No homes, no hope: The lives of Dhaka’s ‘floating population’

Under the dim glow of a streetlight near Osmani Uddyan, 54-year-old Rafizul Haque folds a sheet of polythene over himself and his wife to prepare for "bed". His home is a small section of the footpath, and his shelter is whatever plastic he can gather during the day. 

"I lost everything — my land, my house, even the river did not spare me," he says quietly. "I stayed on government land for a while, but local leaders forced me out. I had no choice but to come to Dhaka. Now, the footpath is my home."

Rafizul's story is one of many. Once a land-owning farmer in Patuakhali, he lost everything to river erosion nearly a decade ago, a fate faced by thousands across Bangladesh amid intensifying climate change. 

After being evicted from temporary housing in his village and later from a slum in Mirpur when he could no longer pay the rent, he settled on the streets. By day, he collects paper to sell. By night, he builds and tears down his plastic hut, repeating the same ritual every day.

Amidst Dhaka's shiny billboards, rising overpasses, and lavish metro, a grim parallel city grows silently. This city lies beneath bridges, along train tracks, in parks, near shrines, and on the edges of footpaths — made up of thousands who drift through life without a fixed address. 

Known as the "floating population," these people are rendered invisible in public policy, yet they are everywhere. According to the Population and Housing Census 2022 report, 22,185 people are homeless in Bangladesh. Estimates suggest that in Dhaka alone, between 10,000 to 15,000 homeless people live on the streets, a figure that has risen steadily in recent years.

Many of them, like Rafizul, are victims of natural disasters — river erosion, flooding and storms that have swept away their homes. 

Others, like Zulekha near Kamalapur railway station, are refugees from domestic abuse or personal tragedy. Zulekha came from Mymensingh after losing her parents in a road accident. 

Initially, she worked as a domestic helper and later married a rickshaw puller. But when her husband became violent and abandoned her after the birth of their daughter, she found herself living on the street. "I survive by begging and doing porter work," she says. "Sometimes I sleep inside the station, sometimes outside."

Where the footpaths become bedrooms

A walk through Dhaka after sundown paints a haunting yet overlooked portrait of urban despair. By 8pm, the areas surrounding the National Stadium, Gulistan shrine, Rajuk Bhaban, Osmani Uddyan and many other places begin to transform. 

The bustling daytime chaos gives way to a somber stillness as pavements, building entrances, and park edges fill with human figures lying on sheets of newspaper, cardboard or worn-out plastic. Some have already drifted into a restless sleep, while others sit quietly, their eyes fixed on the night sky as if searching for something they've long stopped expecting.

In hidden corners, small groups huddle together, inhaling glue or smoking marijuana — their only escape from the hunger that defines their days. The vacant expressions in their eyes speak volumes about lives suspended in limbo, shaped by poverty, rejection, and survival. 

A few kilometres away, Karwan Bazar presents a different rhythm of desperation. About 2,000 people — mostly day labourers and waste pickers — sleep near the wholesale market every night. 

After a long day of grueling, informal labour, hauling heavy sacks, pushing wooden carts, or sorting through the city's mountains of garbage, they seek out whatever corner of shelter they can find. 

Beneath stationary vans, beside railway lines, along traffic islands, or behind loading docks, they curl up on the bare concrete, snatching a few hours of sleep before dawn breaks and the struggle begins anew. For many, work is not a path to progress but a way to survive another day; shelter is not a right, but something borrowed from the pavement.

The pattern repeats across the city. In Kamalapur Railway Station, entire families camp on the platforms or in nearby alleys, hoping to stay unnoticed by police. They sleep in shifts, guarding what few belongings they have. The constant movement of trains offers background noise to nights spent in tension, especially for children and women, who face the added risk of harassment and violence.

Sadarghat, the city's river terminal, is another hub where the homeless gather in droves. During the day, many of them work as porters, boatmen, or hawkers. At night, the steps of the terminal, the dark corners of jetties, and the banks of the Buriganga become their bedroom. The air smells of sweat, river water and despair — a reminder of lives lived on the margins of one of the world's most densely populated cities.

Lost childhoods 

Selim, a boy of about nine or 10, is one of the countless children who have known no home but the streets of Dhaka. 

"I used to stay near the Gulistan Shaheed Matiur Park before the metro rail office was built. Now I sleep under the bridge," he says. "I collect paper during the day. If I get food, I eat. If not, I steal. I get beaten often, even by the police. Sometimes they let me go."

Photo: Mehedi Hasan

According to the Survey on Street Children 2022 by Unicef and the Bangladesh Bureau of Statistics (BBS), more than half (52%) of Dhaka's street children sleep in slums, with others scattered in terminals, parks, stations, or pavements. About 63% of street children have witnessed abuse or harassment. 

Addiction is a critical and heartbreaking issue among street children as well. Some 24% of Dhaka's street children smoke cigarettes while 12% take drugs. 'Dandy' (glue-sniffing) is used to suppress hunger and dull pain. 

In Bahadur Shah Park, Rafin was found inhaling glue from a paper-wrapped bag. "It makes me high. Then I don't feel hungry," he explained. "A Tk50 glue can last three days. If I had money, I'd eat rice instead. But Tk50 won't buy me three meals."

That's not all. A more silent crisis unfolds in the form of mental illness. Street children are especially vulnerable to depression, trauma, and anxiety disorders. Many have witnessed violence, experienced assault, or lost family members. Without family care or institutional support, they are left to internalise the suffering.