Mahbubur Rahman: An Imam’s mission to clean up his village

Mahbubur Rahman. Photo: Courtesy

Mahbubur Rahman still remembers the first sermon he gave about hygiene. Standing before a packed congregation in his village mosque, he spoke not of sin or salvation, but of soap and sanitation. Some men exchanged puzzled glances. Others laughed quietly. But Mahbubur stood firm—he knew the power of words spoken from the pulpit.

He was only twenty-four then, newly appointed as the imam of a small mosque in Rampal, Bagerhat. His faith had taught him that cleanliness was half of belief. Now, he wanted to turn that teaching into action.

Mahbubur grew up in a quiet corner of southern Bangladesh, in a family better off than most. His parents were respected and charitable, often giving food and money to neighbours after floods or cyclones. From them, he learnt that faith meant service.

Bagerhat was different then. The roads were mostly dirt, electricity was rare, and clean water was a luxury. Cholera and diarrhoea swept through the villages every year. Most families shared ponds for bathing and washing, unaware that the same water carried disease.

"I could eat four times a day if I wanted," Mahbubur often says, "but many of my neighbours could barely manage one. That didn't sit well with me."

Over the years, Mahbubur became known as more than a cleric—he became a bridge between the mosque and the community. He brought together imams, doctors, and NGOs to coordinate efforts against cholera and typhoid. He organised training sessions on small business development so families could earn more and afford sanitation.

His childhood dream was to become an imam—a man people trusted and turned to. He studied at a madrasa, then earned admission to a prominent Islamic school in Dhaka. For a boy from Bagerhat, it felt like a calling. Years later, he returned home to lead his community, determined to use his voice for more than prayer.

That opportunity arrived when Brac launched its Water, Sanitation and Hygiene (WASH) project in his area. Few homes had toilets or handwashing stations. Contaminated ponds and tube wells made diseases commonplace. When Brac sought local partners to lead the campaign, Mahbubur volunteered immediately.

He joined the committee as its youngest member, but his conviction soon made him its president. The villagers trusted his sincerity—and his sermons. He began weaving lessons on hygiene into his Friday prayers, urging people to wash their hands not just for ablution, but before eating and after using the toilet.

"When the imam speaks, people listen," he often tells others. "If I can use that voice to save lives, then that too is a form of worship."

Together with Brac staff, Mahbubur helped identify families living in extreme poverty who needed toilets the most. He led rallies, distributed leaflets, and persuaded local officials to install tube wells and washing stations at key points. For him, every new latrine was a small victory—a step toward dignity and health.

But change was not easy. Some conservative villagers whispered that his focus on sanitation was a distraction from religion. Others mocked him for talking about toilets in sermons. Even his father was warned that Mahbubur was wasting time.

Mahbubur Rahman. Photo: Courtesy

He kept going. When sickness declined and children stopped falling ill so often, the same critics came forward to help. The scepticism turned into support, and faith found new meaning in clean water and safe hands.

Over the years, Mahbubur became known as more than a cleric—he became a bridge between the mosque and the community. He brought together imams, doctors, and NGOs to coordinate efforts against cholera and typhoid. He organised training sessions on small business development so families could earn more and afford sanitation.

"Faith alone cannot fill a stomach," he says. "But it can teach us to care for others who are hungry."

Today, at forty, Mahbubur still lives in Rampal, his work stretching far beyond the mosque walls. He helps monitor hygiene facilities across the sub-district, collaborates with the union council, and continues to mentor younger imams who now echo his message in their own villages.

Sometimes, when he unlocks the door to the union council office—the keys handed to him in recognition of his service—he remembers the boy who once dreamed only of preaching. That dream, he realises, came true in ways he never imagined.

"People trusted me with their faith first," he reflects. "Then they trusted me with their health. That trust is my biggest reward."

Through his sermons, committees and quiet persistence, Mahbubur Rahman turned belief into action. In a place once marked by disease, he helped restore both cleanliness and faith.