Welcome to my community

by: Sonu Rani Das

Welcome to my community. I come from a community called Dalits (Untouchables). Dalits are not created by God, this idea is created by people and society and goes back to the creation of the caste system within Hindu religion.

My community people are all Hindu and we all follow the Hindu religion. My community people are very frank, sociable and hospitable people. My community is very poor and most of our community people live below the poverty line. Many of us work for the Pourashava (Municipality) as cleaners, where they earn very little money (2200 Taka (~28 US$) per month). This is why we can’t get the same opportunities like other people. Most of us are illiterate and don’t understand the importance of basic rights we have like education, health and sanitation, housing, good food, entertainment etc.

Illiteracy is one of the problems and another problem is discrimination. Some people understand that there are good and bad living conditions but they can’t escape their bad living conditions because they face too much discrimination. For example, if Dalit children go to school the teachers do not teach them properly and the classmates’ behavior towards them is horrible. My community children are very intelligent but sometimes they don’t get the opportunity to go to school. In the past, when they tried to go to school the school doors were closed to them. This is now better in urban areas but sometimes still the case in rural areas. Now some of them go to school, college, even university, but they don’t honestly say: "I am Dalit". They say:"We are Hindu".

Nobody in my community has their own land but we stay on somebody else’s land. As many of us work for the Pourashava the Pourashava selects one place and we stay there. If any one does not work for the Pourashava anymore they lose their house. That’s why at least one family leader or family member has to work for the Pourashava. Some people in my community are Government employees and their salary is quite good. But most of my community people work for the Pourashava and the salary is not enough. Very few people try to find more jobs so they can get additional money. But most of them earn money by selling rubbish like alcohol, ganja, heroine etc. So when it gets dark in my community a lot of unknown faces come and they buy this type of drugs. Now my community is full of noise and horrible. These people harass our girls and intimidate them. I have no words to explain how bad this situation is.

In my community all of us face problems but girls face more problems than boys. If girls are born, the family members are usually not happy. They think girls mean a burden for us. The parents give all opportunities to boys not to girls. Boys are allowed to go to school, girls not. They think a girl’s education means a waste of money. They always say you are suitable for the kitchen and household chores. Now quite a few boys are educated but only very few girls are. I think if young people get the opportunity to higher education it is possible to solve the problems of Dalits.

Sonu's story

by: Juan Carvajal and Kirthi Ramesh

In the coming months we will have more contributions from communi­ty members themselves. Sonu Rani Das, a 19 year-old girl from the Sweeper Colony in Narayanganj, is the first to contri­bute to our blog. She will be sharing her stories with us from time to time, writing on pertinent issues facing her community on a daily basis. Here is her story…

Sonu (pronounced Shonu) is already awaiting us as we arrive at the Sweeper Colony, which is centrally located, surrounded by tall buildings on all sides. Without much formal introduction, the highly energetic young lady of 19 takes us by the hand and pulls us into her friend’s house where we sit down on the bed and listen to her story.

Sonu inside her house

Like most residents of the Sweeper Co­lony, Sonu’s parents are employed as cleaners by the Pourashava. Growing up she has had a hard time explaining to them that she did not want to get married early like her friends, but rat­her continue studying and eventually work with her community. This was not a simple endeavor in a society where “a girl’s education is still considered a waste of money”, she tells us. She does not blame them for thinking this, saying, “My parents are not educated”. But in the end her brother was able to go to school, so why shouldn’t she? Determined to get an education, Sonu explained that she was willing to get a job in order to finance her education.

In 2006, Sonu successfully completed 10th grade and went to college whe­re she specialized in commerce. After graduating in 2008 she was chosen to participate in a 6-month global ex­change in Caithness, Scotland. This opportunity came after she was disco­vered in her community by the chief executive of a citizen’s initiative, who sent her to an assessment for the ex­change where she was selected as one of nine Bangladeshi participants from a total of 9000 applicants worldwide. In Scotland she worked in a primary school with children and was involved in volunteer work such as tree planting and explaining her culture. As a result, she was able to improve her English. Her final project was a theater piece with the school children on the Hindu Diwali festival. From the group of Ban­gladeshi exchange volunteers, Sonu was elected by her peers to speak at the Scottish Parliament.

Sonu’s next plan is to go to university either in Dhaka or Narayanganj. She has already applied and is current­ly awaiting her results. Her greatest wish is to study sociology and acquire knowledge to understand her commu­nity better. Otherwise, she would like to build on her college background and continue studying commerce and ma­nagement.

In her free time Sonu volunteers for an NGO. She likes it because it helps her to better understand how such orga­nizations work and come to grips with community work. Apart from that she also provides after-school tutoring in English, Bangla and Math to children in her community.

Sonu tells us that today the community’s initial skepticism has given way to prai­se from many neighbours and friends. This has also led to her parent’s gro­wing recognition of her achievements.

Creating space vertically

by: Juan Carvajal and Kirthi Ramesh

As we squeeze through the alleys of the Sweeper Colony, Sonu, a girl from the community, shows us some tiny rooms where often 2 or 3 generations crowd together every night to sleep. Walking further through the tight pathways, we suddenly notice a narrow two-storey building towering above the one storied houses. Curious about its function, we de­cide to take a closer look. Arriving there we meet Ajab Lal and his son, Rajak Lal, who are the tenants of the house. They make a gesture inviting us to climb up all the way up to the rooftop. After tackling the grips of iron jutting out from the wall in irregular intervals, an excellent view of the community awaits us.

The rooftops of the Sweeper Colony in Narayanganj

Twelve years ago, Ajab Lal built a small room above the narrow passage adjacent to the neighbor’s house, just big enough for two people to sleep in. By that time his daughters had already been married and moved in with their in-laws, but his sons were yet to be married. While girls traditionally move to their in-laws house after marriage, boys stay with their pa­rents. Sensing that the 7m² room on the ground floor would not be enough to ac­commodate him, his wife, his two grown-up sons and their families, Ajab decided to enlarge their living space. With no space around the house the only possibility was to build upwards, on top of the hallway as their own roof is slanted and shared with the neighboring house.

Ajab Lal

This was not an easy undertaking. Ajab first had to get permission from the Pou­rashava who owns the land and builts the houses. He approached the chair person of the community to discuss the matter and then went to the Pourashava who ap­proved his request. His next challenge was actually building the new upstairs room. With little outside help it took him about 20 days to carry out this project. Today his newly married younger son sleeps in the small room on the upper floor while he and his wife live on the ground floor. His older son, who lived in that room before, moved to another house nearby with his wife and their three children.

The vertical extension of the house

For many community members, however, the reality is still a crowded one. This is not unusual in Bangladesh where the over­all population density is one of the highest in the world with 1075 persons per km². In fact, in slums the population density is about 200 times higher, despite the fact that most slum dwellings are only single storey, as in the case of the Sweeper Colo­ny. Population density in the Sweeper Co­lony is 150 times higher than the national average, with as many as 168 172 people per km². This can lead to situations whe­re 15 people live within 8m2. In return for their work as cleaners for the Pourashava no rent is charged, which is the major re­ason why most families stay despite conti­nuing population growth.

Some community members tell us that they are all very proud of Ajab’s intelli­gence but, for various reasons such as financial constraints, lack of knowledge on construction work etc., so far no one else in the Sweeper Colony has taken up this idea to vertically extend their houses.

The threat of flames

by: Lenka Vojtova

Slums in Bangladesh could be defined by constant and diverse insecurities. In many other countries, the term ‘slum’ is very often used for informal settlements simply because of the lack of construction permits, high density or shelters situated on land not declared as a building site. Most of the slums I have visited in Bangladesh, however, suffer from every indecent living condition one can imagine.

I perceive two different natures of challenges to be faced. Inconveniences falling into the first category are the visible environmental conditions - insufficient or missing sanitation, non-existent drainage system, overwhelmingly high density both of shelters as well as their dwellers, high levels of pollution, and the enumeration could continue even further. The challenges of the second category levitate under the surface, though indiscernible by observing eyes, omnipresent in the mind of the slum dwellers and the most complex to overcome. It is the insecurity of tenure, the fear of eviction and the threat of fire.

As a blaze gutted 47 houses in Rally Bagan, a slum of Narayanganj Municipality, the calendar dated December 24, 2009, and it was two o’clock in the morning. Three people fell victim to the fire; others woke up just in time to save themselves by fleeing their houses. There was neither the time to rescue any belongings nor to think about taking the savings underneath the mattresses or out of the safes as the fire engulfed quickly. The morning saw over 200 flat broke survivors, possessing not more than a single saree or lungi.

Most of the belongings have been burned to ashes.

After 173 years of existence, Rally Bagan is said to be the oldest settlement in Narayanganj and thus, compared to the majority of Bangladesh’s slums, its appearance differs slightly. Already in 1907, a British Jute company had raised brick-made houses for their workers of Bihari and Bengali origin. The houses in each block are of the same age and have a common roof of corrugated iron. Usually, it is light building materials that allow flames to spread quickly through dense slums. Although not obvious at first sight, this was also the cause of the large scale of Rally Bagan’s dreadful incident: the ceiling under the A-shaped tin roof is made of bamboo, which enabled the damaging flames to spread quickly over the adjacent shanties. It was in this fashion that one complete block of houses burned down.

A map of Rally Bagan - the block affected by the fire is highlighted in orange

It took two hours for the fire fighting units to put out the flames whose cause was yet to be investigated. Immediately after the incident, the assumption was that the fire might have originated from a mosquito coil. One month on, none of the neighbours see either the coil, or the electric short circuit or the stove that remained inside the house of the fire-origin as a feasible causation. Few indications suggest a deliberately harmful act, but nobody dares to speak openly about such suspicions. The only words spoken are “Only the victims could tell us the answer...”.

The mystery of sudden combustion is an issue threatening slum dwellers worldwide. It is not only the flammability of the shelters, the narrow slum lanes often not more than two thirds of a meter, the dependence on open fires and the extraordinary density enhancing the fire outbreaks. Slum fires are often anything but accidents. Intended arson can accelerate the eviction process, bypassing the necessity of an official demolition order and reducing the expense of clearing the area as well as providing reimbursements.

Regardless of the cause, however, it is always the poor urban dwellers that are left behind most often without any means of support – neither material nor psychological. During the past six weeks, I have visited the affected Rally Bagan plot three times and each visit has been more disillusioning than the previous one – simply because nothing has changed, nothing moved towards any improvement.

A widow of ten years, Banu Hussain, has lived in Rally Bagan since the very first moment she saw the light of this world. She works in the garments industry earning 2000-2500Tk a month. Her 17-year old son, Sadaim, suffers panic attacks since the fire outbreak. He was working in a factory, earning 1600Tk a month, but his trauma has made it difficult to continue his occupation. Like many of those affected by the fire, both of them are confused by the disorder their daily life turned into.

A puzzled look into the interior of a burned down house.

Pori, her husband and their four children were lucky to find shelter at their relatives’ place. For an outsider, the solidarity among slum dwellers might seem very weak, but after a few questions and a deeper insight it became obvious that neighbours help each other out as much as they are able to. Immediately after the incident, they shared food, helped with basic cleaning and those who could spare some space offered shelter for the time being. Pori explained to me the community’s awareness about its man-power potential to contribute to rebuilding. As most of them have a paid job, they are also ready to take loans. Family representatives meet every week to reach common decisions on steps to be taken next. But even though the longing for a re-established day to day life is strong, the dwellers are understandably debilitated by the disaster and can’t bundle their strength and potential only by themselves. What is missing at the moment is someone to shoulder the responsibility and take over the overall coordination.

It is a puzzle to the academic world, how people can live with hardly any money or any self-produced goods. But they do manage, and the stories of our blog illustrate some impressive ways. However, there are situations requiring a strengthened external intervention. And the consequences of damaging fire outbreaks are one of them...

Link to newspaper article in the Daily Star (25/12/2009): http://www.thedailystar.net/story.php?nid=119172

Migrants’ tales – Mixed fortunes in the city: Part III

Diverging levels of poverty in the Slum
Like Monin and Ahsan, Dulal also left his village called Chadpur some time ago in the search for better income opportunities. His wife and their 5 and 9 year old sons joined him after some years in order to have access to better health facilities and to offer them the chance to go to school. In their small hut, they have a broad bed which is used by the whole family for sleeping, eating and living on. Dim light floods the room from a single bulb in their room. Besides the bed, there is a commode with dishes inside and an old TV on top. Having these facilities, Dulal's family is better off than many other people in the area who do not have the means to maintain such a lifestyle. Right beside their house I leave the slum and enter directly into a lively street. Not far from here is a school, where many of the children in the slum go. On each side of the street, I see hawkers working, tailors with their sewing machines and road side vendors selling cloth or vegetables from the fields outside of Narayanganj. A large variety of options offer work places compared to the original villages of the people.
Dulal has developed his business as a tea-vendor working at the bazaar, after starting first as a blue-collar worker in local factories and the construction business. Compared to life in his village, he and his family now have a far better standard of living. Thus, living in the slum does not always go hand in hand with deprivation and marginalization. For a significant number it really does offer a way out of poverty through access to the labor market. It is not surprising therefore that so many people risk poor living conditions and sanitation facilities to gamble for a better life.

(A tailor at the side of a street: Many slum inhabitants locate their businesses closely to the slum areas)

Migration to the capital of Bangladesh
Unlike in many other parts of Bangladesh, the people living in the Slum are not very likely to migrate further than to Narayanganj. Even though Dhaka is the fastest growing city in Asia with 600,000 people every year, joining the 14 Mio inhabitants of the capital and it appears lucrative to many who are willing to give up their homes, most do not consider it as a feasible option as the living conditions are too expensive to afford.

Migrants' tales - Mixed fortunes in the city: Part II

Family separation as a consequence of migration
With this distressing story in mind, I met another family who gave up their original livelihoods on their quest to find a better life in the slum. Ahsan Habib has lived in the slum for one year now. His wife and son have recently joined him after enduring ten months of long distance travel from Patuakhali to Narayanganj, which can often take more than ten hours by bus. Initially, he had problems in making enough money to feed his wife and one year old son. He therefore made the decision to leave his parents' house and come to the bigger city of Narayanganj, - following the example of his elder cousins and other friends - he quickly found a job as a construction worker. He often works more than 12 hours a day. Notwithstanding the physical burden Ahsan faces every day, he is content with his present situation. He says that his rent is low and his living relatively secure. He seems to be grateful to be with his wife and his son around him. While talking to us, he played with his little child on his legs. His eyes suggested ambivalent feelings; pride for his son on the one side but concern for the future of his family on the other. Still there are many unexpressed problems. Money is not a stable factor in the monthly income. His family often has to shorten the amount of meals they eat a day. Children in the area are often in poor health and face numerous health risks such as respiratory deceases from indoor cooking fires. The limited number of toilets in the slum (approx. 50 people for 1 toilet) is probably the most significant issue in explaining the very poor hygienic conditions, which are especially severe for women who cannot use facilities elsewhere during the work day. However, despite all this, going back to his village is not an option for his family as Narayanganj provides him at least with the opportunity of earning some money.

Structural changes contribute to the process of migration
In a similar position to Ahsan is Monin, who also left his family in Patuakhali to work in Narayanganj. For the last six years he has frequently made the journey to his home to see his family while investing lots of money and time. Monin is not only faced with the burden of living without his family and his three children, but also with the two lives he has to permanently lead in order to feed his family. In some periods of the year, he is still able to get a job in agriculture around his village but for the rest of the time he opts for life in Narayanganj with its comparatively better opportunities for work. Thus agriculture with its fluctuating seasons and incomes as well as the small share of land per household has apparently lost its ability to provide support to his family throughout the year and migration is the best remaining livelihood option.

Author: Carolin Braun

Migrants’ tales – Mixed fortunes in the city

by: Carolin Braun

According to the UN, there are about 200 million people each year involved in migration. In many Asian countries, migration towards megacities or even to other countries and continents plays a major role in socio-economic development. As Bangladesh is one of the poorest countries in the world, I wondered how people with the lowest incomes who choose to migrate deal with the challenges that migrants frequently face, such as the risk of homelessness, a lack of social networks, the temporary loss of resources and incomes, and difficult travel conditions. For this reason, I decided to have a closer look at the issue by talking to people inside slums in a city close to Dhaka, called Narangayanj.

(People are committing to different kinds of work every day to earn a living)

Part I: A tale of two migrations

An elderly lady in a sari receives us in her small house. Little light enters the tiny room enclosed by brick walls and scarce furniture. She invites us with a smile on her face to take a seat on her bed, while she stays sitting on the floor. A welcoming atmosphere surrounds us and diminishes the sorrowful impression of poverty that I initially felt.The wrinkles on Monoara Begum’s face give proof of what she has been through in her life. She was married for 31 years to her husband, who later divorced her and supports her with 20 Euros a month. During Bangladesh's War of Independence in 1971, she came to the slum as a young girl to join her future husband. Like many other citizens in the slum, she has had to find many ways of earning a living. Similar to her husband, she was at first engaged in day labor, being hired every morning again for minor jobs in the area. Initially she was working in the garment industry. Being somewhat better off, she later found a job as a maid close by. Finally, together with her husband, she tried to go abroad to the Middle East to search for a better life. This is a strategy adopted by many people in Bangladesh who seek informal paths of immigration as a golden opportunity to make the transition from poverty to relative wealth. They tried to escape with the help of a travel agent to ease their path into a better life. Their ambition to leave was cut short by a deceitful agent who stole their money. Without children, Monoara says she has no more plans to look for ways to improve her life. Though she is disappointed by how many things have turned out in her life, she seems to be content with the circumstances in which she is now living. The little money that she has left to maintain her being did not detain her from offering to serve us a meal, while smiling at me throughout our conversation. Facing the living conditions of the people in the slum, they seem to renounce the further search for better conditions, but are content with the improvements they achieved by moving to this area and accept their respective fate.

Beside the tracks

by: Toni Kaatz-Dubberke

(At the Gandaria station.)

The railroad between Dhaka and Narayanganj is not only the link of two prospering cities, ensuring the flow of people and goods. It is also the home of thousands of families who live and work besides the tracks. Some of the settlements are very compact bamboo-tin structures; others are scattered camps where people live in improvised tents.

(Scattered tents beside the railroad in the Gandaria area.)

I jump off the train just one stop ahead from the main station in the Gandaria area, in the outskirts of Dhaka. People watch the train slowly moving off from the station heading southeast. Fully emerged, the kids gaze up at the kites as they dance up and down in the smooth breeze. Aisha and Mamuni, two kids from the neighborhood get attracted by the ‘bideshi’ who is now walking along the tracks to make pictures of their area. Two pairs of big deep brown eyes follow my move.

(Looking inside a home of four people.)

They show me the place where they live. In this tiny tent, erected on the naked ground Mamuni and Aisha are living together with their mother and father who are now at work. The heap of concrete bags and blue plastic blankets look like they were just thrown randomly on the improvised bamboo structures. But when I shake it, it appears stable enough to even survive a heavy rain fall. Although their parents can afford food they do not have the money to send their kids to school, making the children waste their time along the tracks. Around fifty households live at this place between the tracks on the one and the street on the other side. Originally, all people came from different villages in the North of the Gaibandha Disctrict. After the waters of the Brahmaputra River flushed away their lands and houses about fifteen years ago they had to move and founded a new nameless village within the city. Before the flood most of them lived from farming, now people survive on rickshaw-pulling, day laboring and begging.

(The author surrounded by locals from the area in an interview with Lalmir (on the very right).)

This is the case of Lalmir. He works as a rickshaw-puller from 2 pm to 10.30 pm, so in the morning he can relax. Lalmir’s tent is located on the last edge of the camp and only two steps away from the track. “As long as I am living here never an accident has happened. Even the kids are conscious about the threat”, he tells. “In the night we do not get bothered by any noise, because the last train comes by around 10.30pm.” When he tells about his kids and that none of the four are going to school, somebody from the crowd around us interrupts: “See. These are the dangerous people for our country, producing many kids but do not send them to school!” Besides Lalmir, the whole crowd is laughing mischievously. Eventually a small smile appears also at his face. ‘Harsh, but true’, I thought to myself. Perhaps Lalmir had the same idea.

The guy who interrupted disappears in a narrow road between the huts on the other side of the tracks. On that side the situation looks quite different. Houses are made from tin and bamboo and look much better compared to the improvised tents.

(Full of proud: Hafeza in front of her house on the opposite site of the railroad.)

In fact the families there are better off, as I learn from Hafeza and her husband Ali Hussein. By steamer, they both moved from Barisal after the big floods in 1988. “We came almost naked. We could not even save the dishes”, Hafeza moans. Alone in the urban environment they had to build up their new lives from nothing. But soon after their arrival they find a good way to make a living. When I meet the couple they are busy with drying up dark little essence sticks on the tracks. A company provides them with straw and coal and they put these two together and sell it back to the company which then adds the smelly essences that make these sticks so popular all over Asia.

(Hafeza dries up essence sticks.)

They receive ten Taka per kg, giving them enough to afford the small luxuries they enjoy in their home. With 700 Taka a month, Ali Hussein “manages” from neighboring plots, the electricity for the fan, a bulb and water. When I ask about the family Hafeza proudly responds: “We have five daughters and one son. Three daughters are already married and two are going to school.” Her son also got married recently and is working in a car workshop. When they were farmers in Barisal, Hafeza and Ali were better off, she tells, “but we are happy here. We have a business close to our house and our kids are well.”

Taking all of this into account I leave the area a bit puzzled: as I wonder where Hafeza and Ali get the power from to rebuild their lives, whilst Lalmir and his family have barely managed to improve their conditions over the last 15 years.

Earning a living in Dhaka slums

by: Nicola Banks

Having spent much of the last three years working in various “slums” across Dhaka, I have come to resent the use of the word “slum” – too often it has been used as a term that instantaneously strips the dignity from the millions of people who live in these areas, and who regardless of their living conditions live proud and humble lives living in circumstances in which we ourselves would never be able to survive. We can help overcome by not thinking of “slums” as an entity, but to take a deeper look at the lives, struggles and successes of their residents.

From the outside, low-income settlements look primarily like residential areas, row upon row of corrugated iron shacks squeezed tightly together on top of poorly-serviced land. It is near impossible, however, to find a low-income settlement that is entirely residential, with even the smallest of settlements having a few tea shops and grocery stalls to serve the local residents. A deeper investigation into employment among the urban poor in four low-income settlements of Dhaka, however, revealed the number and variety of businesses and enterprises through which people forge their livelihoods and struggle to improve their households. Here I take a brief look at some of the entrepreneurs and their businesses that I came across during my fieldwork.

The more expected businesses to come across in urban poor communities are the stalls and shops serving the communities with all their daily needs. The size and variety of market shops in Karail, the biggest low-income settlement in Dhaka, was surprising, however. A huge and bustling market lies at the centre of the settlement, selling not only fresh and dry foods, flours and rice, but also saris and lungis, jewellery, make-up, and even some electronics goods. Even amongst the more residential sections of the settlement, housing is interspersed with tea stalls and grocery shops and shops selling firewood, and in some busy areas this stretches to pharmacies, tailors, rickshaw garages, restaurants, and more.

(Rhuma, another of our respondents, sits in her tailor’s shop, through which she supports her family. Her husband is ill and unable to work regularly, so she is the main-income earner in her household)

The most unexpected businesses however, are not visible walking up and down the main footpaths of the settlements, and you only find them when you set foot in some of the houses off the beaten track. Walking through a gate in our first settlement we came across our first such business, greeted by the sight of a small courtyard, or uthan, taken up by three large cows calmly chewing their cud as they inspected the new visitors. We discovered dairy farmers like this in three of the settlements, who supported their households by rearing and breeding cows, and by regular sales of milk and dung, which can be used as fuel.

(Saddam Hussein (yes, really!) stands beside the cows which provide the household income. His father bought these loans with an initial NGO loan, which is now fully repaid. Now they are earning a good monthly income from these cows)

In two of the settlements, a regular sight was seeing women outside of their rooms embroidering salwar kameez, a flexible job which allows them to supplement their household income at the same time as looking after their children and household duties. It was still a surprise, however, to step into one room and to see large-scale embroidery businesses to be running in two adjacent rooms of one settlement. Stepping through the door we could not miss the large sari stretched across a large embroidery frame with around 10 or 15 children sitting around it and adorning it with sequins and other embroideries. In this settlement there were three such businesses through which households were slowly improving their household income and integrating with the outside economy where they sold their saris.

(Ibrahim (back right) displays one of his finished saris, which he sells outside the settlement to middle-income commercial areas. He has ten boys living and working with him in his house here. He has been running the business for the last year, and has improved his household in this time)

In a nearby settlement, we came across an even more unexpected sight, walking into a room in which 15 or 20 women were sitting around baskets of human hair, untangling it and sorting it into different lengths. The businessman, Mustak Ahmed, bought hair from beauty parlours across the city, sorted and cleaned it, and then sold it on to national and international buyers, for up to 10,000 taka a kilogram. Not only had he reinvested and expanded his business greatly, in the process making a healthy income for his household, he was also providing employment – and relatively good wages – for a large number of women in the community, close to their home and with relatively flexible hours.

(One of Mustak Ahmed’s cul baccha (or hair selectors), who refine and sort lengths of hair. He employs 15 women permanently, who are better for this kind of work with their small fingers)

Unfortunately these success stories do not extend to all, however. The majority of poor households cannot save the capital required to start-up and run a small business. In other cases, rising costs were destroying people’s business prospects. Walking into one room we saw an elderly man crouched over a wooden slab making tiny sandals. Abdul Rashid has made children’s sandals for the last 9 years. He used to be able to support his household through this enterprise, but now he can only manage around 1,000 taka (around $15) a month and must rely on the incomes from other household members. Recent price increases have been devastating to his business, with all of his raw materials – brightly coloured plastic, glue, cardboard and plastic piping -having more than doubled. Meanwhile, he is unable to increase the price of a finished pair of sandals as this would make them unaffordable to the income of his customers – poor urban residents whose incomes have also been squeezed by price increases in household essentials.

What lessons can we learn from both these successes and obstacles faced by businesses run by the urban poor? While I have focused here on small businesses, my wider research has also focused on two other main employment categories, namely unskilled labour and formal sector jobs. In all categories you can find households who have been able to improve their household situation through the income generated by this employment, and those who have not. It is only by trying to understand the ways in which poor urban citizens make their livings, and the barriers that they face to improving their household situation, that development interventions can start to help turn more of these livelihoods into success stories.

Dialectic Discourse in Rally Bagan

by: Toni Kaatz-Dubberke

(Mohammad Sujon and Ashan Ullah sitting in their tea shop in Rally Bagan.)

Quite by chance, at a tea stall in Rally Bagan (Narayanganj), I get involved in an interesting little argument while having a relaxed cup of tea with the two gentlemen who run the shop. It is an oppressively hot day and I ask this and that to make small talk. But the question: “How old is that slum?” suddenly provokes a vexed discussion between the two men and the people who are bunched up around me and my translator. Bengali words are flying quickly between Mohammad Sujon and his uncle Ashan Ullah. Soon, the people who are standing close by all have their own opinion to share. I do not understand anything and even my translator can hardly follow. It turns out that the term “slum” (bustee) is the bone of contention. While Mohammad considers Rally Bagan a “quarter”, Ashan insists it is a “slum” in which they are living. In fact, the British company Rally Brothers built brick-made houses to accommodate workers from their big jute mill more than one hundred years ago, and Mohammad argues that a quarter is “a place where the employees live”. Although the Rally Brothers and the major jute industry of Narayanganj are long gone, the place still looks different from the “slums”, he maintains. In contrast, Ashan insists that “slums” are “places where the poor people live, so Rally Bagan is also a bustee”. The audience accepts both arguments as true. Eventually, the discussion leads to the broad consensus that Rally Bagan is a quarter (for historical reasons) but also a slum. People are poor and crowded together, and, as with other slums, extensions made from bamboo and tin can be seen, but to view Rally Bagan only as a slum is to neglect its long and unique history.