Being Bangladeshi was never an essential part of my identity. My connection to Bangladesh was mostly through stories from my parents, traditional (delicious) food my mum cooked at home, and the Bangla I spoke with them – though, to be honest, it’s more of a Bangla-English mashup that they’ve learned to understand after years of hearing their kids mix and match both languages. I finally had the opportunity to visit Bangladesh, nervous about how I’d be perceived by my family, and expecting to feel like an outsider. But my stay there challenged these assumptions, making me both appreciate my ancestry and reflect on my own sense of self.
Language was a huge barrier. While I could understand Bangla, speaking it fluently was another challenge. Conversations with my relatives felt awkward as I often found myself lost for words, pausing to ask my parents, “how do you say this?”. They spoke in fast, expressive Bangla, filled with emotion and character that often went over my head. I felt frustrated, like a guest in a place that was supposed to feel like home.
Beyond language, the culture was also new. Women are expected to behave with a certain level of restraint. Coming from the UK, where I was used to more independence in the way I carried myself, adjusting to these unspoken social rules was difficult. Even when I tried to blend in, it still felt like all eyes were on me. At the markets, whenever we went with my mum and aunts, they’d tell me and my sisters to stay quiet while they bargained. Apparently, the moment the shopkeepers heard our accents, they’d push the prices up! It’s so funny to think about now, but at the time, it made me wonder- was I supposed to change who I was just to fit in?
Despite these barriers, there was something that always brought us together: food. Meals in Bangladesh are more than just eating – they’re a time for connecting. Whether it was home-cooked with love and care or piping hot snacks from a street vendor, food became our shared language. The act of eating together, sharing dishes, and learning about our culture through food made me feel like I belonged in a way that words never could.
As the month progressed, my broken Bangla was met with patience and laughter. My relatives, whom I’d never felt close to, started telling me stories about their childhood and the world that existed before me. I realised that family isn’t just about perfect understanding; it’s about showing up and finding ways to connect even when differences exist.
By the end of the trip, I felt something I hadn’t expected – sadness. Sadness that I was leaving. I’d spent years not thinking much about my extended family, simply because they weren’t physically present. But in Bangladesh, surrounded by relatives who shared my history and who accepted me despite our differences, I felt a warmth I never knew I was missing. In the UK, I’d grown used to a smaller family unit, but this trip made me realise the comfort and belonging of having a large family.
Before this trip, I saw my ancestry as something distant, something that didn’t really define me. And while I still believe that my identity is more than just my ancestry, I now understand that my heritage is an important part of who I am. It isn’t everything, but it’s a piece of me – a piece that gives me a sense of belonging, a shared history, and a connection that I’d previously overlooked.
Words by: Arschi Ali
Featured image courtesy of Masba Molla via Unsplash. No changes have been made to this image. Image license found here.