In the bustling, overcrowded streets of Kallyanpur, Ward 30, Dhaka, 59-year-old Rehana Akhtar navigates her daily grind with a quiet determination that belies her fragile frame. Her story is one of resilience—a testament to the human spirit’s ability to endure and adapt in the face of relentless adversity. For five decades, since migrating from the rural expanses of Itna Upazila in Kishoreganj to the chaotic capital with her husband, Rehana has fought to carve out a life for herself and her family. What began as backbreaking labour in earth-cutting has evolved into a gritty existence as a waste worker, a role she never imagined but one she now embraces with pride.
Rehana’s journey is marked by moments of hope, heartbreak, and hard-won lessons. Fifty years ago, she and her husband arrived in Dhaka as daily labourers, scraping by on whatever work they could find. Rehana’s early days were spent in “Mati Katar Kaj”9earth-cutting labour0—a punishing job that tested her physical limits. Yet, through sheer grit, she saved enough to invest in an embroidery shop, a venture that promised a brighter future. She didn’t just work there; she became a business partner, a rare achievement for a woman of her circumstances. For a fleeting moment, financial stability seemed within reach—until a devastating fire consumed the shop, leaving her with severe injuries and a body that would never fully recover. Unable to bend properly, her dreams went up in smoke alongside her livelihood.
When her husband passed away, Rehana found herself alone, the sole breadwinner for her son and daughter. With few options left, she turned to waste collection—a grueling, unglamorous job that became her lifeline. “I had no choice,” she says simply, her voice steady despite the weight of her words. Today, she pulls a rickshaw van, purchased from the city corporation, through Dhaka’s dusty streets, gathering plastic waste to sell to local sorting centres. It’s a living—barely. Earning roughly BDT 3,000 (about $25 USD) per month, Rehana keeps her family afloat, one discarded bottle at a time.
The unsung hero of Dhaka’s streets
Rehana’s work is more than survival; it’s a quiet service to her community. As she collects waste, she helps keep Kallyanpur cleaner, a contribution that goes unnoticed by most. Yet, her efforts come at a steep personal cost. Socially, she’s an outcast—shunned by neighbours and excluded from gatherings. “People hesitate to associate with me or my family,” she admits, a flicker of hurt crossing her weathered face. But Rehana refuses to let the stigma define her. “I am doing something for the community by keeping the area clean,” she asserts. “Even if people mistreat me, I take pride in my honest work because my family depends on it.”
Her days begin before dawn, hauling her rickshaw van through the labyrinth of Dhaka’s slums. She once worked under the city corporation, but now operates independently, selling her waste to two trusted sorting shops—known locally as “Vangari”—that offer her fairer prices. There’s no formal contract, just an unspoken understanding built over years. For Rehana, this rickshaw and these relationships are her fragile anchors in an unforgiving world.
The weight of inequality
Waste work is tough for anyone, but for Rehana, the challenges are compounded by her gender and physical condition. Sorting centres routinely pay women less than men for the same materials, a disparity she’s felt keenly but lacked the tools to confront. Her limited knowledge of plastics has also left her vulnerable to exploitation, with shop owners offering unfair prices for her goods. Even within her own family, financial manipulation casts a shadow: her son sometimes sells the plastics on her behalf, only to pocket a portion of the earnings with vague excuses.
Without formal training, Rehana has had to learn the trade through trial and error—a process made harder by her lack of protective gear or bargaining skills. Cuts, infections, and exhaustion are occupational hazards she’s endured silently, her injured body protesting with every step. Yet, she presses on, driven by necessity and a fierce resolve to provide for her children.
A turning point: Empowerment through knowledge
Hope arrived in an unexpected form: a waste worker training program by RedOrange Limited. For the first time, Rehana sat among other women like her, learning skills that could transform her life. The training was a revelation. She discovered how to identify high-value plastics, sort them effectively, and negotiate with sorting centres for fair wages. She learned practical safety measures—gloves, protective gear—to shield herself from harm. Most importantly, she was introduced to the concept of gender wage equality, igniting a spark of advocacy within her.
“From now on, I will not sell all plastics randomly to the sorting shops,” Rehana says with newfound confidence. “I have learned how to differentiate waste materials and argue for fair and appropriate prices. This training is essential, especially for women, as it teaches us how to protect ourselves and claim our rightful earnings.” For a woman who has spent decades at the mercy of circumstance, these lessons are nothing short of revolutionary.
A legacy of resilience
Rehana Akhtar’s life is a mosaic of struggle and strength. Her body bears the scars of a fire that stole her dreams, her hands the calluses of a job few would choose. She faces discrimination not just from society, but within the very systems she relies on to survive. Yet, she stands tall—an unsung hero whose work keeps her community cleaner, even as it pushes her to the margins.
The RedOrange training marks a turning point, offering Rehana and countless other women waste workers the tools to demand better—better pay, better treatment, better lives. Her story is a clarion call for continued support and advocacy, a reminder that people like Rehana deserve more than survival—they deserve respect, recognition, and the chance to thrive. In the shadow of Dhaka’s towering challenges, Rehana’s unyielding spirit shines as a beacon of what’s possible when resilience meets opportunity.
