Hasi’s life is a struggle, but she keeps smiling

It was a leisurely afternoon on 24 October, the final day of the Durga Puja holidays. Walking past a mosque and along the footpath beside it, I entered the Dhanmondi Lake area. People were strolling around here and there. After walking a little further, I sat down on a circular seating area beside a bridge. A few people were sitting scattered about, some in groups and others alone. Among them was a woman sitting by herself, with a square basket and a bag beside her. Her basket contained a small assortment of items, including plastic toys, hair clips and round caps.

‘Do you sell these things?’ I asked. She nodded in the affirmative.

‘Do you sit here every day?’

This time, she gave a longer answer. She did not come to this spot every day; instead, she went around selling her goods. She frequently visits Road Nos 11 and 28 of Dhanmondi. Her children accompanied her, too. On holidays, an organisation held classes for street children on this side of the lake. She had brought her children there to attend the classes. After the lessons, the teachers had taken the young students to have a meal. She was waiting for them to return.

As we talked, I learnt that her name was Bina Akter Hasi, 30. She lived in Hazaribagh, in the capital, with her 13-year-old son, Mohammad Hasan, and five-year-old daughter, Mariam Jannat.

“I have been working since childhood to make ends meet. I started washing pots and pans when I was four. I have been earning my living through hard work ever since. Pens and papers may run out but my story of suffering will never end. I have endured so much hardship,” she said.

As Hasi spoke, a kitten climbed into her lap. She explained that it was her pet. At one point in our conversation, her children returned. Her wait was over. She was now ready to take them along and resume selling the goods in her basket, this time around Dhanmondi Road No. 28. I accompanied them.

Hasi said she could not remember the names of her parents or siblings, or the address of her family home. All she remembered was that they had lived in a village. They would get off a boat and then take a rickshaw to reach their home.

After her father married again, her mother brought the children to Dhaka and took up domestic work in a household.

Her mother subsequently placed four-year-old Hasi in another family's care as a domestic worker. One day, while trying to find her mother, she left the house and lost her way. For some reason, she also forgot her own name. She thought it might have been Bina.

She was then taken in by a teacher in Old Dhaka, who gave her the name ‘Hasi’. She stayed in that household until her adolescence. Later, she found shelter in the home of a woman in Kamrangirchar.

In Kamrangirchar, Hasi found work at a plastic factory. The woman who had given her shelter arranged her marriage to an orphaned young man named Billal, who worked as an electrician.

One day, Billal died from electrocution while at work.

“Life was good after we got married. My hardship had eased a little. I thought perhaps Allah had finally mended my broken fate. But when he died, suffering returned to my life,” Hasi said.

At the time of her husband's death, their son was seven years old and their daughter was just one and a half months old.

After her marriage, she did not need to work outside the home. Following her husband's death, she would leave the infant girl with her son and go to work in people's homes. But the boy was unable to look after his baby sister. Hasi subsequently began taking her daughter along to work. However, because the child would urinate unexpectedly, no one was willing to employ her.

Hasi then spent some time working in construction, selling tea from a flask, and later found a job at a factory in Rayerbazar. When the factory shut down during the Covid-19 pandemic, she lost her job.

During this period, Hasi would come to Dhanmondi with her neighbours in the hope of receiving assistance. At one point, after seeing children selling goods on the streets, she began selling luchni (thick clothes sewed together to hold hot utensils in the kitchen). She bought luchni (potholders) and majuni (scrubbers) worth Tk 300 from Chawkbazar and started going from place to place to sell them, accompanied by her son.

During the two and a half hours I spent with the family, I did not see them sell a single item. Hasi, however, said they sell goods worth an average of Tk 300 a day. Their sales were limited because they had very little capital. Moreover, as Hasi was unwell, she could no longer walk around as much as she used to. Her son now went around on foot to sell the goods.

From this month, their monthly house rent had increased to Tk 4,000. Hasi said she was unable to pay the full rent in any month.

A couple from Dhanmondi, who had initially bought luchni from her, continued to help her in various ways. Hasi said, “Sir and Madam admitted me to hospital and arranged treatment for me.”

Several times during our conversation, Hasi became emotional.

“People suffer for some days, but my suffering began the moment I was born. My children are suffering, too. I just want them to be able to eat a little better,” she said.

* Naznin Akhter, Senior Correspondent, Prothom Alo