“No one had forced me to go, I went because I had to, not that I wanted to.”
A Sacrifice Worth Remembering
Mr. Nazir Ahmed, also known as Dablu to most his friends, goes by the calling of Baba to his two sons, and as Mama to his many niece and nephews like myself. Mr. Nazir Ahmed, whom I will be referring to as Mama (uncle from the maternal side), lives in a private house along Springfield Queens, NY. Mama is a prime example of a family man. Not very often do you find big families living together under the same roof in New York City. He lives with his wife, Mimie, two sons, Navid and Areeb, his mother-in-law, elder brother, Bashir Ahmed, his sister in law, and his two nephews, quite a big family living under his roof. Mama has a huge responsibility looking after and guiding almost everyone of us, and why not, he is the most experienced of us. Mama has been living in the United States since 1987, hence for almost 30 years now. And it is through him that almost everyone in the family had arrived in America.
Mama was born January 26 1967, in Sylhet Bangladesh, he was the third of his six siblings, and my mother the youngest. Life in Bangladesh for my Mother and her family was going very well. My grandpa, Ali, was the head of the postal service system in Sylhet, and the family was doing quite well, economically. Until the 1980s, when my grandpa Ali, was diagnosed with a severe liver disease. He became bedridden which forced him out of work.
“It was turmoil for the family when your Nana (grandpa) had to quit his job and stay home, as he was the only source of income in our family. Within a few months, my elder brother Bashir had to drop out of university and he decided to go to Saudi Arabia and hopefully earn a decent living there to support the family. It was a very tough time for us. And to add to that your Aunts and mom were also reaching a marital age, your oldest Aunt, Shirin, was almost 20, and our worries kept piling up.”
Within a few months Bashir mama had found himself a decent job in Saudi Arabia and for a while everything seemed to had eased out. Ab
out a year later, everything started going south. Grandpa Ali’s situation had gotten much worse, the medical bills were too much for his pension to cover, Bashir Mama had also wound up losing his job in Saudi Arabia, and at the same time many marriage proposals started knocking on the door for his eldest sister, Shirin. But between all these tragedies a little spark of hope shined, as a distant relative’s had application of immigration for Mama, had been granted.
“ It
was off everyone’s wildest dream to go to America, no Bangladeshi would ever refuse to grab on to such a momentous opportunity but deep inside I was morbid. Keep in mind I was no older than you, just a 19 year old boy, who had no idea what America even looks like, what life there was like. I had no one there to go to, but some distant family members whom I barely kn
w. I was scared. I didn’t speak a sound of English, what would I do there all by myself. But I couldn’t miss up on this, my family needed me, your aunts, your mom, your grand parents they all needed me to go. No one had forced me to go, I went because I had to, not that I wanted to.”
Thus on March of 1987, Mama had packed his bags and went off.
“I had on me a new pair of white jump keds that my brother Bashir had bought me the night before, I had one big luggage with some blankets because we were told its always really cold, and I had a little handbag stuffed with as many shirts and jeans that could fit. All I had in my wallet was a fake drivers license, and about 500 (Bangladeshi currency) which wouldn’t even amount to $10. I came all the way across the planet, from Bangladesh to NY with just $10 on me, just imagine that.”
As Mama reached NY, he was in for some treat. The first few days went by pretty nice as he hanged out with his distant cousins, checked out times square, visited around, but reality had to hit soon. Mama felt like a burden living with his aunt and cousins, who were barely making ends meet themselves. Mama decided to move out to Astoria where he shared a small apartment with 3 other Bengalis.
“It was like a dorm, with one bedroom, a dinning/living room and a kitchen. I had to share the living room with 2 other guys, sleeping on the hard wooden floor. The carpet was extremely frail, my back and shoulder would ache extremely for the next few weeks but I started getting used to it. Remember the little hand bag I brought with me? I used that as a pillow for the next month or two.”
Mama had immediately gotten a job as a waiter in a bar thanks to his cousin. He barely made seven to eight hundred a month. By the end of the month with the money, he would send back home plus his food and living expenses, Mama could barely hold on to more than 5-10$ by the end of the month. It was just living from check to check, plus the few loose tips.
It was hard living for him. Having had to sacrifice basically his enjoyment, his family, his friends and his youth, only by the age of 20. At only 20 he had to carry the entire family of 8 on his shoulders. But money was always scarce.
“It was probably by the end of 87 I believe, your grandma called me up and announced that they had found a suitable man with a good job for my eldest sister Shirin. She was getting married in spring. Though I was overjoyed with the news, I was also upset, upset because I knew I wouldn’t be able to attend my sister’s wedding, upset because I felt I wasn’t doing enough.”
With money being an issue again, Mama was in need of finding solutions. And with a suggestion of a friend he took up driving a cab. Never before had he drove a car, and given the fake drivers license, he brought from Bangladesh he didn’t need any further qualifications.
“I don’t have any idea how they let me use the Bangladeshi drivers license to go around driving a cab, if it was today I would probably get charged for fraud. But God knows how I drove around with customers without dying. I did have a major accident once around Manhattan I don’t remember much of it, I was in the hospital for 3 days. It was crazy but you know I was only 21 it was exciting not gonna lie. With the money I had earned driving taxi I was able to send plenty to Bangladesh and have some to myself, but it took a while.”
Years went by that when Mama looks back upon just gives him goosebumps. He had lived such a major part of his life alone without his family. After he had received his citizenship he would go visit his family back in Bangladesh every year or two. Eventually, things started looking brighter for Mama, he managed to get pretty decent a job in the MTA transits. It was smooth sailing for him after that. With the money, he had saved and earned over the decade he had finally bought a house for himself. Soon as he started getting set in this new life in America, he had applied for immigration for everyone in his family. His brothers, sisters and mother. Unfortunately, his father never managed to visit America as he passed away in 1999. He would visit Bangladesh from time to time until everything in Bangladesh became a part of his new life in America. Over the years from 2002-2007 gradually one at a time, everyone moved into America through him, including me.
“I felt as if the day I bought the house, that I just started belonging in America. But the day I saw my mother walk in through those very doors, I finally felt at home.”
Now here he lives finally with the family he always missed, the family he had left behind, the family that is so grateful for his sacrifice.
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