May day – GMB AKASH

Incredible Humans

Incredible Humans are extraordinarily beautiful. And the most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.

Welcome to my blog to meet 10 incredible humans : ten workers of all time who were previously featured on my Facebook page: GMB Akash

Undoubtedly their views on life will fill us with awe and leave us in wonder. Let’s have some inspiration to celebrate May Day.

‘We do everything a man does, our working hours are same. But when I went to take my wage the manager gave me 50 taka less than my male coworker. I asked what my mistake was. He shouted on me and said, ‘You did more work than him. But you don’t wear shirt. You are a woman. You will get always less.’ The next day I came to work by wearing a shirt. All the men laughed at me. I ignored them and asked the manager to pay me equal as I wore a shirt after listening to him. I clearly saw he was hesitating and was afraid of my bravery. But again he said, ‘He will pay all women equal if all of us could wear shirts.’ He gave me a smile like a fox. I lost hope, knowing no one will wear a shirt. The next day when I arrived at the field all women were wearing their husband’s shirt on the top of their saree. I never could imagine the manager would be this much afraid of seeing us together. He paid all women equal to men for the first time during his ten years in the brick field’s history. From that day girls call me, ‘Hero’. I don’t mind!’ – Taslima

‘I lost my mother when I was very young. I always tried to please my stepmother. I do not know but why she never tolerated my shadow. She had beaten me a lot. I used to stand silently the times she was beating me, I could not cry, as she told me that if I cried she would throw me out from the house. After tolerating all these, one day she finally threw me from my home. I cried loudly all night by standing in front of the closed door, but not even my father came out to take me back. I came to Dhaka from Chadpur. I used to roam around all the streets and sometimes ate from dustbins. Then one day I got this job, a job as a sweeper. But the sad thing is, everyone hates us, no one talks to us. Today I am very happy, brother, nobody ever took my photo, no one ever wanted to know if I have something to share. When you tell my story to people please tell them not to hate us. If we stop cleaning, you will die. We are servant, we go into your rubbish and by becoming dirty we cleanse you. Please do not look at us with hatred’

– Md. Rabbi (18)

‘One day madam bought a girl of nine years old. Her stepmother sold her to a brothel and then spread the news that she had been lost. The stepmother was satisfied to get rid of a stepdaughter for a life time and 3000 taka was just a bonus of selling a human being. My madam gave the little girl to me to prepare for clients. She was a doll, her pink chubby cheeks and big brown eyes melted my heart. When she cried and cuddled me at night I felt like that baby was made of milk. I went through forced abortions two times; for me Putul was my lost fetus. I bought her a doll to play with. After seven days she was able to speak, her first question was, ‘will that madam cut my hands and send me for begging’? I closed my eyes and whispered, ‘they will do much worse than anyone’s imagination’. Madam was impatient and gave me one week to teach her all the tricks of the business. And I planned something else by putting my life at risk. The day before they fixed a client for Putul, I communicated with one of my old admirers to talk to an organization who was working with orphans. I knew they would kill me if they found me while or after transporting the girl to the orphanage. But that time I did not care about my life. I was able to get her free from this hell. She left her toy doll for me as her memory. I know there must be thousands of such hells waiting for the girl but at least I was able to save her from the biggest one. Please pray for my baby; may she get all the happiness and love in her life; may her chubby cheeks always gets rosy from laughter.’

– Purnima, a sex worker

‘I am trying hard to love the job I am doing. But it seems impossible to be happy with my work life. I am giving my one hundred percent. Not a single day do I arrive late at work nor ever overlook any of my mistakes. My job is to help passengers on the train. After giving my best, so many times people have misbehaved with me. It really hurts. People behave miserably to such an extent that I lose control over myself but I never utter a single negative word against passengers. After returning home, many nights I tried to understand why everyday people are becoming aggressive; why educated-socialized people are uttering ugly words against someone they do not even know. Maybe now-a-days we all are going through so much stress and anxiety; who knows? But behaving well to people is not only my job responsibility, it’s my moral value. I only earn 5000 taka monthly; it’s very difficult to run a family with the amount of money I am receiving. But that does not mean I will only perform according to my salary scale; I want to perform my best.’ – Pappu (22)

‘I was very happy when I got a job as receptionist. I only went up to class eight so I was surprised when I got the job while I actually went for a peon post. I belong to a poor family and I have little brothers. My mother was very happy by the kindness of my boss. How lucky was I to get a respectable job with my little education! Things were okay at the beginning. But then I started feeling what only a woman can feel with her inborn senses Many things happened and I could not drop my job and tried to adjust as much as I could. One day when I was showing the appointment list to my boss he touched my hand and asked if I had I heard about Sunny Leone. He would be happy to watch a film of hers with me. I just said, ‘no’ and ran from his room. I cried my heart out while returning home. But I decided to speak up. The next day during lunch sir’s wife came with lunch. I entered inside the boss’s room and with a brief greeting boldly said, ‘Mam, do you know Sunny Leone? Sir wants to watch a movie of hers with me.’ I could never forget their faces. That was my slap to the most educated man. I am very happy with my textile job, I am a worker, but I have dignity, which I will never compromise for money and a reputed post.’

– Nilu, Textile worker

‘I am not living with my husband and in-laws anymore. I was fed up living with a drug addict, who sold everything I had: my saree, sandals, even the bucket of the bathroom. My in-laws kept taunting me as they believed I was the one who could change him but I failed. I realized it would be very late if I did not leave him at that point. But I loved him entirely. It was not easy for me to leave my husband and start a life with my only child. My brothers shut their door in my face. My grandmother was the only one who gave me shelter and helped me to find work. What more could I accept from a ninety-year old woman? She did not turn off her love while the rest of the world kept blaming me by saying what an awful woman I am who broke up her own marriage. But I know my suffering, my fights, my fears and my limits. No one else felt what I had gone through. Yesterday, my child cried all day as I cannot breastfeed her in the work place, publicly. I know well how men gave nasty looks; women pass bitter comments and breastfeeding becomes a sin for working women. But today, when my daughter started crying, I said to myself, if I can go against the society for the betterment of my child, then I can breastfeed her too. There should be a stop to this limitation and I am no longer afraid of what society says about me.’

– Jesmin (28)

My wife died when my daughter was 40 days old. My daughter was my reason to live. I never thought to remarry. When she was a child I used to take her with me to work. Everyone used to laugh at me. I had not much money to send her to school. But at night I took her with me to the elderly school. Together we learned to read and write. When she turned fifteen a good marriage proposal came from a far away village. We are very poor. I could not give her anything. She took my writing book with her as my memory. I did not have money to visit her nor did her husband let her come to meet me. When she became pregnant I went to see her. She held my hand and said if she dies I had to take her child with me. I scolded her for her childish behaviour. She requested me to spend a night there, but her in-laws did not let me so I came back. My daughter died during her delivery. Her daughter is one year old. I take care of her.‘ – Abu Mia (65)

My mother flew with me when my father wanted to make me disabled after my birth, so that he could use me for begging. I do not know, what my mother actually does; she sleeps the whole day and works at night when I sleep. We live in the street. Our neighbours and the police call me the ‘whore’s daughter’. Mom told me not to reply to them as bad people always talk bad. I am a flower seller. I sell flowers; I do not beg. But people have no time to look at flowers. I pop into the windows of big cars and see beautiful children with their parents. Sometimes I wonder, didn’t their dad want to sell their organs or want to make them disabled for begging? One day a rich mom bought all of my flowers for her girl but when the girl wanted to give me the money, her mom said not to touch me, I might have a disease. The baby girl threw the money in the air and I caught it. That day made me the best flower seller among all.’ – Lutfa

‘I started working as a labourer a year ago. Including me only ten females are working at this site. The constructor does not like to employ women. There are fifty men working besides us. They always get break time to drink tea or smoke cigarettes. But we, the female group never get any break. For almost a year the strongest man of our group is making fun of us every day. Sometimes he says, he can carry more buckets of stones than the women, even when he sleeps. The contractor laughed loudly at his jokes. And sometimes after transporting all buckets of stones he showed us his muscle and the men laughed at us. A week ago I asked our contractor to give us at least half an hour break. He mocked me, pointed to the macho man and openly declared, he will give women equal break time, if I or any other woman can beat the man the next day. I looked at our women’s group and they were looking at the ground. On my way back home, my little girl was warning me never to challenge a man. I asked her why, then my five-year-old girl fearfully showed me her muscle and told me, ‘We don’t have this.’ The next day, when I came to work I told them I was ready to take the challenge. When I started carrying the stone buckets beside our macho man, everyone stopped working and started clapping. It turned into some kind of game. I had no idea how time had passed. When the contractor asked me to stop I looked at the man beside me. He was lying on the ground, already very much exhausted. Then I saw, I transported fifty more buckets than him. When every woman was screaming in joy, I looked at my girl, she jumped into my chest. I did not say a word. I had to prove to my little girl that, women too have muscle but they do not like to show it.’ – Aklima

“I found out my daughter had an affair with a boy for five years. She never spoke about it as she is always afraid of me. Apart from that I assumed my children always hated me for the job I have been doing since my childhood. I asked her to bring the boy and his family to our house. I decorated the house like a new bride and brought the best food for them. I have been saving for my daughter’s marriage for twenty years. That day my daughter was the happiest ever. When they started the conversation they brought out a note of demand. They wanted all material things a family needs, I was calculating and nodded in agreement with every word they said. After all it’s about the happiness of my daughter. The last point was that they did not want me to be introduced in front of their relatives and I should never go to visit my daughter. The moment they said it my daughter screamed in anger and by surprising all she slapped the boy. She angrily said, ‘My father can do the thing that no one can do. Not everyone can clean others’ messes. I am proud of what he does and if you do not leave my house in one minute I will beat you all.’ She broke the marriage proposal and ended her five-year relationship in one second. From that day I knew what a fortunate and happy person I am.’ – Sweeper Monu lal

‘Human of worth’

For some people life is full of special challenges. Their lives ensure them not to miss a bit of it. Standing in a place which is more minimalist with just few machines and the machines men, where there is one slow fan, one dirty window and air full of dust, smoke and fuel can immediately let you feel ‘suffocation’. Those compact factories create an illusion on me with some simple, but genius strength, ‘Artists creates masterpieces, and worker creates hand pieces, only common is the dedication’.

These small factories has barely one window and that is the only savior as at least light has a way to come into and smoke gets small chance to take a break. Sounds of continual hammering, sounds of all old machines and workers favorite music usually make the place stand out.

To live a life, to feed a family and originally to creating something is their passion behind setting in the hot seat. The economy that runs in air-conditioned chambers are running finest as there are thousands hands in the backyards which hardly stop. These workers are making every small thing that needs to construct a well build society in this era. They make things that are quite often unnoticeable and emergence like, locks of houses, pipe, tap, kitchen materials, metal holder, wire, switch board etc and etc. They might never know how it feels to sweat in air-conditioned cabinet and worrying to meet deadlines. But they know how to make 300-500 master pieces in bare hand with a smiling face. Their weekly wage which varies on production may be the highest 2000 tk for a week for producing 300 item daily multiply 7 days equal to 2100 items may not seem poor wage in their eyes but the fact is they are spending all for their families and happy on it.

These workers do not have any dress code but at the end of the day their attire is same. They are black-grey skinned, dusky-dirty craftsmen of an unknown factory. Their self-made musk and goggles speaks loud how much they care about their safety and under caution of danger every day.

Their music of life never stops. They dance in the one hour break of lunch stepping with the raw Hindi or Bangla songs. So the continuous bits of the music and smiles will make you nervous. How a person can listen to music and greet a stranger after working 14 hours in such a bloody place? Does really they knows any mantra of living happily ever after so much struggles? They are human of worth. Human of worth for all the good will they’ve given to the society without expecting name, fame and money.

“Factories of Death”

“Drinking tears now is a daily menu to the people whose life collapsed with the building Rana plaza. In a stormy day when I arrived at hospital door I pulsed by the melancholy I encounter. No rain was not the reason, it was the pain in ever face which will haunt everybody long. Following continual screaming of a young girl I found her requesting mother to a reluctant nurse. As soon as my camera clicks the doctor arrived swiftly, not sure seeing camera or may be reminding patients call! Looking at hundred wounded bodies and hearing their screams it was hard to stand in the middle. But it is more important to share a bit of their unbelievable suffering in a small form. Thus my camera take place and I share their pain among you all”- GMB Akash

Khadeza (18) was a kind of girl who laughed more than she talked. Her mother used to beat her for excess laughing. Now everyday her mother asks Khadeza to smile for a while but Khadeza only wipe off. Doctor prescribes her not to do any hard work at least for next six months. She will not be able to do any hard job in future. Her mother is not sure how long it will take to recover. She is one of the survivors of Rana plaza.

It will take three more months to get physical recovery and six months she will not be allowed to do any hard work. Eighteen years old Shapla was working in textile factory for three years. She was in third floor while rescuer rescued her. Her one hand cut off while she was inside. Living with Several scars in all over her body, she sometime cannot recall her name. Her Husband Mehedul was inside the building for 72 hours but he came out harmless.

Rebeka (20) been rescued after two nights of the incident. Dead body of her colleague was stumbled on her shoulder for a night. People threw water from the only hole and she sip water from the floor. Doctors cut her one leg and another leg is badly injured. Still she screamed full night in imagining the hospital building is falling on her. Her husband is beside her but helpless. Her mother and grandmother who worked in the same floor are missing and she is unaware of the news.

Seeing them in the bed of hospital, no one can recognize that these workers – once upon a time used to work 7 am to 12am of the night. Life has treated them bitterest. Pains are unbearable to make anyone understand of it. Stepping out from the hospital I heard a woman telling that these workers will be much benefited. They will get 5 lac tk so this comes good for them. I can not stop myself and turn around, told her, can you cut off your hand if I give you 5 lac? I wonder how heartless some people can be!

My journey continues so as the rain. When I stepped in the residential area of Rana plaza’s garments workers, I met Isa Mia, a boy who lost his brother in the incident. Her mother was crying in the door and after 20 days of the incident she can not eat anything properly. Isa himself a survivors but not depending much he taken me to meet Marium, the single mother who lost her hand. One after another I meet with all. I have dedicated my fees to them which come from published textile stories in different publication of mine. I encounter the pain. the urge, the pathetic emotions which words can never justify. I want to believe one day will come when these people will see their life in the ray of a sweet dream. & then I realize this is non sense. The reality is they will suffer and this is destiny. But I will run to them again and again, until I can take in some of their tears.

After losing her right hand Textile worker Marium (27) lost in despair. Single mother Marium never spends two tk for buying a hair band as she knows her two children’s future is in her hands. Disable Marium shouts at night afraid of feeling dead bodies of workers friends are circling her. She spent one night and two days in the 6^th floor of the collapsed building while her right hand injured under pillar. She started her job four years ago in that time she received 1200 tk monthly, now she lastly get 4500 tk monthly wage in New Wave star Ltd. a factory which was in 6^th floor of Rana plaza. She lost her stability to think about her future. Still after near one month of the incident she did not receive any compensation from anyone instead of her last month salary.

Blue is Aleya’s favorite color. In the morning she wore her new blue dress and told her young sister if she die who will wear the dress! Aleya’s (18) family was fully dependent on her income. She wants to educate her younger sister and alert her mother not to send her in textile factory. Heart patient father and kidney problem of mother forces Aleya to start work in her early age. Her mother asks her to married off soon but she reluctantly said straggle of her life will never come to an end. There was no money at home and she told her mother instead of dying in hunger it’s better to work in a cracked factory. She was sure God has given them enough sorrow and nothing will happen to her. Her believe proved wrong. Her family cannot even find her dead body parts after 17 days of searching everywhere. Neither have they received her salary nor compensation.

A room call home is never a place of relaxation for textile workers. Often a room shared by 5/6 workers offer them the untidy floor to sleep. Their salary won’t make them able to go in a better place still after 5-6 years of their job straggles.

“Even after losing one leg in the terrible incident the worker is begging for a sewing machine. She said, “Still I have two hands. & my children are hungry”. Alike her thousands workers keeps their dreams alive in their heart and goes to work on time. In spite of everything they are straggling happily to get a dream future knowing dream is a dream. But they never imagine nightmares will replace their dream and they obviously fall in concrete mattress. Incidents of Tazrin/ Rana plaza might wake up them from their dream. But still they say, hunger is ugly than death”

– GMB Akash

‘Low-priced Slaves’

Nargis fainted three times while she could not find her mother in the derbies of nine storied building. It’s been a day and a night she is frantically checking around hospital, in each corner of destructed building and hundreds smashed dead bodies. But where is Nargis mother’s existence? Hundreds of weeping mother, father, sister, brother, husband, wife and children were like mad for searching their beloved faces. The population who are the backbone of the family, of the country their bones cracked under wretched concrete. Knowing still hundreds people are breathing inside the dreadful collapsed building helpless thousands mass people came out with their humanity. Rescuing living being or carrying out dead bodies but nothing evaporates tears of people who experienced such frightening circumstances. The deadly trap eat out lives of thousands workers who never might thought of loosing life as prey of capitalism greed. Many workers leave their breathe waiting to hear a call of rescuer. Many female worker’s hand or leg trapped under stone while they are still alive and asking rescuer to cut their hand and take off. What to do and how to do? The traumatized nation has no word in mind to speak. Sharif after finding cracked half body parts of his 21 years younger brother screamed “My brother never do any harm to any body. Why Allah punishes him, why? Because we are poor, we are useless to Allah, we are useless to riches, and because we are bloody workers”.

Some 3,500 people were in the Rana Plaza building in Savar, some 30km (20 miles) outside Dhaka, when it collapsed suddenly on Wednesday morning 24^th April. The first three floors of the building, located in the Dhaka suburb of Savar, contained around 300 shops. At least four garment factories — New Wave Bottoms, Phantom Apparels, Phantom Tack and Ethar Textile — occupied higher levels, employing around 3,500 people. Building showed cracks on Tuesday, but all garments workers forced to go to work on Wednesday threatening to cut off salaries. & the devastating accident happened

Local hospitals were overwhelmed with the arrival of more than 2,000 injured Textile workers. Victims were still calling for help from among the piles of shattered concrete slabs, according to rescue workers and volunteers, as hope began to fade for hundreds still trapped. And the death toll had reached 400. After putting the conclusion that no more workers can be alive rescuer workers are now using heavy equipment to clear the site and officials expect the number of casualties to rise as hundreds of people remain missing.

Around 4 million people are employed in Bangladesh’s 4,500 textile factories. The industry generates 80% of the country’s $24 billion annual exports — making Bangladesh the world’s second largest clothing exporter after China — yet wages remain as low as $37 per month for workers spending 15-hour shifts in sweatshop conditions.

“What to describe and what to write! All I could see were dead bodies all surround me. A silent anger, unbearable pain and helplessness had frozen my finger to click. Besets dead bodies and their each drop of blood asking me to tape their vulnerable death memoir to show the people around the world, how painfully they left the world. And I can not rest until I can spread their pains of deaths. Shouts slaughtered under concrete. How many times we will remain mute and hollow out graves! Why world’s most innocent souls has to be always trapped as vulnerable victims! Their souls will never rest in peace until we know how dreadfully they died without telling their last wish”

– GMB Akash

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