Over two evenings, as the sun sets and the moon rises, I am at TWC2’s Cuff Road Project, where free meals are served to out-of-work migrant workers. Sometimes, volunteers just spend time chatting with workers over nothing in particular. Casual conversation has value, often underestimated. Workers who are grappling with injury or salary cases, bored to death during the day because they’re out of a job, are often glad to have someone to talk to whenever they have a chance. Social connection is a major contributor to emotional well-being.
The first worker I speak with is Anamul, and I ask him to tell me something about the religious dimensions of his lived experiences. A pious man, Anamul shares that he attends Angullia mosque where prayers are recited in Arabic. There is also religious instruction in Bengali, his native language. This mosque in Little India was recently refurbished in 2020.
We reference Ramadan, during which Muslims observe a daily fast, designed to instill an especial focus on things spiritual. In this context, it is not unusual for toil and exertion to be de-emphasized. Anamul’s adherence to the obligations of Ramadan is steadfast. He would rise at 4.30am and have a meal before sunrise; dinner would only be consumed after sunset. This discipline is maintained despite being more tired from his labours throughout the day, as compared to other months.
With the approach of Eid-al-Adha (known as Hari Raya Haji in Singapore), Anamul shows a picture of his corpulent cow slated for korban in his home country. As a demonstration of his piety, Anamul intends to distribute the meat from this cow to the needy, and in this way, receive divine blessings as he blesses others.
Interestingly, in Singapore, the only mosque permitted by the state to conduct this ritual sacrifice is Sultan Mosque.
As with most casual conversations, we wander off-topic, into the question of names. Anamul writes on a notepad his own name, as well as the names of his three sons. His handwriting, with its cursiveness and tilt, possesses something of a calligraphic quality. In the meantime, another worker, Jamil drops by and sits down.
As I inquire about the meanings of the names that Anamul has written, Jamil explains that Muslim names are frequently derived from the Quran. He adds that his name (Jamil) signifies inner and outer cleanliness. Anamul seizes the initiative back and explains the meanings of his sons’ names. I learn that, as with other naming traditions, in the Islamic world, each name is thoughtfully given, to embody desired religio-moral attributes and to carry aspirational content.
Coping with names in Singapore
On my second evening, I meet with three other workers, and I turn the topic of names around. How do Bangladeshi workers, coming from a different language and cultural environment, cope with the names they encounter in Singapore – not just people’s names, but place names as well which often grew out of Chinese or Malay names.
Shahel, whose last job was to set up steel frames for large tents, is quite the polyglot. He has been living in Singapore for 18 years. He is a skilled labourer, having gained knowledge and experience from multiple jobs during this time. He has competencies in Bengali, English, Hindi and Malay.
Bengali names, he informs me, are rather easy to pronounce and write, owing to their simplicity. For example, Mohammad, Islam, Siddiq, and Abdul are neither long, nor extensively multi-syllabled. In contrast, Tamil names are a challenge to him, not only owing to their length, but also due to the difference between the Bengali and Tamil scripts.
Chinese names are brief and easy to utter, says Shahel, being mostly single-syllable, such as Chew, Chow or Ming. It’s easy enough to address Chinese bosses or colleagues. Likewise Hougang, Punggol and Dhoby Ghaut – places that he is familiar with.
A barely-twenty years old migrant worker happens to come by. He is a chef-de-partie in a Bengali restaurant, and another volunteer throws him a challenge by pointing to a Chinese shop name, Lian Hoe.
The young man passes the test. He manages to pronounce it with no difficulty and in a way any Singaporean will be able to understand. The only thing lacking – no surprise there, though – is the intonation that someone able to speak Chinese would infuse the name with. The young chef might have had an advantage in being college-educated, and so he is able to read off words formed by English letters with ease. Give him the same name in Chinese ideograms (why would anyone do that?) and he will be as much at a loss as asking a Chinese-Singaporean to read something written in Bengali script.
Even if at first, Singapore names do not roll off migrant workers’ tongues, migrant workers are likely to get used to them with time. Razzak lives in a coastal dormitory in Woodlands and his workplace is in Changi, place names he utters with relative ease.
I catch hold of Islam Fizul and ask him about the various occupations in his line of work. He is coherent and able to manage the vocabulary: painter and carpenter, plumbing and cooking. He manages TWC2 volunteers’ names with ease and he has even picked up a smattering of Malay, having had a Malay boss. I hear him use the word “tahan” in a Singlish way, meaning to endure hardship. In his case, the hardship is the financial stress he is in.
In my brief exploration of religious practice, culture and language, I get to see migrant workers from a different perspective. They’re not your two-dimensional manual worker. They’re multi-dimensional, knowledgeable and proud of their faith and culture, yet quick to adapt when parachuted into a foreign country with different languages and names.
More of us should get the chance to spend time with these guys, shooting the breeze.