I arrived in the Maldives late in the evening. The air was warm, the sky fading into night. On the ferry to Malé, I heard voices that felt familiar — people speaking in Bangla.
The ferry driver and his helper were chatting in my mother tongue. I smiled and shook the helper’s hand.
“I’m from Bangladesh too,” I said.
He laughed, “You don’t look Bangladeshi with that curly hair!”
Just like that, I didn’t feel like a tourist anymore.
At my hotel, just a short walk from the ferry, another Bangladeshi man came to help with my bags.
“Brother, if you need anything, just call me,” he said. “I’ll be there.”
I hadn’t realized how many Bangladeshis lived and worked here. In fact, they now make up around 57% of all migrants in the Maldives — over half of the country’s entire foreign workforce. I met them in shops, markets, restaurants, even in mosques — everywhere, quietly shaping life behind the scenes.
People think of the Maldives as luxury resorts and postcard beaches. But take a local ferry, sit at a tea stall, walk the harbor at dawn — and you’ll find something else.
You’ll find the hands that make this paradise work.
And many of them are Bangladeshi.
I met Brother Sohel after his shift on a boat. Without asking, he walked into a shop and returned with a cold juice.
“You’re from home,” he smiled. “That’s enough reason.”
Many sleep on the boats they work on. No beds, no fans — just benches and waves. Still, they smile.
Habib from Cumilla told me:
“We’re happy here. We have work. We feel safe. Back home… too much tension.”
Some haven’t seen family in 3–4 years. They miss their mothers, their children, the smell of rice cooking at home. But they work, stay strong, and send money back with hope.
These are not just workers.
They are builders.
They are dreamers.
They left home not for luxury, but for survival.
You won’t find their names in travel guides.
But without them, this paradise would not exist.
They came with hope.
And built something beautiful — with their hands, and with their hearts.
— GMB Akash
GMB AKASH 