (auto-rickshaw) before they
arrived. The police were unwilling to
let the marriage take place, unless someone gave them a reason to look the
other way. Rokeya’s family gave them $80
and they took off. Shamim and his
parents came back, and soon thereafter Shamim and Rokeya pronounced husband and
wife. Rokeya of course moved in with
Shamim and his mother. Her duties would
include dutifully loving her husband, waiting on her mother-in-law, and likely
performing the majority of household chores.
Now Shamim faced a new problem: how to take care of his new
family. In the village, jobs were hard
to come by. He applied for a position
with a local non-profit. To make his
resume more attractive, he even procured a fake high school graduation
certificate. But that didn’t work.
Other men from the village who were about Shamim’s age
realized that they could farm on summer break to make some money. But truth be told, Shamim was a bit of a
dreamer; he did not want to do much of anything except go abroad.
His parents helped him find an agency that would place him
abroad. He paid them over $5,000 to help
him find a job in Benghazi, Libya. His
friend Faisal did the same. They scraped
together the money by borrowing from many relatives, including Shamim’s dad in
Kuwait, and even selling assets as needed.
It took them a year to get the work visa to go. Once they got the visas, they took the bus to
Dhaka to fly out. Faisal left just days
after getting his visa. Shamim had to
wait a few days; the agency had placed him in the batch leaving the following
month. Luckily Shamim’s grandmother
stayed in Dhaka and he could stay with her.
The agency charged him another $600 to secure his spot.
Finally the month passed, and Shamim went to Libya. Within a week, he realized he hated his job
at the garments factory, and sneaked out to join Faisal working at the biscuit
factory. He’s earning under $400 month,
in a country where the GDP per capita is $11,000. Of course, his salary is five times the average
income in Bangladesh, and given his education level, he could hardly hope to
earn this much there.
He tries to live simply, as he has to save money to send home
to his mom and wife. If they can manage, they’ll be sure to buy new sarees and
even a piece of gold jewelry to flaunt their success in front of their
neighbors. Rokeya should put on a little
weight, as she probably eats more fish and meat than she was able to with her
family. The women live well, getting
used to a higher standard of living than they had before, saving little.
After this rate, Shamim will be lucky to break even in two
years. And since he’s already broken the
terms of his contract, his job security (and legal status) are limited. Not to mention
dependent on the political situation of Libya, which in the past few years has
deteriorated at times, threatening the large community of Bangladeshi migrants
living there. If his family is not saving
money actively, it will be hard for him to return home—jobs are scarce, and it would be difficult to maintain their lifestyle on a local salary. So he’ll probably need to keep looking for
work in Libya or elsewhere.
Back in the village, some young kids are dreaming about the
day when they “make it” and get to go abroad.
In Kuwait, old men are dreaming about when they can go back to the
village and rest by the riverside, maybe grow some potatoes in the summer
time. And the world goes round.
*Names have been changed
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