Mostafa Abdullah The year 1977 was very eventful for me. I resigned from the government service, tied the marital knot and moved to Australia. Once released from the government service and being relieved of the uncertainties of the moment, another kind of uncertainty hit me heard on the face. I was unemployed with no immediate prospect of finding another work. The wedding date was set for June 26 and preparations were on in full swing. I put up a brave face but worried my brains out. I went to see my good friend Kabir at his place of work at the Agrani Bank in Motijheel next to Hotel Purbani. Kabir’s other name is Babu, and a perfect Babu he had been all his life, in his attires and looks. I told him that I had resigned from my job and needed to find some work. He thought I was kidding and ordered for two cups of tea. When I was finally able to convince him that I wasn’t joking, he canceled that order of tea and took me out to lunch at the adjoining restaurant at Hotel Purbani. Over the lunch we explored various possibilities of finding a suitable work but none seemed much promising. Towards the end of the meal Kabir mentioned that he had known someone who had recently migrated to Australia. He suggested that I could explore this possibility. Australia was the last thing on my mind but I thought of giving it a try. After lunch my friend Kabir headed for his office and I walked upstairs in the same building to the Office of the Australian High Commission in Bangladesh. The Commission’s office in those days was easily accessible as opposed to how it is now, where one has to wait outside on the road for hours, rain or shine, to be called in one after the other. I approached the reception and told her of the reasons for my presence. I was told to wait and after a few minutes a white lady, rather a young girl in her early twenties, led me into a meeting room next to the reception. I told her that I was there to explore the possibilities of migrating to Australia. She enquired of my background and as she found out that I had recently returned from United States being trained on Information Technology, she seemed more receptive. She handed me few application forms and a bunch of booklets about life and prospects in Australia. She suggested that I read the booklets thoroughly before returning the application forms as this could be a major decision on any ones part to resettle in a new country. I kind of felt assured that if I applied, I am likely to be successful. A week passed and my efforts to find some other suitable work yielded no definite hope. I submitted the application the following week. There was no application fee and I thought what have I got to lose. Next few weeks were very hectic with wedding arrangements and my frustrations swelled over not landing any suitable job or seeing any hope for it. Just had it always happened to me; whenever I came across a blind wall, a door opened up for me sooner or later, this time sooner than later. Four weeks after filing the application I received a letter from the High Commission for a formal interview. The same young lady that I met earlier took the interview. There wasn’t much to talk about other than her asking me if I had made up my mind to migrate to Australia, if the application was successful. I said convincingly yes, though back of mind I wasn’t sure as to what I may do. In about next eight weeks time the approval for immigration arrived and I prepared to leave for Sydney in September 1977, leaving my newlywed wife behind in steamy eyes and choked goodbye. She joined me in about six months afterwards. The entry to Sydney through Mascot streets with its drab looking shops and houses was less than inviting for someone hoping to make a new life in another country. That notion soon changed after being around the city and some of its spectacular land marks. However, later on, all that seemed dwarfed in front of the picturesque suburbs, winding roads that snaked up and down the hills, the beaches and the natural beauties of this land. I was glad that I decided to come here. We arrived on a Monday morning and were received at the airport by Dr. Moklesur Rahman and Alam Bhai. Shahadat Ali accompanied me with his family on the same flight. Dr. Rahman did not know us personally but decided to drive us from the Airport when informed that a set of new Bangladeshis were arriving. Rahman Bhai would do that for any one that came new, put them up in his place, feed them and finally help settle them to be on their own. There were also others that always came forward to help and assist the new arrivals. To name a few, which in no way includes all, were Alamgir Bhai, Salauddin Bhai, Shahidur Rahman Bhai, Jhunu Bhai, Momen Bhuyian Bhai, late Khan Bhai and others. I put up at Alam Bhai’s place in Randwick. Next morning, on his way to work, Alam Bhai took me to a recruiting agent’s office at the Centre Point. The lady at the agency introduced herself as the “story writer” and sat down with me to rewrite the story of my life; my CV. She pointed me to a building at the Kent Street from her glassed window and advised me to go there for a job interview. As I was about to leave she suggested that I be accompanied by one of the girls from the office who would direct me to the building at Kent street. While coming out I noticed that there were many other recruiting agents’ office in the same building. It occurred to me that the Agent might have suspected that on my way out, I may try out some other agency as well. She probably wanted to make sure that I go to their nominated employer without any distraction. It seemed likely because there were more employers than employees in the market during those days. I was interviewed by Arnott’s Biscuits Limited and offered a job of a Programmer on the spot at an annual salary of $10,000. To someone like me who arrived the day before, it seemed like Godsend and I accepted it without any hesitations. The salary seemed adequate in comparison with cost of living in those days. For example I paid only $40 per week for our apartment at Randwick in those days. Most Bangladeshis lived in Randwick in those days. It started with students coming to the University of New South Wales followed by first wave of few immigrants. For those of us of living in the Eastern Suburb, the thought of going beyond Parramatta seemed like going on to the other side of Australia. From mid eighties, the Bangladeshis started moving to East Lakes, Hillsdale and on to the West. However, there were already few that lived in West and North-West from earlier on. We had no idea where to find Halal meat until about two years later when my mother came to visit us. The only Halal meat shop in this part of the city was at Cleveland Street and an Indian grocery at Bondi. Things like fresh green chili, karalla (bitter gourd) and likes were rare. If anyone spotted any of such things, he or she would call the rest to inform where to rush for it. Thanks to the diverse immigration, otherwise the Aussies wouldn’t have known that there are foods other than burnt meat and boiled potatoes. All most all the fruits, vegetable and fish shops used to be owned by the Greeks in those days. Women in Saree or Shelwar Kamiz were a rare sight, not to talk about anyone in a Hijab. We looked at any colored skinned man or woman eagerly to see if he or she spoke Bangla, if not, at least Hindi or Urdu. Suddenly in 1978 the Eastern suburbs became flooded with colored young boys roaming around on the weekends. A very welcome sight and felt like a breath of fresh air. About 180 boys came from Bangladesh to be trained as Aircraft maintenance engineers with Qantas. We formed an all Bangla cricket club under the stewardship of Alamgir Bhai and played cricket every weekend at the Bondi Oval. It turned out to be a picnic day for the families, cheering the players from the sideline. Today one may find it hard to imagine Alamgir Bhai with the bat in his hand and stepping forward for a regulation cover drive to the fence. The former Planning Minister, the then High Commissioner for Bangladesh in Australia, Air Vice Marshal Khandakar sometimes came from Canberra to be to be with us at the field. There were often few passersby that stood for moments to watch an unusual sight of so many colored guys playing in their midst. On one particular day we noticed a bit larger crowed than usual that gathered around. Later it came to light that one of the boys told an enquiring passerby that the West Indies team was practicing in the field. There was only one Bangladesh Association, but no Parishads of today. Almost everyone that was actively involved with the Association wished to be its President. We had our usual post and after-dinner sessions of passionate debates about the future and wellbeing of Bangladesh. Apparently not much seem to have changed accept that the community has become much larger with diverse interest and opinion. Along with other mainstream Australian communities Bangladeshis are also now a significant contributing group towards development of this nation. Through the efforts of some researchers, we now know that the first Bengali to set foot in this island continent came some times after 1860 with the Afghan Camel riders that shaped the Australian outback. I think it is time now that we should attempt to put on record our past, struggles and contributions for and in this new land. Unless we start now most of our stories are likely to go into oblivion. We owe it to our oncoming generations to let them know how and where they came from. But more importantly we owe an explanation to them as to what made us to decide, to deprive them of being raised in the land of their forefathers. |
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Home Page Published on: 22-Apr-2014 
