On a dusty highway in Satkhira, the hum of passing trucks competes with the clatter of tin plates and the comforting aroma of lentils simmering over an open fire. Beneath a makeshift shed of tarpaulin and bamboo poles, Monoara Begum stirs rice with calm determination. By noon, her food stall is surrounded by rickshaw pullers, truck drivers, and day labourers who trust her food to carry them through the day.
For her customers, it’s a hot, hearty meal. For Monoara, its survival and empowerment.
Once bound by poverty and patriarchal expectations, Monoara is now one of dozens of women across Kumira, Mirzapur, and Noapara who are quietly transforming their lives through roadside catering businesses. These ventures, born out of necessity, are emerging as platforms for economic resilience, social change, and rural women’s leadership.
From margins to markets
Historically, women in southwestern Bangladesh, especially in climate-affected districts like Satkhira, had little access to formal employment. Domestic responsibilities and cultural norms confined them to unpaid labour or exploitative jobs in agriculture and shrimp processing. But the landscape is shifting.
Community surveys in early 2025 show that in some unions, over 65% of informal food stalls are now run or co-managed by women -- often widows, abandoned wives, or disaster-affected mothers who turned to cooking as a last resort and stayed because it worked. A 2024 Bangladesh Institute of Development Studies (BIDS) report notes a 14.3% rise in female participation in rural informal economies over five years, with food vending a key driver, particularly in areas hit by salinity and river erosion where traditional income has dried up.
In the absence of structured support, these women built their own scaffolding of success -- one plate at a time.
The economics of empowerment
Behind every steaming pot is a story of transformation. Monoara earns Tk400–600 daily, enough to fund her daughter’s secondary education -- the first in the family. Her stall, once cobbled together from borrowed utensils, is now their main income source.
In Mirzapur, 42-year-old Amena Begum has turned her dinner stall into a night-time hub for highway workers. “I open after Fajr and cook until midnight. The truckers say my cooking reminds them of their mothers,” she smiles.
What unites these women is not just income but agency. They negotiate with wholesalers, manage inventories, resolve disputes, and make independent decisions -- often for the first time. “People told me women shouldn’t sit by the road. Now they come to me for food and advice,” one vendor shared.
Roadblocks
Yet these stories unfold against a backdrop of structural neglect. Legal invisibility is a pressing challenge: Most women lack trade licenses, leaving them vulnerable to harassment, eviction, and unofficial fees. Without documentation, their businesses remain precarious and unsupported.
Basic infrastructure is also missing. Few vending areas have clean water, shelters, toilets, or storage. In the dust and humidity of this nation, this threatens both food safety and women’s health.
Social protection is out of reach. Despite feeding hundreds daily, vendors are excluded from widow allowances, SME funds, or NGO training. Their labour is uncounted and contributions unacknowledged.
Finally, gender-based stigma persists. In conservative areas, women endure verbal abuse, shaming, and family pressure to quit. Some are branded “characterless” simply for cooking by the roadside -- a cruel irony given how many depend on their meals for survival.
Why this matters
We often define women’s empowerment through project reports, social media campaigns, or factory jobs. But in Satkhira, it lives in humbler places under tin roofs, beside highways, in roadside kitchens.
These women are reshaping the public narrative: From dependency to entrepreneurship, from silence to survival. And yet, they remain invisible in national data, underrepresented in rural development plans, and unrecognized by local governance structures.
If we truly believe in “leaving no one behind,” we must first see who’s ahead and how far they’ve come on their own.
What must be done
To maximize the transformative potential of roadside catering operated by women in rural Bangladesh, the following practical and real-life grounded suggestions are recommended.
- Legal inclusion: Union parishads should provide simple, affordable vending licenses to formally recognize women vendors. Currently, many in Satkhira and similar regions operate without legal status, leaving them vulnerable to harassment or eviction. Recognition would also unlock access to aid, training, and safety nets.
- Infrastructure support: Rural roadsides lack basic facilities. Designated vending zones with sheds, bins, and water points -- as piloted near Khulna’s embankments -- can ensure safe, hygienic conditions and encourage women’s participation with dignity.
- Skills training: NGOs like Brac and PKSF can offer tailored training on food safety, finance, and customer service. Brac’s SWAPNO project shows how such initiatives uplift ultra-poor women; the model can be replicated in food vending.
- Financial access: Interest-free loans or start-up grants through MFIs like Grameen Bank or PKSF should be designed for women without property ownership. Flexible financing can help asset-less vendors in coastal areas start or expand businesses.
- Data integration: Women-run roadside businesses remain invisible in official data. Including them in BBS labour force and entrepreneurship surveys would help integrate their contributions into rural development planning.
- Shifting norms: Community radios and school programs can challenge gender stereotypes. Efforts in Rajshahi and Kurigram show how local campaigns reshape attitudes toward women in public business roles.
Beyond the plate
Women like Monoara and Amena are not just feeding hungry workers; they are feeding families, futures, and forgotten hopes. Their stalls may lack signage, but their significance is profound.
Empowerment, it turns out, does not always begin with a policy. Sometimes, it begins with a pot, a flame, and a woman daring to do business on her own terms.
Let’s not just applaud them. Let’s stand beside them, invest in them, and include them in our policies, in our programs, and in our vision of rural development.
Because in every plate they serve, there is a story of resilience and a recipe for national progress.
Md Al-Mamun is a Research Associate and Faruq Hossain is a Research Coordinator at the Brac Institute of Governance and Development (BIGD).