On a busy street corner in Dhaka, where traffic rarely slows and crowds never thin, cloth merchant Rafiqul Islam sits beside his modest sidewalk shop, waiting for customers who are no longer coming as often.
After a morning of steady rain, he had managed to sell just two shirts by afternoon.
Business, he says, has not been the same for a long time -- and the recent spell of rain has only made things worse.
Sitting quietly beside neatly folded shirts, Rafiqul speaks with visible frustration.
“Sales are not like before,” he says. “The rain in the last two days has made it even harder.”
Rafiqul does not know his exact age. He cannot say whether he ever had a surname.
What he does know is that he has spent nearly four decades on the streets of Dhaka, earning a living under the open sky.
He recalls arriving in the city as a child, around eight or ten years old, after losing both parents.
At first, he survived as a “tokai” -- a waste picker -- before gradually saving enough to start a small clothing business.
Since then, the roadside has been his workplace, with dust, heat and rain his constant companions.
Today, he lives in a single-room house in Sonargaon with his wife and two children.
The monthly rent is Tk3,000. With prices of daily essentials rising sharply, maintaining the household has become increasingly difficult.
“I somehow manage to get through the day,” he says.
“I borrow money, then struggle to repay it. But managing the family and the debt together -- it feels impossible now.”
Rafiqul had taken out a small loan to expand his business, hoping to improve his income.
Instead, declining sales have left him burdened with repayments he can barely afford.
Rising fuel prices and the increasing cost of basic goods have added to the strain.
“Now it feels like just getting through each day is the biggest challenge,” he says.
His eldest daughter is currently sitting for her Secondary School Certificate (SSC) examinations, a milestone moment for many families.
But for Rafiqul, it is also a source of quiet pain.
“She wanted a new dress for her exams,” he says, lowering his voice.
“I could not give her that. It’s hard to even look at her.”
The family has been cutting back on essentials.
“We haven’t bought fish or meat for the last fifteen days,” he adds.
“We eat only to survive. My daughter is taking exams, and I can’t even provide proper food.”
Rent has become another pressing concern.
Payment is due on the 20th of each month. Rafiqul says he managed to get a five-day extension from his landlord, but even then, April’s rent remains unpaid.
“The landlord is pressing,” he says. “But what can I do? I have nowhere else to go. I have to stay here.”
As he speaks, a customer approaches his stall. Instantly, Rafiqul shifts his focus, picking up a shirt and beginning to negotiate -- his voice taking on the familiar rhythm of a hawker trying to make a sale.
For a moment, the weight of his worries is set aside, replaced by the urgency of earning just enough to get through another day.
For traders like Rafiqul, the intersection of rising living costs, declining sales and unpredictable weather is more than an economic trend -- it is a daily struggle for survival, measured not in statistics but in missed meals, unpaid rent and unfulfilled promises to family.