The word ‘change’ is still a dream I refuse to give up on.
I’ve met children working in dark, dangerous places—their small hands worn like those of old men.
I’ve witnessed sex workers in despair, breaking down in tears—betrayed and abandoned by those they once trusted.
I’ve sat beside lonely souls in elderly homes, waiting endlessly for someone who never returns.
Drug addiction is increasing among the street children who live without a family, love and care. Bangladeshi youth are ‘huffing’ shoe glue, a drug locally called ‘Danti’, which is seriously harmful to mental and physical health. Up to 17 percent of street children in capital Dhaka are addicted to drugs
I’ve seen young boys fading away on the streets—lost to addiction before help could reach them.
I’ve seen tiny feet wandering through garbage dumps, searching for scraps just to survive.
I’ve seen mothers sleeping on sidewalks, wrapping their children in nothing but love beneath the open sky.
I’ve met street children with no home, no name, no hand to hold—yet still sharing their last piece of bread with a stray dog.
This journey has never been easy. It has left me heartbroken, sleepless, frustrated—and at times, hopeless.
But never without faith.
I still believe in miracles.
Because this world can change—if only we choose to care.
One of the most fulfilling parts of my work is helping people in need become self-sufficient. When I meet someone struggling, I try to understand their skills and needs through deep conversations. Then, I help them start a small business that can support their family and meet their basic needs — and sometimes even more. I find suppliers, gather materials, provide training, and continue to guide and encourage them.
Santa’s father was a cobbler who had to travel far for work, earning very little money. He was a widower, struggling to care for his 10-year-old daughter, Santa, who had fallen into drug use and often disappeared for nights at a time. Fearing for her safety, he felt helpless and even resorted to chaining her inside their home to keep her from harm.
After many discussions, we decided to set up a vegetable business for him on a custom-made rickshaw van. This way, he could sell vegetables anywhere and earn cash daily, while Santa could stay with him and start living a better life.
The business is now running, and we’ve taken Santa to a doctor to check her health and provide guidance for her recovery.
Santa’s father promised to take care of the business and his daughter, knowing it’s his responsibility to build a new life for both of them.
Despite having roll number four, I couldn’t achieve good results because my family was going through severe financial hardships. Due to these struggles, I couldn’t focus on my studies properly. For me, my family is above everything else, and while prioritizing their well-being, I had to compromise with my education.
My sister is blind. Just before my SSC exams, my rickshaw driver father, managed to arrange her marriage after enduring many hardships. But while I was still sitting for my exams, my sister’s husband disappeared—leaving her behind. Not only that, he took all our money, the gold jewelry, everything. Later, we realized he had married her only for his financial gain.
Around that same time, my father had a heart attack. Suddenly, the weight of my entire family’s well-being fell on my shoulders. I had to split my day—half driving a rented rickshaw, half studying for my exams. After paying 500 taka to rent the rickshaw, What little remained had to cover both our household expenses and my education. Every single day felt like a battle I was losing.
It was in this ocean of despair that Akash Bhai appeared in my life, like a guardian angel from heaven. Listening to my problems he promised to give me a Auto Rikhahaw ‘Tuktuk’. And within a week he bought me a tuktuk with (1200$) almost 1 lakh and 30 thousands money. Alhamdulillah, now I can earn almost 1000 taka par day. And can support my family and my studies.
I promised Akash Bhai that in my next exam, I would definitely achieve a good result. And I would work even harder to fulfill my dreams, and Inshallah, I would reach that place of my dreams—taking my family by my side. _Jahidur
Night is the meaning of life here. Don’t dare to feel I am talking about moonlit night. It’s about a place where fluorescent bulbs hesitate to light up the great darkness. You have to go step by step by listening giggles and following Hindi songs. Cheap aroma or local fragrance continually defeated to hide smells of stinks. At this place, dreams never can lose its paths even by mistakes. But it certainly can turn into the ideal background for a horror blockbuster by following nearly naked heroine’s poster or staring into a photographs where a lady wearing red lipstick with her innocent eyes hanging over fungus wall.
Four storied building’s busy staircases are lively by steps of clients. Girls for converting themselves as women putting all make up from her dearest make up box and keeps doubling lighten up their cheeks with cheap blusher. For killing hunger each moment they have drunk tears and fighting with each other to get same client for a night. Excess make up, vulgar cloths and even by showing off most of the female fascinated body parts these girls can not satisfied their MADAMs.
In the race by standing full day beside the door dressed like this they have to show their madam their extra talent for hunting a client. While few of them get tired of being waiting and being rejected, lastly they may get one/two clients at the last moment of their very tiring publicity. Then the bargaining starts. It’s the bargaining of beauty, the outer shell. Minimum 100 Tk – to maximum 500 Tk depends on the job’s creativity and longevity. Either a client comes for an hour, for a night or for several nights they never bother to enter into the corridor of these beautiful doll’s heart. They rather treated her as a toy of entertainment.
As like being used for years after years these girls started feeling themselves as product. Product of modern day slavery. In the middle of these professionals there is also few girls common who uselessly try to hide their body with their small cloths, who will not look at any one’s eyes either for sorrow or for shame. These girls are new to the place, they been bought by madam one or two days ago. Betrayal boyfriend, step parents or their closest one play with their innocence and sold them in the castle for Tk 4000- 20000. Before realizing what had happened in her life her innocent soul has been captured by brothel’s reality. In between them there are girls who has been gang raped and our civilized society refused to accept her, so she finds her MADAM as mother and releasing all bitters of her life by the profession of sex worker.
Fighting over getting men at night does not change relationship between themselves on the day. An unknown bonding for each other has tied them up and takes care of them in dear need. That’s why, when a girl out of frustration cut her full hand with blade just to torture herself, her roommate wipe it off and put medicine on it. A six feet by six feet room is world for 3-4 girls, so when customer leave they decorate the bed with flowery bed sheet or place artificial flower for adding beauty of it. Knowing a home never will come in their life still they care for their small room as like their house.
By remaining in the strict guidance of Guards for several years these birds stop weaving their wings and thus they forgot how to fly. After earning 100 Tk per client 3-4 years passed thus but loans and buying money of madam does not meet up as these fates less girls can’t even calculate. If their luck is good enough few of them get little better madam who let them free after three to four years to do their business independently.
The story does not change here. Again after doing free business the girl do same mistake by giving heart to a client. Then one day come when the trusted man flew with her all money, gold and faith. All the tiny battles she had within inside that do nothing but shape her emotions, make her able to drink her tears of blood. Stories of a brothel have many shapes. Many girls do not miss their Fazar prayer; many girls learn to recite Quran. Many girls penned their parents and send money monthly putting fake address in the envelope. Many girls forced to take a drug designed to fatten cattle for market name Oradexon.
Their day passes by. One day visibly wrinkles can no longer hide by their heavy make up, then they started losing clients, then one night come when they had no one, and they become nanny of younger sex worker. Finally after death their bodies can be buried in a cemetery, though still in a separate one. But better than having their remains floating in the river covered by a sheet which previously practiced as ritual. Their existence remains in their tank which preserve full of their life memories, which lastly kept by their dear one if someone still have time to recall a sex worker.
“Its been 12 years I am familiar to them. Not only as a photographer but also as a brother. In the photograph, I am seating with my one of the sister from Tangail brothel. Whenever I go there, she runs towards me by calling “Akash Bhai”, she brings sweet, tea and speaks and talked lot about her dreams. These girls are weak for affection as I once treated her as sister now she granted me as her brother. No one knows the story of those faceless girls who are sold by their boyfriend, husband or parents. This is one way journey to brothel a place that is everything to them. By documenting on them I would like to spread their story of pains which are only locked into their own madam’s castle. I can also recall about one girl from those uncountable faces. Unsurprisingly – and despite her name – Asha isn’t very hopeful for her own future. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get married or have children,’ she says. ‘No one will marry me. If they did they’d only keep me for two or three days, and then they’d sell me back.’ She is more streetwise than some of the other girls here, many of whom share a tragic dream that one day a knight in shining Armour will arrive, to carry them off; then they will marry him, have his babies and love him forever. I wish there would be a knight in shining Armour will surly arrive, to carry them off from this living hell! I wish and I really wish!” – GMB Akash
“A silent burial ground, where may be the ashes of wounded souls are stillencircling.Broken pieces of brunt smashed tiles with countless busted glasses can tell the tale how staircases could not save hundreds of scorched living beings. Imagining myself at the place of these unfortunate garments workers who burnt alive, I felt vulnerable. Shoes, bangles or an unfinished ironed cloth in the stand or the half eaten evening tiffin are standing witness, how workers died helplessly. Pieces of glass bangles all over the floor, as mostly female workers had faced the tragedy, were witness of a violent disaster those no one of them even seen in nightmares. & thus by facing fire they lost their existence in burning blaze” – GMB Akash
Tazreen Fashions, located in a rural area of Ashulia occupies a nine-storied building. The ground floor, which stored the factory’s raw materials, had the only entrance to the factory, with three staircases leading to other floors. The fire at the eight-story building of the apparel factory started on the first floor, quickly cutting off all three exits from the building. Survivors stated that at least one exit was locked while no emergency exits existed in the building whatsoever. Some workers tried to escape the fire by jumping out of the windows of upper floors – many of them died. Others choked to death in the thick smoke of burning fabrics. Many of the bodies the firefighters found in the ruins were burnt beyond recognition. Later it was estimated that more than 1,000 people could have been inside the building when the fire started. But survivors claims more. Even it takes more than two hours for fire fighters to arrive at the factory. Firefighters trying to reach the blaze were slowed because the narrow road leading to the factory made it difficult to get to the site and there was no source of water nearby. It took firefighters over 17 hours to douse the blaze at the factory, after it started on Saturday evening November 24. The fire at Tazreen Fashions Ltd, lead to the death of reportedly 111 workers, but witnesses and survivors alleged that the real number dead is possibly much higher.
Raziv is one of the Survivors of the tragic incident; he worked at fourth floor along 300 other workers that evening. He said, “I smelt smoke and ran downstairs at third floor and found that the place was already full with black fumes and I cannot breathe properly. With the sound of crying women the electricity went off within 5 minutes and most of the female workers had no mobile phone atleast to see though the phone light. I accompanied by my three friends & went at the small room of the third floor where I was atleast 200 woman were standing & crying helplessly. With another worker, I broke the window of the room and give the place to female workers to go out but most of them was so afraid and cannot do anything. I cannot be selfish to fly alone and helped them to jump through. But as soon as the fire was increasing I run to the biggest exhaust fan of the floor, many women workers seated at prayer and many started losing sense. Only by hand, I broke out the fan but cannot jump. The fire was so scary that I lost my power, I called and cried to my brother, he just said ‘Jump!Jump! Then I jumped to the roof of a shed next to the factory and found myself injured at the ground! I survived but I had no money for my treatment and no one asked me to help, even after five days of the incident I am searching for my coworkers and had not get any money for my treatment. I come to the factory for my four months due wages, no expectation from these rich bosses.” Along Raziv, Few more fire survivors said, that most victims died of suffocation as the blaze started on the ground floor warehouse, trapping the night-shift staff.
In hospitals cases are alike. Injured workers hardly save themselves form fire, some lost their memory, some are in trauma, poor families has nothing to give them better treatment. Amongst huge numbers of injured, few are receiving treatment and rests of the survivors are not fortunate to get treatment except lying at home for money crisis. A survivor Kushi stated that, after jumping from the third floor she broke her legs and cried at least one hour for help but no one was there and eventually she lost her sense.
Inside the living zone of these garments workers are not rosy. Jhilpar Slum is accommodating at least 20000-30000 textile workers and alike this slums garments workers living throughout all industrial hubs with daily straggles. Rooms of 10 feet by 10 feet accommodate minimum four women workers which monthly rent is 3000 tk. One toilet and one kitchen are definite for ten families of the slum. But still after having this trouble, passing through narrow life lines women garments workers are appreciating their lives as an independent being but incident like fire in Tazreen fashions has break out all hidden frustrations of them.
Accompanying workers in the fight for their deserved salaries I also faced problems with police officers. They tried to stop me for taking photos and said many times that I am ruining my country’s reputation. Even in many cases the injured, victim’s families and workers faced continual negligence by police, local authority even after so much pressure from national and international media and having consolation from all over the world they had to fight for their due salaries. End of the day they knows they have to fight for their right after losing their dears ones and even facing fire may be easier than earning rights and justice.
Nilufar lost four members of her family. While she received call from her brother, she heard only shout, ‘Save us!” ‘Help Us’! The phone was on the line for 20 minutes & she helplessly heard the sound of wounded peoples and their mourning. She passed the whole night in front of the factory gate along her two little brothers. While rescuers had lined up all the recovered bodies on the grounds of a nearby school, Nilufar unzipped bag after bag, searching her mother, father, brother and sister-in-law. She said the charred human remains looked like chunks of coal, but no where she found any dead bodies of her lost dear faces. Police wants ID cards of these four members then she replied, “I cannot found their burnt bodies after running three days, where the hell I would find ID cards!’ The tragedy does not end here; they have a long future to bear the wound with them with a tragic memory in mind.
“While leaving the place I heard, a mother exclaims that her son’s blood demand Justice. We all know their sweats, their bloods asking answers. No, we can’t stands at more loss. No Space for Further burials. Each drop of blood, each drop of worker’s sweat asks JUSTICE. Nothing more, nothing less” – GMB Akash
“These disorders — schizophrenia, Alzheimer’s, depression, addiction — they not only steal our time to live, they change who we are. In the time period of working with drug addict, I encounter tremendous shiver in thought of helplessness that how they are silently dying in these dark alleys and there is no dark Knight to hold them straight only we are here to celebrate the funeral of these fallen stars”
– GMB Akash
Drug addiction is a major social evil in Bangladesh, affecting thousands of young people and their families. There are thousands of addicted people in Bangladesh and most of them are young, between the ages of 18 and 30 from all walks of life. Drug addiction in young Bangladeshis is mainly seen because of reasons like depression. People try to remove depression using drugs as a tool. And this is how they become addicts.
Drug users are taking drugs by sharing same needle with each other. Injecting drug users have few places to turn, and they are one of the groups most at risk of contracting and spreading HIV. Heroin is mostly smoked within aluminum foil or cigarette paper, but in Bangladesh this is injected. Injections through infected needles can cause diseases of the liver, brain, heart, lungs and spinal cord. Estimates of the number of people living with HIV/AIDS in Bangladesh range from 2,500 to 15,000 most of them are affected while taking drugs. A Heroin addict may need about Taka 500 worth of the drug a day. They neglects the needs of the family, and those are non-earning may sell off family assets. They also go out on the streets for mugging and dacoity.
“Rickshaw driver Mohammad Bashir has been addicted to heroin for most of the last 13 years. His habit cost him his job and put an enormous strain on his family. Like most addicts, he often uses shared needles. Police has caught him in the spot, members of his addict team has managed to fly. But police caught him, while he is continually requesting police to leave him in the word of his promise that he will not inject him any more with drugs”
Drug addiction is increasing among the street children who live without a family, love and care. Bangladeshi youth are ‘huffing’ shoe glue, a drug locally called ‘Danti’, which is seriously harmful to mental and physical health. Up to 17 percent of street children in capital Dhaka are addicted to drugs. Children as young as 10 years old are also experimenting with alcohol, phensidyl, Heroin, Baba, Ganja, pethedrine, and other forms of available drugs. For managing the money for drags these children spends all their earnings on drugs. Some time they beg whole day in the street and end of the day spends everything on drugs.
“Bitter experiences are there too. I visit all danger territory where these addicted people living senselessly. Few of them try to beat me sometime, few of them tied me with their arms and cried and cried, few of them burst out in depression and few of them wants to end their sufferings. But this is cycle of unbearable torment which has no end. In a world with chaos and hunger, everything becomes a guerrilla struggle. It becomes almost impossible to save lives or grow dreams sometime. But yet these lives deserve our affection, attention and sympathy. No medicine is as effective as love to them. “– GMB Akash
“Here and there they are seating in the courtyard and on the shrine platform with absorbed in detailed memories of a distant happiness. Or it is a place where elderly people are left by their families to die? Thousands question will haunt you but there is no one to answer you but only your inner realm of emotion. They submits to being fed, here, in a old home, It’s the same every day, every day…..I understand, when you get here you don’t worry about the future. Then, I mesmerize, May God bless and give them solace.” – GMB Akash
Once you enter the premises of the Briddhasram at Pashupathinath you can’t help but feel like you are transcended time back at least half a century or more, to a place where the world moves very slowly.
Looking at the bed side a damped photo of a grandchild while a grandma smiles and say she didn’t see her last 10 years yet she sleeps with a same photo in her mind. They were like reciting their homelessness to me. I have to capture their souls to keep their image from disappearing out of sight.
There, you can see all grey haired elderly citizens doing nothing but spending lazy moments for hours in the courtyard and on the shrine platform. Some curious eyes follow you as you walk pass the welfare gate. If any of them is busy praying than other is trying hard to bend and dust off his cloths. A place, all you hear is the steady sound of the wheeled metallic support of an elderly with crippled feet or a faint sound of a broken radio which is playing Nepali song or news.
(Social Welfare Centre Briddhashram is the only Elderly’s Home operated by His Majesty’s Government in the Kingdom Nepal. At present it is being operated by the name of Social Welfare Centre Elderly’s Home, Pashupati since 1977 A. D. The total sheltering capacity of this Elderly Home is 240 persons. These residents suffer from many illnesses associated with old age; including paralysis, failing eyesight and deterioration of mental faculties)
For some it is a depressing scene to see people at the end of life, away from family, living in the Briddhasram. But for many, this is a place where they seek refuge from an ever speeding life and feel satisfied enough simply helping and sharing talk with the older citizens. The residents of the home don’t talk much to each other, which gives you an aura of wilderness where no word is spoken; but they really live for each other closely for rest of their life. This home for the elderly fills one with hope. What gives hope is that although they have lost families and possessions, the residents still care, they care for each other and they retain a deep sense of humanity.
Many people believe that they must help and protect their parents, when they become old. I personally believe that this is a moral obligation that every child should have towards their parents, whichever the way they choose to do so but they should never let them break apart alone.
“Through my lens I try to listen to their silent voices, in absolute solitude and silence,for I am sure I shall be able to hear about their unbearable wounds in which they stumbled upon alone years after year. So I take out my camera, go inside the place and merged with their pain”
The overall global environment is declining fast and for Bangladesh it has been doing so more rapidly during the last few decades because of many obvious reasons. But we are still not surprised. We, all of us, pollute our own cities with trashes. So how can we claim owners of these factories, with hardly any education be conscious about the environment, feel the need to protect the environment? We need to count ourselves first to protect our own ecosystem to survive in an earth which will be a gift for our next generation – ONLY IF WE CARE
“Pollution is an immense crisis that is slowly destroying the world that we live in. It is crucial for every individual to do what he or she can to clean up the environment. Whether it is in the home or on a management level, or within us, every person is important and has the ability to make a difference and can help to stop pollution”
– GMB Akash
The mighty river Buriganga is now so polluted that all fish have died, and increasing filth and human waste have turned it like a black gel. Even rowing across the river is now difficult for it smells so badly.
Bangladesh has about 230 small and large rivers, and a large chunk of the country’s 140 million people depend on them for a living and for transportation. But experts say many of them are drying up or are choked because of pollution and encroachment. A World Bank study said four major rivers near Dhaka — the Buriganga, Shitalakhya, Turag and Balu — receive 1.5 million cubic metres of waste water every day from 7,000 industrial units in surrounding areas and another 0.5 million cubic meters from other sources. There is no fish or aquatic life in this river apart from zero oxygen survival kind of organisms. Bangladesh enacted a law in 1995 making it compulsory for all industrial units to use effluent treatment plants in a bid to save river waters from pollution, but industry owners often flout the rule.
Dhaka city alone generates about 3500 to 4000 m tons of solid wastes per day. The amount increases with the increase of population every year. The domestic, commercial, street sweeping, combustible and non-combustible wastes include discarded food, grass, plants, paper, cardboard, textiles, plastics, polythene materials, glass, metals, and construction debris.
Industries and factories have been polluting the water bodies in and around Dhaka city for the longest time. There are about 1000 small and large industries in Dhaka city producing a large amount of toxic and hazardous wastes contributing significantly to environmental degradation. The emission of various greenhouse gases such as CO2, CH4, among others from various industries, increases the overall temperature of the earth, resulting in global warming and making the area unsuitable for human habitation, animals and plant species.In the Hazaribag area of Dhaka there are 149 tannery units daily producing about 18,000 litres of liquid wastes and 115 m tons of solid wastes; nearly all of these are dumped in the Buriganga river, and a part is thrown into nearby drains and sewers. These wastes contain sulphuric acid, chromium, ammonium chloride, ammonium sulphate, calcium oxides etc. These may seep into the ground causing ground water pollution. Also, the intense, unpleasant odour affects the health of the people of the surrounding area. tannery wastes have a very serious and negative effect on the ecosystem.
‘It is very easy for every single person to help stop pollution and stop destructing the earth. It can take little effort, but can be something that makes a huge difference. Start by evaluating how you can make small changes. Even the smallest changes in your own life can have a massive impact.’
“This is not just a story of poverty and despair. Poverty is not all that holds them back. Every day, they are willfully denied an education, opportunities, a future, and an identity. This is the story of a people whose lot it is to only exist as numbers in ration cards, relief programmes and slum-arson stories. This is the story of the Biharis of Geneva Camp. A community of over 160,000 people who have lived like animals for the last 40 years and will likely live and die as animals in congested ghettoes at makeshift camps and shanties all over Bangladesh. This is the narrative of the Biharis of Geneva Camp.”
‘Geneva Camp’ is just one of the 70 camps all over Bangladesh set up immediately after the Liberation War of 1971. In 1971, the Biharis were a torn community. The tragedy of the Bihari community unfolds as far back as 1946 — the year communal riots in Bihar tore irreparable divisions through India — with thousands of Muslims massacred in an organised pogrom that added momentum to the movement for the partition of India. This resulted in a separate homeland for the region’s beleaguered Muslims. Between 1947 and 1952, families by the thousands left their ancestral lands to take refuge in the erstwhile East Pakistan.
During the Liberation war in Bangladesh in 1971, the Pakistan army, sensing this divide, recruited some Biharis to fight the rebellious Bengalis. Whether they supported the Pakistan army or not, many Biharis remained neutral in 1971, shy of taking sides with their local brethren. Thus the division widened in those tumultuous years leading to the sub-human “ghettoisation” of the wretched children of a lesser God. After the war in 1971, the International Community for the Red Cross intervened and found out that most Biharis wanted to migrate to the truncated Pakistan. Over half a million registered “Urdu-speaking” Pakistanis found a voice at the high level Simla pact of July 1972 and later an agreement was reached in 1973 between Pakistan, India and Bangladesh on this issue. As per the agreement, the Bengali prisoners were released and sent to Bangladesh. However, not all Urdu-speaking Pakistanis were repatriated to Pakistan. Even today, hundreds of thousands live in Bangladesh in camps as non-citizens.
People are calling them in so many names. Bihari’, ‘Maura’, ‘Muhajir’, ‘Non-Bangalee’, ‘Marwari’, ‘Urdu-speaker’, ‘Refugee’, and ‘Stranded Pakistani’. But they only want one identity that is: human.
Here, the rituals of life, death, triumph, hope and misery of each family, packed into 8 x 8 little boxes. There are only 270 toilets for a population of 25,000 and the numbers increase daily. The living environment of the camp is very deplorable. It is unhealthy, dirty, damp and unhygienic. This condition exists in other camps throughout the country. The municipalities/city cleaners never enter the camps to clear the garbage. The Bihari camps have almost no educational facilities. Throughout the country, only 275 of the 19,000 children in camps go to school. Only six of the 77 camps have a school. Most of the people make handicrafts or repair cars to make a living. Into the filthy rooms – homes and workshops rolled into one – women and men were busy working on brightly coloured saris. From about 1,600,000, only 60,000 are thought to register in the voting system in 2008, but in reality, those in the camp are denied the right of applying for a national ID card. Without citizenship, they cannot even obtain legal housing, so most live in 66 camps packed with people and livestock scattered across the country, including Geneva Camp.
Geneva Camp was built in 1974 by the Red Cross to help assist the new generation of stateless people. The older generation complains more than the younger ones, who are better integrated and bilingual. Free of the baggage, the younger generations are far more ready to become Bangladeshis: 70% of the people want to stay in Bangladesh, 17% want to go back to Pakistan. Despite recent progress in voter and ID registration, however, 37 years of being unrecognized have left the Biharis living in abject poverty and vulnerable to discrimination.
“Geneva Camp turned out to be a bordered little inferno located next to fairly well-to-do neighborhoods and commercial areas. Human spirit, however, knows how to counter the forces of nature and history. Inside the camp, little Bihars had been recreated with the memories and longings that the migrants are well known for. Still the government does not know how to handle it. No one does. The government has not picked it up. Civil society has not picked it up. These people have been left to fend for themselves.”
“God is too busy, Can I help you?” stepping into the City of Italy, I first saw this hanging poster in a coffee shop. This is the ever lasting impression on me about the country. People are so charming, lively and enjoying every second of life. After arrival, by dropping my luggage, I lost myself with a tiny bag and my camera to explore the city which is new to me in every visit. My destinations were Rome and Venice. Where, Rome is a romantic city where couples are passionately showing their feelings of love that couldn’t be contained. The art and culture of the city has been admired worldwide for centuries. From Rome and Venice I took all the images which hit my mind to store these treasures in frame”
– Gmb Akash
Welcome in the city of illusions, and the city of yearning. Welcome to Rome, a place with so much art, so much history and so much beauty.
I discover Rome, as a silent and shiny heritage. Strolling in Rome means capturing its soul, amongst age-old buildings, splendid monuments and numerous churches that bear witness to an incomparable millenary history that will charms me. But for me as a photographer, wherever I go I try to see closely only people. So, I move from places to places and captured some human souls into my camera.
Walk the cobbled streets between centuries-old ruins, drink too much coffee, browse heritage markets and grand museums, and all together I passed time by eating too much gelato. I stopped by where I saw homeless people, who were tirelessly moving places from places. My heart poured with sadness to feel that in the advent world of Europe some people are still missing the minimum thing from this one of the best cities of the world.
Venice is an extraordinarily beautiful city. When I came to Venice, that was a totally free day to revisit sites, shop or just sit in the square enjoying a Strega and watching the people and pigeons. I meet lot of Bangladeshi in Rome and Venice. People are doing different kind of business to survive here. By looking people all around me, my camera was not taking rest but even though I fill I didn’t take enough images. It seems as if at each step I encountered some aspect of the city worth admiring.
While I was taking few minutes break I met an old lady passing time with her dog. She was taking pictures of the dog and talking with her. The old lady and her companion leave a lonely feeling on me.
I treasured all these moments with me. I am a passionate traveler. Traveled has availed to understand depth of life. From this travel Junction I put a note in my dairy that: Do not take a single day for granted. Life is precious!
“This is an emblematic depiction of the agony of hard labor. For saving themselves from hunger they breathe in asbestos dust and toxic waste. Thus they are risking their lives everyday. On the verge of death they risk their lives in order to endure themselves. They are passing their days on one of the world‘s most unregulated and hazardous industries, leaving a trail of debris, disability and death in its wake. I spend 10 days in the Gaddani ship-breaking yard north of Karachi in 2005. I witnessed workers dismantling large ships, piece by piece using no protection, in absence of tools, where one wrong move could result in death, but they were continually depending in their bare hands. In a city of dying ships flames with smoke rising, tormented with ship body parts, metal residue, asbestos, and oil spills. Barefooted workers with little access to necessary tools are vanishing ships on the rusty sand of Gaddani and break down these steel giants coming from all the harbours of the world.”
– Gmb Akash
The beach of Gaddani, 50 miles north of Karachi in Pakistan, has become one of the two world biggest cemeteries of super tankers, cargoes and other vessels in the world.Thousands of men, mostly Pashto migrants, toil over the ships. They are seasonal workers, a large number of native and immigrant workers returning to their homeland near the Afghan border at harvest time. The group consists of perhaps from Afghanistan. They pen for their beloved, whom they get to see only during the year ends. For around USD 1.20 a day, thousands of workers labour to dismantle dozens of ships each year at the ship-breaking yard in Gaddani.
Rashed, a labourer at the Gaddani ship-breaking yard has worked for five years dismantling ships. He said: “Had we had any other way of earning bread, we would not have come here.” Workers are always under high risk of accident, though they hardly care to secure themselves. Under hitting rains of sparks, blowtorches split through the thick steel skin of a ship. As they are cut lose, the pieces of metal plummet to the ground with a roar. I saw workers, toiling ceaselessly, as though banished forever to an underworld.
Many workers operate in tight spaces where the air is thin, and in high temperatures caused by hot welding, which is widely used, not to mention that they are constantly exposed to flammable liquids like paints and solvents. The work carried well into the night shipyard in Gaddani, Pakistan. This is the ship graveyard that serves as the final destination for a significant part of the world’s fleet.
“Barefooted workers would take apart, bit by bit, the dying ships with their bare hands, shipyard in Gaddani, Pakistan. On their shoulders, workers bore great metal plates to their destination. People complain about their crappy lives working in an air conditioned work place, imagine having this as your only option in life.”
“It was 1999, when I first realize I need to focus stories on a helpless community. For that feeling, there was a story behind. As a child, I was a frequent visitor at my uncle’s house at Narayangonj, somewhat 25 kilometers north of Dhaka. My uncle had a hermaphrodite locally called as Hijra, whose name was “Khushi”-meaning happiness, but that is what she very much lacked in her life. During these visits I often saw my cousins with their friends taunting and making fun of Khushi, often even worse happened as when they were drunk they forced and made her to strip naked and dance in the tunes of common Hindi film songs. Since Khushi had no place to runaway to and had no means to save her from this humiliation, she gave in to the insults and harassment’s silently. Images of Khushi gyrating and quietly exposing her underdeveloped sex organs left a lasting impression that haunted me ever since.” –
The Hijras live in-groups far away from a regular world. As for them living in normal family becomes an unending series of taunts from the society so the circumstances lead them to leave their regular family. They come to general people but live a life far different and painful in the dark allies, in isolation.
Hijras live in their groups; each one has a leader often called “mother” or “Guru”. Members of a group do not take part in any activities without the permission of “mother”. Even the trimming of hair requires mother’s permission. Failure to get such permission results in a fine ranging from 250 Taka (US$5) to 5000 Taka (US$90).
The norm is, for a Hijra to leave home and join a community of Hijras. This happens mainly because living in the normal heterosexual surroundings becomes is unbearable due to constant taunts, insults as well as neglect. Hence joining other Hijras is normally the most logical thing to do. However, it often happens that the other Hijras will claim any Hijra child on the basis that it is a member of their society and should therefore live with them. Stories of the Hijra community accepting a Hijra baby as a gift, trying to buy it, or even stealing it are not necessarily untrue.
Like in the case of Najma, the occurrence was regular that in the case of any other Hijra. Najma grew up in a well to do family in Barisal, a river port town. When she was 13, a group of Hijra from Narayanganj went to her parents, but failed to persuade them to give Najma away to the group, but later due to the increasing adverse social environment she herself joined the group of Hijra latter in life making her home about 300 kilometers. Away from the parents home in Narayangonj.
Najma is now the leader of a seven-member Hijra group that I studied is bringing up two young Hijra children. Rubi and Chanda are now 14 years old. Najma told me that: ” I cannot be a mother in my life .so It gives me great pleasure to hear them call me “ma”-mother. They will inherit everything whatever I have”. In order to get Rubi; Najma told me that she had to pay 5 000 taka (US$90) to Rubi’s impoverished parents.
Because of their socially prescribed role as performers and spiritual healers, the Hijra appear to live their lives in merriment. In their own homes, Hijras prefer to live in a colorful manner. Their houses are almost always well organized and elaborately decorated. The same goes for their garments and ornaments. Since the Hijra believe they are women, they dress in saris and have ears and nose rings. Most of those I often met also had false breasts made with padding and often with the help of some oral contraceptive are thought to give growth on the form of breast. The hair is kept very long. But the voice and facial features are distinctly masculine, which they try to eliminate endlessly. They are physically strong and very well built. Generally the Hijras have two names one from their family when the were born and the other from the Hijra groups he joins, but often death their tombstone bears the male name that was given by the parents.
They are not only striped from their basic rights but are also made to feel ashamed of themselves. Hijras get a mixed reception from the people; the middle class thinks them as bad omen even the sight of a Hijra in the morning is regarded as the same and believed can spoil the whole day. Where as among the lower class they are believe to posses spiritual powers as they are deprived of the joys of a normal life, their prayers are believed to be answered. They sustain themselves through their performance of singing and dancing at various ceremonies, paying them is regarded as an act of piety but even then getting the events and ceremonies are becoming scare. I saw them as somebody not different from myself and want to clear the common misunderstandings that circle them, the common idea about them is very vague and negative and their never ending pain and struggle is never brought to the book. My efforts will be to do the entire undo and uplift the images of these hapless groups of people called Hijras.
“One day they sang to me a song written in light of their painful life. One of the lines that stand out goes: “The creator has strangled me with his own hands.” Yet they dream— repressing in their hearts, these strong sentiments and emotions they bear towards the Creator — a dream of their own independent community. As one of them told me – “You know Akash, if we had a great amount of money then we would have brought a four stored building and all ‘Hijras’ like us would have lived there. Then no one would have dared to neglect us.” And holding on to this dream in their hearts they aim for a normal beautiful life. So even in such a state of negligence some are continuing school and colleges; in the hope that after studying they will get a job like a normal person and will be recognized and condemned in the society not as ‘Hijras’ but as any other ordinary individual.” – Gmb Akash
“Photography has taken me to discover many unexpected territory as all time I wanted to see the sights of unseen & unforgiving incidents of reality. I was engaged in one of my personal project’s work on ‘sex workers’ for which I went to Madaripur. I have been working on ‘sex workers’ last 7 years & my works demand me to investigate their situation all over the country. Last year, in the month of August when I arrived at Madaripur it was afternoon. Shockingly I have seen thousands of apes are in street, running here & there. It was an unexpected thing of my life to see thousands of ill monkeys are moaning alone. I was traumatized, unspoken & felt awful when I understand all these thousands monkeys stand in front of me are HUNGRY. I always concern to cover stories of situation which need concentration for helping out by the assessment of the world. So I take out my camera & run to middle of them”
In char Muguria area, Madaripur around 2,500 monkeys are facing severe food crisis. Due to acute food crisis many mother monkeys, passing days starved or half-starved, are even unable to breast feed their babies. Quite a few monkeys have already died in this serious situation. Concerned over the pitiable life of the monkeys, locals and visitors have urged immediate arrangement of food for the monkeys. Though the local communities are already poor to feed themselves but the heartbreaking scenarios of monkeys influence them to share their own food with them. Despite keeping distance with human the unable monkeys are taking foods from people’s hands. The hungry monkeys were competing for the inadequate foods like peanut or biscuit given by the visitors. They were also trying to eat whatever they got — grass, garbage, polythene etc. Baby monkeys are suffering badly in malnutrition. Even the water crisis made their lives more pitiful. Local community sought allocation for food for the monkeys but the higher authorities are yet to give any response in this regard.
“A mother monkey by carrying its dead child was passing from trees to trees. When it came in front of me & begged foods I realized the monkey did not identify its child is already dead. This pitiable situation made me terrified. These apes, whose residents are jungle, came out for food & begging to feed themselves. These climate victims are more alike my working project of ‘Sex workers’. Human & animal all are helpless in front of starvation & need. They are survivors of dreadful situation which many of us over looked or never know”- Gmb Akash
I usually take a picture of a person and then afwerward when I close my eyes for recalling what I have taken – the first thing that hits my mind is – Colour. After observing a person if we try to recall, then unconsciously colours comes first in our mind. The texture of the skin, colour of hair, colours of cloths and over all colour gives us an impression about the mood of the sight. Colour is a strong element to illustrate a person’s traits. I believe every person cover a mood of colour.
From beginning of my career I am working for those people who are living in the edge of the society.While I started working with these people I surprisingly discover – life has taken all colours from them but still they are cherishing every moment of their life with colour. Colour is their courage; colour creates enthusiasm on them to fight to live for another day. Person, who has nothing, has colour in life. In beginning of my career I took all black & white photographs of those who are colourful. I found out poverty, sorrows and depressions become vivid if I skip colour from their life.
To present – ‘the present’ I start working on colour. A street child, laborer of a road or even a homeless lady all of them has colour. People who are fighting everyday to live life are heroes to me and these heroes represent colour. Their skin tone, dresses, living places all are colourful and powerful. They are deprived from all happiness of life but yet they treating themselves with colour. While I discover the truth I learned to capture the mood of colour on them.
“…I realize I have no power to deny the colour of these colourful people who are straggling in a colourless, hopeless world, nevertheless they live and smile. So I can not ignore the yellow balloon of a homeless child or even a red bowl of a beggar of the street. This inspiration inspires me to work with colour. Ans I continued my journey in the path of a colourless world to meet with all these colourful souls…”- Gmb Akash
Colour arouses my work for getting the depth of the sight. I got colour in different mood in the different part of the world. But I discover people who are fighting endlessly for surviving are more colourful than any part of the world. Because of this colour is more challenging to me. I take this challenge to explore the unrevealed spirit through every capture of mine.
I have a special affection for red. I like to take picture in the early morning and late afternoon. Unpredictably red comes to my way often. People who are living in lower rang affectionate about the colour – Red. It is important to take a red shoot carefully. Contrast might made the capture disturbing, while too much red can destroy the attention for the subject. A good composition and balancing of colour can create an outstanding shot. Apart of all it is important to discover the right mood of colour in the right temperament of an individual.
I go to country to country to explore colour differently. I have found out different colour in different cast. You will find people of power through colour. Your experiences & observations with colour will help you to reveal certain attribute of a community through colour.
– I prefer to use natural light which allows me to capture the originality of the moment of colour.
– I try to find out a natural background which suits the subject’s colour instinctively perhaps my entire colour photos are – found situation. So I believe to observe more & more while traveling frequently.
– Working with a single colour allows me to appreciate more intricate details within the subject itself.
– I travel to discover for getting the unexpected shot yet carrying the note in mind that I am searching thing which I have seen several times but never been noticed. Searching without clue for a known thing helps me to get a good colour shot.
– I only pick colour which has meaning to the subject.
“While I am taking photos of these colourful souls I am learning to live in colour. By capturing these colour moments I have learned – few hints of red, blue & yellow has inspirations in our life. People who are fighting without anything in this world are healing their pains by indulging in colour”
“When the train starts your feet will shake and you will automatically try to hold something, but there is nothing to hold on to. From 2005 I went up the train. Sitting or lying on the corroded metal roof of a train moving at 40 kilometers/hour is dangerous. By knowing that any time accident can happen you obvious to be nervous. It gives you an insecurity and makes it more risky. In that time there was no one who can tell me the rule of hanging in a running train, there was no example of photograph by which I can inspire myself to capture moments in camera. But I did not think twice to step into the slippery train and attempted to make a new series on the bravery of some insignificant heroic lives.”
Seven years ago I had to travel many times by train to come to the city. During traveling I noticed low income people were traveling in the roof of the train and even in between joining line of the train. Most of them were low wage working class and traveled with high risk of severe accident. I was surprised to the fact when I discovered few of them traveled many times of the day with life risk. For knowing the reason my interest had taken me to the root. I pick my camera and leave my seat. Thus my journey starts in the running train. I had a basic curiosity to know about people whom I intend to photograph. From beginning of my journey I work for those people who are fighting endlessly to survive without anything but a smile. For taking photo of them I blended myself into the same conditions which help me to get the insight of the story. This inquisitiveness leads me in the top of the train. And I become one of the free passenger of regular running train. Thus I got familiar with the scary situation of the fearful journey; discover people and above all I took pictures.
Uncountable times, I went to the roof of the train. Often traveling made me familiar with scariness of a running train. People become well-known to me. I find out so many different stories of people and their determination of surviving. When I manage myself to step straight then I pick my camera and start capturing my feelings. No one travel to risk their life to get pleasure. All were unable to manage travel cost as they were living under the margin. Many of those travelers work as day laborer, many of them goes for selling fishes in city which they collect from their villages. All of them have to return also. These travel costs can not manage by them so they risk their life in the top of the train.
This traveling is very addictive. When you will discover people who have power on them, who were bravely setting without caring anything the something will happen to you too. These people inspire you to live life without getting frustrated. They have nothing with them only have bravery to fight against all odds of life. So this journey put power inside me to fight in rest of my life with bravery and inspire to take any risk to live a life.
In winter surface of the train get slippery, once I stepped without been concern and attempted to fall. It is difficult to take picture in opposite of the direction of the running train. Along other passengers I have faced terrible winter, unwanted rains and continual heat in the top of the train. Many times wires hit me, every time I thought I should not go more. But again I can not resist myself. Getting a good picture is toughest thing while you need to spend days and months for the right moment and for the right click. I won travel photographer of the year title in 2009 on the series. Besides all I am fortunate to be able to stand in this fearful journey which will continually give me power for rest of my life.
“I recall all these journeys repeatedly. My achievement is that I established this series as one of favorite topic for photographers. I feel happy when I see photographers come from around the world to get a free ride in the top of the train and takes pictures. All these make me happy. I collect all these treasured moment and I am working for publishing a book soon on this series. I have to say, I am fortunate by killing fears of me to become able to go to the top of the train. There is nothing to hold on to, only your fearlessness”
After Aila attack it has been two years Khadeza Begum sold her cattle & everything to rebuild her only shelter. Now it is another nightmare for her to stay under her destroyed house after facing another devastating flood. She has no idea how she will manage to pay back all her loans, besides passing nights in this smashed house with her husband.
Kadeza Begum said:
“We have nothing left, but we have to survive, so we’ve had to build our house again, twice in two year”.
Like Kadiza Begum It takes one year to Nobab Ali for building his house after Aila attack. Again flood hits on his all effort & left him in the flooded street. After all these devastation still he is trying to get some materials from the ruined house for covering his head in the road.
Alike them all inhabitants of Shamnagar are suffering like prisoner of devastating water kingdom. Helplessness & shouts are not getting into ears of rest of the people around the world & surroundings. In all places water & the destruction of water could experience in flood affected areas of Shatkhira. Inhabitants are collecting water after walking 3 Km. as all tube well are under water & badly affected by salt.
Amina begum told:
“Here water in everywhere, even in my house there is no sign of house only water. But we are such cursed that we have no water for drinking”
After facing devastating flood every year, they are fighting to live apart loosing shelter for existing. Still they are fighting to live. They are collecting all destroyed pieces of house to shed their head. Women go for fishing. They are healing pain of each other set aside from the remaining world.
I headed to the flood affected area of Shatkhira when all those villages are under water within three days & was out of communication. Evidentially when I reached to Shamnagar sun was setting down. I was surviving in a boat & could not see surface to stand a while. With the drowning sun the village was drowning under water. People were sheltered above in roofs of their houses. Moaning of old people & shouts of children were making the atmosphere miserable.
The southern part of the country is mostly affected by rain-fed disaster. There was heavy rain all over Bangladesh but flood has affected 14 of the 64 districts in Bangladesh. In Satkhira Kobodak, Betna, Shalta and Morichhap rivers swelled abnormally over the last seven days overflowing their banks inundating 160 villages in dozens of unions in Tala, Kalarowa, Ashashuni and Sadar upazilas. Over four lakh people of 160 villages were marooned. Crops on several thousand acres land; thousands of dwelling houses, schools, mosques, markets and ponds were inundated. Over 2,000 shrimp enclosures were washed away. Families lost everything & staying night without roofs in wild weather. Incessant rain coupled with high tide triggered by depression in Bay in the last few days caused river water rising engulfing villages on their banks. No humanitarian support has been provided to the people in the most affected districts by the government, local, national and international NGOs even after 10days of water blockage. People are suffering like prisoner of devastating water kingdom. There helplessness & shouts are not getting into ear of rest of the people around the world & surroundings.
After the flood in Shatkhira, all ladies are moving for dry places by carrying their belongings. Families lost everything, passing nights without roofs in wild weather. In such a situation open air in field of water can not accommodate them for healing pains. Leaving behind everything they are moving to the city. . Hunger, helplessness & calamity force these climate refugees to the city. City welcomes them to face the uncertainty of living for their entire life time. Rootless people suffer here & there. Their tears evaporated by thirsty street of Dhaka, the capital of Bangladesh.
Bangladesh is the most vulnerable country in the world, the frontline state of climate change. Mostly to say Bangladesh seems the leader of climate change. With 140 million people, Bangladesh is one of the world’s densest nations and also one of the most vulnerable to the impacts of climate change. Like much of the delta region, it floods each every year, but the flooding has been getting worse, the waters are staying longer, and contaminating the fields and the wells with salt. People in Bangladesh live precariously close to the risks of cyclones, floods and droughts and more than 100 million people live in rural areas. Two-thirds of the country is less than 5 meters above sea level and in an average year, a quarter of the country is inundated. Bangladesh has experienced severe floods every 4 to 5 years that may cover more than 60 percent of the country, resulting in significant losses. United Nations’ Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change predicted that rising sea levels could submerge 17 per cent of Bangladesh by 2050, creating 20 million “environmental refugees”.
Here is a short film on this concern – how people are facing the calamity by living their normal life behind:
Still images of this devastating flood could reveal people’s straggle & endless helplessness.
The lady is going inside her house. The flood has broken all her hope to pass a single night in serenity. After facing devastating flood every year, they are fighting to live apart loosing shelter for existing.
“I headed to the flood affected area of Shatkhira when all those villages were under water within three days & out of communication. Evidentially when I reached to Shamnagar sun was setting down. I was surviving in a boat & could not see surface to stand a while. With the drowning sun the village was drowning under water. People were sheltered above in roofs of their houses. Moaning of old people & shouts of children were making the atmosphere miserable. When I reached to the house of Khadeza Begum I closed my eyes. It took two years to rebuild the house of Khadeza after selling all her cattle as well taking huge loans after Aila attack in 2009. I was standing in front of her ruined house. The house which has been rebuilt these two years by the bravery of Khadeza. I could not answer when she was hitting me by asking why I come to take photo of her ruined house again after Aila. No one come to ask them ever how they are fighting against the will of nature. She cursed all those happy people who seat silent after hearing their news”
In 2009 Aila attacked Shatkhira area, after two years when that pain has not forgotten this place again faced the ferocious attack of flood. While in these two years affected people managed to build their destroyed home but again flood has taken last hope from them. Over four lakh people of 160 villages were marooned after the striking of flood in this 2011. Crops on several thousand acres land; thousands of dwelling houses, schools, mosques, markets and ponds were inundated. Shrimps in over 2,000 shrimp enclosures were washed away. Families lost everything & staying night without roofs in wild weather. No humanitarian support has been provided to the people in the most affected districts within the affected time of 13 days.
People were suffering like prisoner of devastating water kingdom.Helplessness & shouts are not getting into ears of rest of the people around the world & surroundings. Still they were fighting to live. They were collecting all destroyed pieces of house to shed their head. Women went to water for fishing. They were healing pain of each other set aside from the remaining world.
Hunger, helplessness & calamity force them to the city. City welcomes them to face the uncertainty of living for their entire life time. Rootless people suffer here & there. Their tears evaporated by thirsty street of Dhaka.
After discovering the insanity of nature & bravery of these sufferers I realize these people are stronger to rule their own live. If these brave people could get support of a shoulder to cry, rest of us could claim us as “Human”. I recall the statement from Helen Keller & focus my lens to capture some brave moment.
“I am only one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something, and because I cannot do everything I will not refuse to do the something that I can do”- Helen Keller
Homeless people float near in the street of the city. By few road sides families are allowed to build their homes. Still climate refugees can not gather enough wasted digital prints, papers & bamboo for making plastic houses. Those who can not manage helplessly sleeps in open air by not letting the place empty. Everyday they collect papers for dwelling beside street.
Dhaka, the capital of Bangladesh is one of the most densely populated cities of the South-Asian countries. Due to rapid urbanization process, the city is emerging as a mega-city and this trend generates numerous economic and social externalities and social cost such as deterioration of environmental quality, increased pollution and congestion. 30 to 50 percent of total Dhaka residents are Slums dwellers. Slums of Dhaka city are beset with a number of socio-environmental problems specially ‘water’ crisis.
“In slums from early morning hours passed & water pot gathered gradually. Queues of water pots & lines of people are regular scenario of the slum. Government van comes once in a day with drinking water. They have no idea exact when the van will come, so they line up their water jars & sit beside. Most of the inhabitants of these slums are climate refugees. Most of the slum dwellers stand in lines before the sun rises. After passing the long queue, knowing that this impure water causes sickness, they feel that they are fortunate. Their consolation is that at least they don’t have to leave with empty pots” – Gmb Akash
Apparently the place seems like garbage, though this is the most desired place of the inhabitants of Mirpur slum in Dhaka city. For water, in this thirsty zone queue stars near midnight. After an immense time of patience they got quiet impure water which often makes them sick. In spite of all they give a cheerful smile when they touch the water after passing the long queue. No dirty water can kill their hope & smile.
In Mirpur slum, slum dwellers have to waits hours & hours in queue for water. Children use to drink water whenever they got chance to get the pipe. Slum dwellers of Mirpur hardly get drinkable water. Bad smell & impure wastage made the water high-risk. Dhaka. Bangladesh
A woman is fighting for water. Children & ladies stand up in queue before the sun rises. Slum dwellers of Mirpur hardly get drinkable water. Bad smell & impure wastage made the water high-risk.
Rohingans living in Burmese refugee’s camp has no facilities for drinking water. A Rohingan woman is collecting drinking water from rain source. Water fall of mountain is the only source of water for them. Else they have to travel 2kilomiter for collecting that impure water.
Women have to spend several hours & travels long everyday for collecting drinking water. In Shatkhira, they have to go long distance, they usually collects water from ponds. After boiling water hardly removes salts & thus they make the water drinkable.
Children & women have to spend several hours & travels long everyday for collecting drinking water. In Shatkhira, they have to go another part of the river for collecting water. After boiling water hardly removes salts & thus they make the water drinkable.
Satkhira District is in the southwest coastal area of Bangladesh. Cyclone Aila hits 14 districts on the south-west coast of Bangladesh on the 25th May 2009. The cyclone caused 190 immediate deaths, injuries to 7,103 people, damage to 6,000 kilometers of roads, more than 1,700 kilometers of embankments to collapse, more than 500,000 people to become homeless. Because of this calamity all fields got salted & farmers become helpless. As well in Shatkhira people are not getting clean drinking water, as the water is salt affected.
Children & women have to spend several hours & travels long everyday for collecting drinking water. In Shatkhira, they have to go another part of the river for collecting water. After boiling water hardly removes salts & thus they make the water drinkable. Farmers can not produce crops because of salinity. In such a situation inhabitants lives become itself a calamity living by every day’s straggle.
The woman is going to collect water from a Tube well, which is the only tube well for seven villages. The inhabitant of char in Noyakhali has to travel 3-4 kilometers by walking to collect drinking water.
“In this corner of the world people are fighting to get a pot of drinkable water. Their lives have collapsed in need of getting a pot of fresh water. People are experiencing severe thirst which may never come to an end if “Water”- could not save by Human” Gmb Akash
‘The Vanished Native’ – Existence of Rohingya refugees in Bangladesh is tale of those people who lost their freedom of living and identity now just tagged as refugees. For living decades here we still the same plastic rapping shelter that has uncountable holes. They everyday travel miles to drink mud water. Those people are struggling to get back their honour as human not as any nation. They are considered as most unwanted people in both of the zone. Still their way of living is a message that they are just suffering well –Gmb Akash
An old Rohingya lady is taking nap in her shelter. They are not allowed to do work outside or move freely. Old people like her are struggling hard for passing their last days by doing nothing.
Decades refugee families are suffering well having only a plastic shelter. If the refugees manage to get outside the camp, they are then vulnerable to harassment by the residents of the villages surrounding the camps.
In the early 1990s, more than 250,000 people belonging to the mostly Muslim Rohingya minority escaped persecution in Myanmar by fleeing across land and river borders into Bangladesh, where most were housed in 20 camps. Their living conditions are sub-standard and they are uncertain about their future. They are living without freedom of movement, permission to work or basic human rights.
A Rohingya mother seating idle with her child. Most of the new born and children suffered from massive Malnutrition.
The experiences of violence and coercion over the years have inevitably fostered a climate of fear and distress among the refugees. They are not permitted to work. They have nothing to do to live their lives. They have no money, their husband or wives are not allowed to do any work. They are like prisoner of an open field of limited activity.
The girl belongs to the refugee group who are living without freedom of movement, permission to work or basic human rights. Besides she dreams to study, go regularly for taking part in Madrassa.
Children study the Koran (Qu’ran) in a makeshift Madrassa (Islamic school) in the Dum Dum Meah refugee camp.
The living place displays the most unprotected residence for living as human. The rapping plastic sheet which have uncountable holes surround them generation after generation. In a small place where hardly two people can live, ironically they are living more than eight people.
Two young men are making a new house in the Dum Dum Meah refugee camp. There is no change in their accommodation scenario instead of getting only holes in every rainy season.
Rohingya refugee families have to depend fully on ration. The refugees are totally dependent on the weekly distribution of food. For many, food is the only source of income, as employment is prohibited.
A Child in the Dum Dum Meah refugee camp. Here everlasting hunger, heightened vulnerability to disease, and hampered growth will only be overcome if the Rohingya refugees get enough to eat everyday. But still it is a dream to these refugees.
“Sometimes I bathe only two to three times per month because I have to save water for other member of my family”- A woman of seven member of the family were telling about the water condition.
There is just one toilet between every 10 families. Teenagers hardly go to toilet in day time. As the toilet is visible from outside because of broken doors & holes is plastic rapping areas.
“Through the damaged door everything is visible when we go to toilet. In spite of danger we young girls go to toilet when it is dark that no one could see us”- young girl of the camp named Mya
Water fall of mountain is the source of water near the Burmese refugee’s camp for Rohingyas. Rohingya families are collecting water from mountain as there is no facility of water in their camp. After 2 kilometers walking they can collect drinking water however they got sick often by this impure water source.
Besides them thousands wait, unregistered, and unsure of what their future holds. People are stateless and hopeless. They have nothing in their hands.
Rohingya families have to totally depend on ration supplies. This generates an endless cycle of food shortage as no food enters instead of only rations for them.
The boy representing the third generation of one Rohingya refugee family. They do not have any identity as nation. Despite losing everything they are fighting to get the honour as human.
“Many lives have begun in these camps in the last decades. Many will end here, too, without a birth or death certificate to prove that they ever existed. There straggle will convey message to all people who are unknown to the fact of living no where, belongs to no nation and not aware of searching identity everyday” – Gmb Akash
“Survivors” depicts the invincibility of the human spirit to survive against all odds. People who live on the edges of society have had a big impact on me and have been a great inspiration to me as a person and in my career. The existing social hierarchies have made me realize that those who live at the lowest rank on the economic ladder are the true survivors. These people are deprived of even the basic necessities of life, yet they manage to live each day with a smile on their faces. As a photographer I feel it is my task to show the world those unseen realities and to shed light on what most of us never see with our own eyes.
I have been doing my project “Survivors” for the last 10 years. In these years I tried to bring changes in some lives. But now, I moves to work on it highly by bringing the project “Survivors” in light. & lend hands to some miserable souls. Munna is one of them. Here I am revealing life & straggle of Munna – which many of you may never seen but heard many times, which many of you may imagine but never feel. Welcome to the world of a – little soldier ‘Munna’
“Born to work – A Battle of a Survivor”, First video made by me & a documentation on ‘Munna’ from the project ‘Survivors’.
‘Integrity with innocence’ this is the concrete of Munna’s character portrayal. Five years ago I first met Munna, he was same like now. He was a seven years old shy boy who never complains to anyone. At the age of five he comes to the factory. Two years he did nothing & got no money. At the age of seven, he learns & starts working. When I took his first picture his hands remarks his experiences.
Five years have passed fates of Munna & his father brings no change in their lives. Only difference is, with his five years experience Munna is getting 1600 taka ($1=72taka) per month. Moreover 12 years old Munna is running his younger sister education with his extra income of Friday overtime. His dreams confine to get more experience of hard work & made a big factory. He dreams to give good food to his family, he dreams to take them in a better place. The boy speak too less, stand always like a shadow. Whenever I took picture of him, he tried to clean his torn cloths as well hide torn areas. These little doings, little words earn respect.
20 years ago Munna’s family had come to Dhaka for better living. Time never brings any happiness in their lives. By a little donation Munna’s father bought shoe sewing materials & now he is working as cobbler. They pray that rainy season may never come. As people does not come to do shoe polish in rain time. Munna & his family are surviving in the race of life.
Like Munna around 7 million children are straggling in our country. May be it is difficult but not impossible to give hope to these 7 million children. If only every capable person lend their hands for one family.
My project “Survivors” aims to help Munna & his family. This project designed to help ten families from ten backgrounds. By little collection – a fund will hand over to Munna & his father. Munna’s father will utilize it for lifting their fates. 25% of the selling price of my book “Survivors” will give to these kinds of 10 selected families. You all are invited to stand beside Munna. Won’t you lend your hands? If your heart is moved to do so please visit “Survivors” by Gmb Akash at : http://emphas.is
“Our little help, little words, little recommendations could bring light in some dark places of this earth. ” Gmb Akash
GMB AKASH 
