ANIQA MOWLA
My mum and dad migrated to Sydney from Dhaka in 1996, driven by the urge, like many other migrant parents, to provide a ‘better’ life for their children. Having moved with them as a four-year-old, I’m a proud 1.5 generation (1.5G) Bangaldeshi-Australian.
Why did my parents choose Australia? That’s something only they know. Nonetheless, I will be forever grateful for the sacrifices my parents have made, and for the courage it took for them to bring my brother and I on their incredible journey.
The first stop for us was ‘the Shire’, that is, Sydney’s Sutherland Shire. This area of South Sydney was, and still is, very Anglo - and was the first place my brother and I interacted with kids our age in Australia. The most vivid memory I have of my first day of school is sitting in an ESL class with my brother, and the only other ethnic kid in the entire school; albeit with happy smiles, excited for what the next few years had in store for us.
From Sutherland, we moved to Penshurst. We were still in South Sydney, but far enough from the Shire to notice an immediate change in the demographics of our peers. We were no longer the only migrant family on the block. With our Asian neighbours, we formed the majority in our local schools, parks and supermarkets! But this still wasn’t enough.
As young migrant Australians, my brother and I had the benefit of fluid identities. My parents on the other hand, longed for a connection to their heritage and their family, and they found this in the Bangladeshi community that was slowly forming in the South West.
We moved for the final time to Glenfield, and my dad immersed himself with those as passionate about our culture as he was. With my parents wanting me to connect with my heritage - I was enrolled in ‘Sunday school’ to learn Arabic and Bengali. At age 8, the last thing I wanted to do was wake up before 9.00am to recite the Quran followed by rote learning an additional 11 vowels and 39 consonants of the Bengali alphabet. As a 28-year-old proud Bangladeshi-Australian, this perspective has largely changed by witnessing my dad and his friends creating a community where we, the 1.5G Bangladeshi-Australians, have been able to embrace both arms of who we are.
“AS YOUNG MIGRANT AUSTRALIANS, MY BROTHER AND I HAD THE BENEFIT OF FLUID IDENTITIES.”
In the eyes of many Asian parents in Sydney, a ‘better’ life for their kids needs a solid foundation in education - and preferably at an academically-selective high school. This was also my reality. Lucky for me, my teenage years were spent at a great all girls selective school - and funnily enough, back in South Sydney. I was blessed to meet and befriend a group of young girls who had family stories not dissimilar to mine - and all hailing from the South West. I subsequently jumped on the train to adulthood with them.
On the cusp of turning 18, I found myself at the University of New South Wales (UNSW). I was on my way to becoming a civil engineer - a profession not usually associated with women from ethnically diverse backgrounds. I remember that in 2010, the stats showed that women made up only around 13% of the engineering cohort.
Ethnicity wasn’t really on my radar while at UNSW - with the focus rather being on encouraging women to work in STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Maths), regardless of background. However, this changed when I moved to Wales and spent a semester on international exchange in Swansea.
It was astonishing to witness the confusion in the eyes of many other exchange students (from both the East and the West) when I introduced myself. I didn’t have an Anglo name, nor did I have blonde hair and blue eyes - but still sounded like I had just jumped off a kangaroo, brushed a redback spider off my shoulder, slipped on a pair of thongs, ready to head to the beach to catch some waves.
I got increasingly frustrated by comments like ‘you don’t look Australian’ or ‘where are you actually from?’. It was a strange new world where I wasn’t confused about my identity, but for some reason many others were! Returning to Sydney, I was a little bit more aware of the battles between ethnicity and nationality that I was lucky enough not to have experienced in my teens.
My experience in the UK led me to reflect on the trips my parents would take me on to see my family in Bangladesh, and the struggles I would have with language. The moment I stepped off the plane, it was obvious that even though I was a born Bangladeshi, I was not a bred Bangladeshi - observed through my behaviour, appearance and accent. So much so, that my mum would take me on ‘silent’ trips to the market to avoid triggering the infamous foreigner’s rate. My muted demeanour was in stark contrast to my dad who has always had a passion for languages - and has spent part of his career working as an interpreter on Nauru and Manus Island for refugees and asylum seekers who speak Chatgaya, Bengali, Urdu and Hindi.
Following my stint in Wales - my most recent solo journey was in 2018, when I was seconded to New Zealand for work. I moved to the coolest little capital, Wellington, ready to experience the land of the long white cloud. I lived there for over a year, and during that time - not once did I feel my identity in question by any Kiwis. It was a proud moment to see that even in this isolated corner of the world, Australia and its little cousin New Zealand had created a multicultural environment where I feel safe and can be my authentic, 1.5G Bangladeshi-Australian self.
I’m unsure where my journey will take me next - but until then, I still call Australia home!
WHAT WE EAT IS MEANINGFUL
Pakoras are a savoury snack traditionally eaten by my family during Ramadan, which occurs in the ninth month of the Islamic calendar and is the holy month of fasting. In terms of time - my mum makes fresh pakoras for Iftar, the meal when those observing Ramadan break their fast together at sunset. Quick tip - they taste great with a side of mint chutney!
DISH OF OUR HERITAGE
PAKORAS WITH MINT CHUTNEY