The mosque for Bangladesh’s transgender women

0:00This BBC podcast is supported by ads outside the UK.

0:30to make those markets work for you. Follow Meron Talks Money on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you listen.

0:39In a wooden fishing boat on the Brahmaputra River in rural Mamasingh, Bangladesh, I'm heading towards a place unlike any other, a Hijra village.

0:53Also known as the third gender, Hijras form a diverse community, including those born intersex, meaning their physical traits don't fit neatly into male or female categories and transgender individuals. Once revered in South Asian history and culture as mystical figures believed to bring blessings or curses, hijras now face systemic discrimination and social exclusion. I'm Sahar Zand and this is the documentary on the BBC World Service. This week on Heart and Soul, I meet members of this once revered community as they fight for acceptance in an intolerant society through faith. Thank you. Don Dupad.

1:38Hijra village? This way. Hijra. This way? Thank you. Okay, I'm starting to see a few houses. It's right here. It's here. I am squeezing through a narrow alleyway. There's quite a long row of small concrete rooms that goes all the way down either end. And they're painted in a faint yellow. And right at the end, the room belongs to the leader of this community. There she is. Salaam alaikum. Salaam alaikum. Nice to meet you. I'm Sahar. I'm Tannu. Tannu, nice to meet you. I like your dress. Tannu is a transgender woman and a practicing Muslim. She's wearing a black dress that highlights her bold red lipstick and sculpted eyebrows.

2:29At just five foot three, her quiet authority makes her seem taller, fitting for a guruma. Part guardian, part ruler, gurumas are the matriarchs of the Hijra communities, providing shelter, security and guidance to their disciples. This is my home. I love gardening. These flowers, the fruit trees, I planted them all. We step inside her home, identical to the others, except for its bright pink walls. Salaam alaikum, salaam alaikum. Hi, hi. The small kitchen is packed with hijras, busy preparing lunch. I'm hungry. I'm hungry too. Omelette, egg, fried. Bright passion. Your English is good. Thank you so much.

3:18Past the kitchen, a compact bedroom holds a simple bed and a dresser lined with makeup. Finally, we enter a modest living room where I sit with Tanu. Even though this is called Hijra village, it's really a neighbourhood within an existing village. 40 houses, each assigned to a struggling Hijra. Tanu founded this village in 2021 after securing government support. Hijras are often trapped in poverty and due to societal stigma, many landlords refused to rent to them, forcing them into harsh lives on the streets or slums. These homes changed everything. Before, many were homeless. Hijras are often rejected by landlords.

4:00Now they have security, dignity. They're homeowners. It's a fresh start. Bangladesh officially recognizes 10 ,000 hijras, but rice groups estimate the real number at half a million. Despite gaining voting rights in 2013, deep-rooted conservatism fuels ongoing discrimination, persecution and abuse against them. Hijra's face barriers in education, employment and healthcare, along with harassment and violence. Tanu, a sign male at birth, knows these struggles firsthand. In Bangladesh, sadly, transphobia runs deep. Here, gender is seen as strictly male or female. That leaves no space for us. That ignorance fuels rejection, pushing us further into the margins.

4:45My earliest memories were of being six or seven, draping myself in my mother's saris, painting my lips with my sister's bright pink lipstick. I didn't understand gender yet. I just knew this was me. My parents gave me toy guns and footballs, hoping I'd change, but I was always drawn to dolls. As she grew, the pressures mounted. Neighbours whispered, fix him or he'll bring shame to the family. In school, though she presented as a boy, she was mocked for being too feminine. By seventh grade, it turned brutal. Beatings, humiliation, even sexual harassment. Teachers offered no protection and some took part in the abuse.

5:26But Tanu found solace in others like her. Outside of school, I met older hindrance. Sometimes they would pass through our neighbourhood. For the first time, I felt seen. I spent more and more time with them until my brother found out. That's when all hell broke loose. He beat me like never before, punching, kicking, throwing me around like I was nothing. As monsoon rain pours outside, Tanu recalls the pain and shame that followed her everywhere. But it wasn't just me who suffered. My family and even relatives became targets too, their lives tainted simply by association with me. My sister's engagement was called off the moment the groomer's family learned I was a hitterer.

6:07I felt like a walking corpse, trapped in a nightmare. Ending my life seemed easier, and I thought about it often. The only thing that stopped me was Islam, which forbid doing so, and my faith was all I had.

6:23In my darkest moments, facing hate, rejection and loneliness, I turned to Allah, begging for strength, for a reason to keep going. And somehow, he always carried me through, and he's still carrying me through now. As the evening call to prayer echoes, Tanu wipes off her lipstick, drapes a headscarf over her wavy black hair and stands in prayer. Growing up in a Muslim family, Tanu was no stranger to Islam, but it was in her darkest struggles that she truly found her connection to God. I believe prayer and Islamic teachings bring discipline, stability and purpose, and by living these values, we can challenge society's perception, another step in breaking barriers.

7:09As we step out of her house, Tanu admits that despite her hardships, especially in childhood, she still had it easier than many other hijras. Hijras are often cast out young, with nowhere to turn, no one to show them right from wrong, no one to guide them towards God. Many end up in hijra communities as children, trapped in crime, begging or sex work to survive. They grow up with no safety, no guidance, only hardship. A few doors down, one of the hijras is singing. Her name is Rashi and her tight ringlets frame high cheekbones beneath a white headscarf. She's a seamstress whose smile never fades.

7:49At her sewing machine, she works methodically through a pile of clothes beside her. This is one of my latest designs. This kind of stitching is called cutter stitch. So beautiful. Thank you. No one knows her exact age, but Tanu tells me Rashi is one of the oldest in the village. Then she reveals an unexpected connection. Rashi is one of the first Hijras I ever met, way back when I was nine or ten in my neighborhood. Rashi was one of the first to introduce Tanu to the wider Hijra community and she still remembers Tanu as a child. Back then, Tanu was so naughty, she and the other neighbourhood kids would chase us laughing and teasing, Hijra, Hijra, before darting away.

8:39I used to say, you little rascal, one day I'll take you with me and well, look where we are now.

8:51Hijras are best known as performers, earning a living through dancing and singing at weddings and birthdays. But due to the barriers they face, many are forced into crime, begging or sex work to survive. I never liked traditional hijra work. It's tough, undignified and pays little. But what choice did I have? No one hires us, especially without an education. Even when we find jobs, we're exploited. I once managed to get a job at a hotel as a dishwasher, worked harder than anyone, yet was underpaid and treated like dirt. The harassment never stopped. Unwanted touches, sexual advances, especially on the darker side, like begging and crime, go against the teachings of the Quran.

9:34When I was forced into them just to survive, I felt like I was sinning, like a bad Muslim, as if being damned in this life meant I'd be damned in the next two. This community, however, offers them an alternative, education and job training. Rashi, trained as a tailorer, bought a sewing machine with community funds and now runs a thriving business serving both hijras and local villages. Then I didn't have a choice, but now I finally do. And I don't have to sin anymore. I always pray to Allah to help me stay on the path of honest living. If I keep my faith strong, I trust He will provide, so I won't have to compromise my soul.

10:22One day I will die, and when that moment comes, I want to face Allah with dignity and truth. If I live righteously now, I believe meeting Him will be easier. I have faith, He hears and sees all. Now I earn an honest living and finally have peace. Still, many Hijras struggle with self-worth, but Tanu believes healing must begin from within, through spirituality. Since 2020, Tanu has been arranging Quran studies for her community. This class teaches Hijras that faith is their right, that they can be both Hijra and good Muslims. It offers a path beyond the life they never chose. Because the Hijras have it so hard from an early age, they don't believe that God loves them, that they could have a place in the afterlife.

11:15But just as Allah carried me through my darkest times, the same way that Islam saved me, I'm trying to show them that there can be another way, that they're loved by Allah, that it's not too late for them.

11:29Inside a village house, about 20 Hijras sit in a circle, heads carves on, Quran's open, practicing under the guidance of a young imam. He's my new student. First time here. She already knows some of the Arabic letters, thanks to her Hijra sisters. But with some time of practice, she'll soon read the Quran with ease.

11:57Amin Muhammad Majhar al-Islam, the imam, is in his mid-twenties, dressed in a flowing white robe and matching skullcap. Here I teach them to read Arabic, recite the Quran, pray, and live by Islamic teachings, both spiritually and practically, and how to apply these teachings as hijras. For example, when a man dies, men handle his body, and when a woman dies, women do. But when a hijra dies, no one wants to touch them. Here, they learn how to perform proper Islamic burial rites for a third-gender person. Why is there a need for a class like this? Trans people have as much right to Islam as anyone.

12:39Allah created every single one of us. Who are we to judge his creations? No one God created should be cast aside. Hijras deserve the light of Allah as much as anyone else. And I'm here to help them thrive in this life and the next. But supporting the Hijras has come at a cost. his face ridicule, harassment and has even been disowned by members of his own family. It's truly heartbreaking. I've been cast out simply for showing compassion and standing up for my fellow Muslims, for doing what any good Muslim should. Tears stream down his face as he recalls the moment everything changed about a year ago.

13:22When a few Hijas came to pray at my mosque worshippers reacted with disgust spitting, shoving, calling them dirty refusing to pray beside them I couldn't stay silent As Imam, I reminded them that Islam is for all that no one has the right to deny another the house of Allah but they turned on me, accused me of blasphemy and cast me out too I lost everything but if standing for justice cost me my place so be it I'd do it all again, without hesitation. Rashi, the elder Hijra seamstress, remembers too. She was among those expelled from the mosque that day. Being turned away felt like a punch to the gut, especially when we had done nothing wrong.

14:06All we wanted was to pray. When the Imam defended us, it meant everything. It wasn't just about that moment. It was a rejection of all the cruel words we've heard throughout our lives Proof that we're not damned simply for who Allah made us I remember him being in tears as he fought for us That meant so much because he truly understands Islam Yet the ones condemning us were mostly illiterate Villagers who knew little of the faith But the Imam, the leader, the one who knows Islam best He stood with us and that's said it all. Yet Rashi says that the Quran classes have become a lifeline, allowing her and her Hijra sisters to reclaim faith in a way they were long denied.

14:57My faith has always been a part of me. I grew up in a religious family, learned to pray as a child and some of my earliest memories are of standing beside my father and brothers in the mosque. I loved it but those memories are bittersweet even though i was dressed as a boy the gender i was assigned at birth people eventually noticed the whispers the stares the quiet judgment in the very place i was meant to feel closest to god i felt like i didn't belong like like being different was wrong. For years, I struggled, wondering if I could be both a Muslim and a Hijra. But I can't change who I am, and I won't abandon my faith.

15:45That struggle has been one of the hardest of my life. How long have you been attending these classes for? I've been attending these classes for about a year. What difference have these classes made to your life? Now, more than ever, I know my identity as a hijra and my faith can coexist and that realization has changed everything weight has been lifted these classes have also deepened my connection to the quran before i recited verses of the quran daily even knew some by heart but i never truly understood them prayer brought peace but not meaning now i'm learning each verse's meaning and it's transforming my faith.

16:30I'm living as a true Muslim. Yes, it's been challenging, but with faith, I can face anything. You are listening to the documentary on the BBC World Service. I've spent the last three decades trying to better understand money across the boardroom, the newsroom, and the trading floor. That's longer than most podcast hosts have been alive. But even I've got questions. Join me, Meron Subset Web every week for my show Merrin Talks Money from Bloomberg Podcasts, where I have in-depth conversations with fund managers, strategists and experts about how markets really work. And join me for a separate episode where I answer listener questions and how to make those markets work for you.

17:13Follow Merrin Talks Money on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or wherever you listen. I'm Sahar Zand in Bangladesh, visiting a Hijra village, a community of intersex and transgender people turning to Islam for spiritual upliftment amid rising violence.

17:39Late in the evening, as Rashi sings, Tanu gestures to her village. Once a quiet farming community, now their sanctuary. But their arrival here was met with fierce backlash, mirroring the struggles Hijra's face nationwide. We weren't welcome at first. People hurled insults, threw stones at our rooms, refused to sell us food. Fishermen wouldn't let us on their boats. Some assumed we were a brothel. Many even came demanding sex. One night, five men tried to attack Ahizra. When we defended her, the villagers accused us of violence. Tanu turned to the police, but quickly realised that force wasn't the answer.

18:22They had to earn acceptance. Instead of involving authorities, we started resolving disputes with village leaders. It worked. Then we built trust. We opened a store, a clinic, a graveyard, services for everyone, not just heishras. We even helped with the costs of building and running the local schools. Over time, they saw us as neighbours, not outcasts. But changing things on a deeper level had to come from within the community. And that's where faith and Islam comes in. Islam became their bridge to the wider community, showing that being a good Muslim transcends gender identity. Four years on, life has improved, but full integration remains an uphill battle.

19:05The stigma runs deep, worsened by political instability. Since the fall of the secularist government in August 2024, a policing vacuum has unleashed a surge in violence. Extremist groups target activists, while conservative forces tighten their grip, escalating persecution. Tanu says her community has never felt more vulnerable. After the revolution, a mob of 50 stormed our village on August 5th and 6th, searching for me. I was out of town, but they tried to burn my house down. The girls hid, paralysed with fear. Then, something unexpected. The same village leaders who once rejected us stepped in and stopped the attack.

19:46Can you believe it? We may have gotten lucky that time, but the danger still hasn't passed. Since then, we've barely left the village, staying in the shadows. Reports of violence against Hijras keep rising, against a background of a rise in Islamic extremism. We're terrified of losing what little we've built, of being driven back into hiding. Right now, we're in limbo, hoping for the best, fearing the worst. And from where I stand, society's attitude towards us is only getting worse. In a country where same-sex relationships are illegal and widely condemned, Hijras already live on the margins.

20:20Now, with rising Islamic extremism, transphobia has deepened, fuelling harassment, violent attacks and even murders. We live in constant fear, always looking over our shoulders. We're citizens too, yet we have no rights. I can't understand their hatred. Why can't they just let us be? Bangladesh has bigger struggles, poverty, disasters, crime. Why not just focus on those? Look at this village. We don't just survive, we thrive and contribute to those around us. Given the chance, we could do the same for the country. Listening to Tanu's recounts of the growing threats, I notice Rashi is crying. Why are you crying?

21:02It's a painful subject. I never want to seem ungrateful to Allah. Every moment he gives me, my health, my life, is a blessing. And I'm thankful. But I'm human. I'm not perfect. I've sinned just like everyone else. Allah is merciful and I submit to him, praying for his forgiveness. I just hope when my time comes, he grants me to heaven, not hell. Do you ever find yourself being angry at Allah for giving you the challenges that he's given you? Sometimes, yes. I feel angry, even despair. There are moments of deep sadness, but Allah knows best. He made me this way. My struggles don't come from Him, they come from people.

21:55When frustration builds, I close the door, sit in prayer and pour my heart out to Him. I cry, I submit, I ask for His forgiveness and every time I feel lighter.

22:14Rashi bursts into yet another song, this time a praise to God, marvelling at the beauty of his creations.

22:25What was going through your mind when you were singing that? I was thinking of Allah, how beautiful all of his creations are. Even I am beautiful, because Allah made me. You are beautiful. Thank you.

22:45It's early Friday morning and the community are slowly waking up and they're getting ready for Friday prayers at the mosque. But as you can hear, two separate calls to prayer echo from two different mosques. One is coming from the mosque that expelled the Hijras and their imam. The other from a new mosque. one that was built by Tanu in April 2024 for her community, a place where Hijras can worship without fear of rejection. When they threw us out of the mosque, spirits were low. That same day, I applied for a government grant to build our own, and by Allah's grace, we got it. It was the happiest day of my life.

23:33A ten-minute walk away from the Hijra neighborhood, on a grassy riverbank stands their mosque. It's humble, just a single room shed with tin walls and a roof. This is just a start. I'm working on a multi-story building with space for prayer, community activities and Quran studies. I'm already raising funds and getting approvals to make it happen. At the gate, Rashi adjusts her headscarf, ready to step inside. She tells me why praying in a mosque is so important to her. Praying in the mosque brings greater blessings. It's about being part of a jamaat, a community united in worship. The spiritual energy is stronger and the rewards multiply.

24:17When we're barred from the mosque, we lose that connection. Praying alone just isn't the same. It feels less powerful. Being in that sacred space matters. How important is this mosque to you? This mosque means everything. To me, to all of us. gives me hope, hope that things can change, that acceptance can grow. As prayers begin, around 60 people fill the room, hijras and non-hijras alike. Watching through a small window, Tanu points out something surprising. Some of the people praying here today are the same ones who kicked us out of the other mosque. But look at them now. Beautiful, isn't it?