From dawn to dusk on the corner where Bengali Brooklyn meets

Young Bangladeshi Americans are making inroads into politics, most notably with the election of Shahana Hanif, a daughter of Kensington, to the city council in 2021. Ms Hanif’s victory, aged 30, made her the first woman to win the district, as well as the first Muslim woman and one of the first two South Asians on the council.

It was Mrs. Hanif who asked for the new name of the intersection. She also co-sponsored a solution to observe Mother Language Day on February 21, along with a Bangladesh holiday commemorating protesters who fought for Bengali as the state language in the 1950s, when the area was part of Pakistan.

Mrs. Hanif’s family history illustrates how the Bengal Kensington came to be. Her father arrived in the early 1980s and worked his way up in construction and restaurants, gaining a local mainstay, Radhuni Sweets & Restaurant, now run by others.

Her experiences in the neighborhood led her to make sure all members of the community feel welcome in the public areas. Although the corner is often a male-dominated space, she and other Bangladeshi American women have found their own place there.

“I grew up with something like, ‘Wear a scarf over your chest, look down.’ There was a script,” Ms. Hanif said. “And I think a lot of us didn’t follow that script and went our own way in an interesting, unique way.”

In recent years, Bangladeshis, like so many other migrants, have come to the United States after a perilous journey across Latin America. Some hope to seek asylum; some look for a way to earn money to send home; some simply seek a better life.

Many of the Bangladeshis in Kensington come from rural areas around the Bay of Bengal: Noakhali, Chittagong and Sandwip. Among them is Mir Hossain, 47. He arrived five years ago after saying he was attacked for his political allegiances.

Mr. Hossain found the building blocks of his new life on the corner in Kensington, drawing on his years of metalworking experience.

Mr. Hossain crossed 19 countries on his month-long journey to Brooklyn. He flew from the Middle East to South America, then trekked on foot through the Darién Gap, which separates Colombia and Panama, picking up work as he could along the way.

His effort seems to be paying off. He was granted asylum and then a green card. He landed his apartment and jobs through connections he made on the corner, moving from day laborer to subcontractor. Now he picks up other workers from around the corner with his Ford F-150 truck.

Yet something is missing. His wife and two children remain in Dhaka. He hopes they can join him in Brooklyn soon.

“I don’t sleep well,” he said. “I miss my family.”

Kensington’s meeting spaces have also become crucial networking opportunities for the growing number of young Bangladeshi men working for food delivery apps such as Seamless and DoorDash, a path that became more lucrative during the pandemic.

Many delivery drivers rush around wealthier areas like nearby Park Slope during the dinner rush, then head to Kensington for their own meals.

Working for the apps can provide more flexibility than building. But the potential for danger is constant: accidents, bad weather and crime, all without the protection of a steady job.

In October 2021, a Bangladeshi delivery boy named Sala Miah was fatally stabbed during a robbery at a Manhattan park where he had stopped to rest after a long shift. Mr. Miah’s funeral was held at one of the Bengali mosques in Kensington. He was 51.

Rubel Uddin’s younger brother, Tarek Aziz, was killed in 2021 when he hit a piece of gravel while riding his scooter delivering a late order. It was hot the day of the accident and he was not wearing a helmet.

“In our lives we are tested,” says Mr Uddin, who is 34. “Everything is temporary.”

When his mother calls from Bangladesh, she begs her son to stop delivering.

Though Mr. Uddin remains deeply depressed over his brother’s death, he carries on as he desperately needs the income. He now uses a car instead of a moped.

Mr. Uddin lives with six other men in a three-bedroom apartment in East New York filled with plants that remind him of the green village he left a decade ago. His housemates deliver, drive taxis or build, and they all pay rent to a Bangladeshi compatriot who owns the building.

They do their shopping in Kensington, as well as Bengali stores in Jackson Heights and Ozone Park, and he appreciates the sense of community. But he weighs his limited options and considers leaving New York.

Others also still dream of home. Motiul, 54, who requested that his last name not be used due to his legal status, arrived in New York in 2018 as a freighter crew member with $100 in his pocket. He went straight to a Bangladeshi friend’s house in Kensington, and he stayed after his short-term visa expired.

His story goes back to some of the earliest Bangladeshis in New York, which came in the 1920s as ‘ship jumpers’, men who worked on ships and stayed in the city after they docked here.

Today, Motiul mostly renovates the exterior of buildings and works on scaffolding on high floors, which can earn him as much as $350 a day. He also traveled to Philadelphia to work for a Bangladeshi contractor there. But the work is excruciatingly slow – sometimes just a few days a month – and the cost of living is high.

His thoughts are back to his small town in the Jessore district, where renovations are underway at his childhood home. He oversees the process from a distance, instructing workers in the stone-pointing techniques he learned in New York. His wife and three adult children have urged him to return.

“They say I’ve done enough for them,” he said.

Some women in the community are committed to creating new opportunities for themselves, as well as preserving their language and culture, especially for Bangladeshi children growing up in a diverse, fast-changing city.

Farojan Saeed, 28, moved to New York in 2016 to join her husband Syed Rehan, who works in technology.

Now Ms. Saeed teaches dance at a local public school and at the Bangladesh Institute of Performing Arts, which promotes Bengali arts and language and provides classes in the area. She also works as an intake coordinator at a home care company.

Her husband has lived in the same small apartment in Kensington for over 20 years, which they now share with his parents.

Mrs Saeed wants to buy a house, but property in Kensington has become far too expensive. She thinks of Jamaica, Queens, where the performing arts institute has another outpost.

Annie Ferdous co-founded the Bangladeshi Institute of Performing Arts in the early 1990s. She tries to create space in a conservative culture where dance is often frowned upon. Some see it as incompatible with their interpretation of Islam.

Ms. Saeed also faced opposition growing up, from relatives on her mother’s side who disapproved of dance. But her father insisted that she be allowed to practice her art, which she calls her first love.

With other public spaces so male-dominated, Ms. Ferdous considers it essential for women to come together to keep their traditions alive. She calls it “constructive adda.”

“Those of us who can, if we lead the path and move forward, then a few others will think, ‘Let me too, we have a space,'” she said.

The neighborhood was buzzing at the end of Ramadan, as Bangladeshis from all over the city gathered to worship, do charity work and break their fasts every night. The faithful filled almost an entire block of McDonald Avenue during Eid al-Fitr.

Among them was Mr. Mahmud, the journalist. As men greeted each other with warm hugs after the service, he said it felt like coming home.