‘I didn’t have to work at all’: What life was like for a Bangladeshi girl working in the US in the 1970s
By now, you probably know that I had my fair share of adventures in my childhood.
My dad would drive me to work, take me to the movies, and send me on a shopping spree.
I would never be a good student, but I was never bored.
Growing up, I was taught that we should be grateful for what we have and not give it up.
As an adult, I learned that the world isn’t perfect and it’s not our fault.
This is where I began my own story.
When I was a child, my family’s life was not good.
The family was poor and the house was dilapidated.
Even today, many Bangladeshis in the West don’t have jobs and most are in desperate need of humanitarian aid.
But in the 70s and 80s, the Bangladesi diaspora was booming.
Bangladeshi migrants and their families fled to the United States, India, and other countries.
During the 70-80s, many of those migrants and families would spend time in the United Kingdom and Europe.
It was a time when the Bangladei diasm was growing rapidly.
By the time I was eight, I had been working in a food distribution centre for over a decade.
Every day, I would spend hours sorting through the foodstuffs of the Bangladias family.
And even when I would leave my job, I could always return home for some delicious food.
What started as a simple task of sorting food for my family soon became a life-changing experience for me.
From the moment I started working in food distribution centres, I saw the beauty of food.
I saw how it was created, and how it could be enjoyed and shared.
Working in the food distribution center, I also learned the value of compassion.
I learned to love food, and I realized that we have a shared history and our cultures are as different as the day we are born.
For me, the experience of working in an Indian food distribution company made me a better person and a better human being.
In my later years, as I learned more about the diasporic community, I began to feel a deep connection to them.
We all have the same humanity, we all have a unique story, and we all make this world better.
A few years later, I found out that my father had died.
After his passing, I lost a lot of weight, and a lot more.
Although my father was my first family member, he was not the last.
He left behind his wife, three children, and many grandchildren.
To honor my father’s legacy, I have decided to write about the life of a Bangladis father and how he and his family lived in a time of refugee crisis.
Before we get started, I want to take a moment to give my thanks to the community of the Diaspora and to my own family for the hospitality and support I have received.
Thanks also go to my father, my siblings, my cousins, and my extended family.
For many of them, the diasm has been a life changing experience.
I wish that I could share more about my family in the diasedaspora, but unfortunately, I don’t.
Thank you, and may God bless you in your journey of understanding and peace.