Colourful toy boxes peeked out from the shopping bags they clutched. They wore impatient smiles, eager to board the flight.
The heavy backpacks and carefully packed shopping bags caught my attention first. Then there were the vibrant fleece blankets. Somehow, they too had become part of the journey home for Bangladeshi migrant workers. Watching them, I found myself rewinding to where their journeys had begun.
A few days earlier, at Hazrat Shahjalal International Airport in Dhaka, I had stood in the immigration queue for my own flight to Malaysia.
"First time?" the immigration officer asked with a smile.
I nodded.
As I moved ahead, my attention drifted to the queue behind me. Timid eyes searched for reassurance. Some looked restless, others uncertain, quietly waiting for instructions that never came.
Many were first-time travellers navigating an unfamiliar process with little guidance. For those who had perhaps never travelled beyond their own districts, an international airport could feel overwhelming.
Yet the warmth and patience extended to many travellers seemed to disappear when it came to those who arguably needed it the most.
This stayed with me.
Safe migration does not begin when a worker lands at their destination; it begins the moment they leave home. A migrant-friendly departure process, clearer guidance at airports, and greater sensitivity from frontline officials are not extraordinary expectations. They are simple yet meaningful ways of recognizing that for many of these workers, this journey is both unfamiliar and life-changing.
These were the very people who had left behind ageing parents, spouses, and children in pursuit of a better future. They were leaving not for adventure, but for responsibility.
Their sacrifices sustain countless families, and their earnings quietly strengthen Bangladesh's economy. We proudly celebrate them as our remittance warriors. But how often do we pause to see the people behind that title?
Bangladeshis constitute nearly 37% of Malaysia's foreign workforce, with more than 800,000 holding valid employment permits as of June 2025. The figures often dominate headlines, reflecting the scale of labour migration between the two countries. Yet behind every number is a life suspended between two homes, two realities, and often, two versions of oneself.
It was only after arriving in Malaysia that those faces began to reappear.
In Johor Bahru, Bangladeshi workers seemed to be everywhere in hotels, Airbnb properties, restaurants, construction sites, and the countless neighbourhood car washes that keep the city moving. Their presence was unmistakable, yet strangely invisible. They worked quietly, efficiently, almost anonymously.
What stayed with me, however, was not where I found them, but their faces.
I searched for signs of ease, of contentment, of belonging. Instead, I saw exhaustion etched into expressions that had grown accustomed to demanding days. Occasionally, a smile surfaced, but it disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared, swallowed by another task waiting to be done.
Those faces followed me long after I left Johor Bahru. They stayed with me in Kuala Lumpur, quietly shaping the way I looked at every Bangladeshi worker I passed.
One afternoon, two men struggled to push a trolley stacked high with heavy cartons up an inclined road. The load was clearly meant for more than two pairs of hands.
"Jaan bair hoya jaitese bhai, ar mone hoy parum na", one of them gasped as he paused to catch his breath.
For a fleeting moment, they smiled at each other before pushing forward again.
That smile lingered with me. It carried resilience more than relief, a quiet acceptance that there was work to finish, another shift to begin, another day to endure.
The uncertainty I had witnessed at Hazrat Shahjalal International Airport did not end once the flight landed. It simply changed its form. In Johor Bahru, it appeared in weary faces that had grown accustomed to long days of demanding work. In Kuala Lumpur, it resurfaced in the quiet apprehension that seemed to accompany even their journey home.
Behind these moments lie deeper structural challenges, exploitative recruitment practices, inadequate orientation before departure, poor living conditions, delayed wages, and limited avenues for seeking justice when rights are violated. Migration should never require workers to navigate these vulnerabilities on their own.
Malaysia remains the second-largest destination for Bangladeshi migrant workers. Although labour recruitment has faced repeated disruptions since June 2024, discussions surrounding the reopening of the labour market have largely centred on the number of workers who can leave, when recruitment will resume, and how quickly demand can be met.
Yet reopening a labour market cannot be the destination in itself.
The success of labour migration should not be measured solely by the number of workers who leave or the remittances they send home. It should also be measured by how safely they migrate, how fairly they are treated while abroad, and whether they can return home with the dignity they left with.
This calls for ethical recruitment, transparent recruitment costs, stronger bilateral oversight, accessible grievance mechanisms, and sustained protection of workers' rights throughout the migration cycle. Opportunity should never come at the cost of dignity.
A few days later, as I stood in the departure queue at Kuala Lumpur International Airport, preparing to return home, I found myself surrounded by those familiar faces once again.
Every kilogram of the hand-carry allowance seemed carefully accounted for. Heavy backpacks strained tired shoulders that, I imagined, had carried far heavier burdens over the years than the permitted seven kilograms.
Then came the weighing scale. For many passengers, it was merely another airport procedure. For them, it seemed to carry an entirely different weight.
One man quietly explained to the immigration staff that the metal tin in his luggage contained powdered milk for his son. There was no frustration in his voice, only the hope that he would be allowed to take it home. For that moment, the baggage no longer seemed heavy.
Each suitcase carried months, sometimes years, of sacrifice transformed into gifts that could never fully measure the distance travelled to earn them. Chocolates, toys, blankets, clothes, powdered milk, ordinary objects made extraordinary by the lives behind them.
They were reminders that while migrant workers often return carrying gifts, they also carry stories that remain largely untold.
Some return to joyful reunions.
Some return with little to show after being deceived or exploited.
Some never return at all.
Watching them, I realized I had spent only a few years working in the migration sector, reading reports, analyzing data. Yet it took standing beside them in airport queues, watching them navigate unfamiliar systems, and witnessing the quiet weight they carried to understand that migration is, above all, profoundly human.
Their resilience cannot and should not be measured solely in remittance figures. It lives in every goodbye they endure, every shift they complete, every burden they quietly shoulder, and every journey they make in the hope of building a better future for those waiting at home.
As boarding began, I watched them once more.
Colourful toy boxes peeked out from the shopping bags they clutched. They wore the same impatient smile, eager to board the flight.
After all, they were finally going home to their loved ones.
Efrita Jahan is currently part of the BRAC Migration Program.
