Home / Our Female Ambassador In Bangladesh – Samia Islam Farzana
Student of Titumir Govt. College
The sun paused in its golden path, the moon held her breath, and even the stars leaned in — as if the universe itself turned its gaze toward one soul: Samia Islam Farzana. We believe the Heavenly Father smiled upon her long before this moment, whispering to the cosmos, “This one is meant for something extraordinary.” And so, she was offered a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity — the kind every human, regardless of race, age, or faith, silently hopes for. But this was no ordinary chance. It was powerful, divine, life-altering. Samia didn’t just accept it — she embraced it with courage and grace, transforming not only her own life but also uplifting her family and shaping a future full of purpose.
Her story is more than a journey — it’s an awakening. We invite you to read on and discover how Samia stepped boldly into her destiny, how she turned a rare gift into lasting success. She nurtured it, lived it, and honored it with deep gratitude. Through every step, she gave thanks to the One who opened the door, her heart always lifted in faith. Her success is not just seen in achievements, but in the grace with which she walks the path she was meant for.
Samia Islam Farzana during her interview with SISP
Samia Islam honest face, her simple words, and her straightforward promises touched something deep within us. As a young Muslim woman, raised in a Muslim country by Muslim parents, she carried herself with a sense of sincerity and moral clarity that made it easy to believe in her. We trusted her—not just because of what she said, but because of what she seemed to represent: humility, faith, and integrity. And with that trust, and in the name of God, we offered her the greatest opportunity of her life—one that many could only dream of.
Samia Islam Farzana thanking the founder of SISP for opening a saving account for her mother and her sister and depositing money monthly to that account to secure their future.
Samia Islam Farzana struggled with her daily responsibilities. Not a day passed without some form of disappointment. Yet, despite the setbacks, we held her dearly in our hearts—cherishing her not just as a team member, but as someone we treated with more love and care than even our own family.
Our hope was not small. We dreamed of seeing her rise—of helping her become a shining example of what a young, faithful Muslim woman could achieve with the right support. And for that dream, we gave more than anyone could imagine.
To protect her family’s future, we went beyond words—we acted. Within days, we opened a savings account in the name of her mother and her 10-year-old sister, Muskan. We began depositing 3,000 Taka each month for her mother, and another 3,000 Taka for little Muskan—quietly, humbly, with only one request: “Please do not touch this money unless there is a true emergency.” It was meant to be their safety net, a foundation for dignity and peace.
To ensure transparency, we assigned two of our own Bangladeshi students—both members of our work-study team and close friends of Samia—to check the bank account each month and confirm the funds were added properly.
When her mother learned what we had done, she was speechless. Her eyes filled with disbelief and gratitude. She stood in quiet shock—unable to comprehend the depth of kindness that had come, not from blood relatives, but from strangers with nothing to gain.
We didn’t do it for praise. We did it because to support Samia and her family. We believed in her future. And in helping her, we felt we were fulfilling something sacred.
Jannatul Ferdous Fareha, sister of Samia Islam Farzana expressed her grattitude of the SISP founder for sending her an Oral-B electric toothbrush — SOmething she had always dreamed of and now fully owns.
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Some time later, we received a handwritten letter from Samia’s mother—a heartfelt note we believe was written with Samia’s help. In it, her mother poured out her gratitude with touching sincerity. She thanked us for supporting her family in ways she never imagined possible. But more than anything, she expressed how deeply grateful she was for what we were doing for her daughter, Samia—for giving her hope, for securing her future, and for treating her not as an outsider, but as someone worth believing in.
The words, though simple, carried the weight of a mother’s love and a family’s quiet prayer finally being answered. We read the letter with full hearts, humbled and honored, believing that all our efforts had been seen—not just by a struggling mother, but by God Himself.
Even if the letter was written by Samia’s hand, it still reflected a truth we thought was shared between us: a bond of trust, of care, and of shared purpose.
Samia Islam Farzana’s Mother Watching Installation of AC in their home
We loved Samia Islam Farzana with a love that was pure, rare, and beyond anything words can fully capture.
From the moment she stepped into our lives, she carried a quiet sorrow — always whispering, “I am no one,” as if she truly believed it specially after each mistake she was making daily in her job with us. But we saw her. We saw her heart. Her resilience. Her potential just to be a right person on the right place at the right time to be rise. And in that moment, we made an unspoken promise: to lift her from ashes to the sky — to turn her from “no one” into someone unforgettable.
We opened the gates of heaven for Samia — in a way we have never done for anyone before, and will never do again.
We gave her the job she dreamed of. We trained her. We nurtured her like family. But it didn’t stop there. Samia confided in us, in a moment of raw honesty, about the unbearable summer heat in Bangladesh. Temperatures soaring above 100 degrees. The way her family — her sick father and mother — suffered inside their apartment that felt like a furnace. She spoke of how having an air conditioner was a dream, a luxury reserved only for the fortunate few. Her mother, she said, had long dreamed of it — not just for comfort, but for the dignity of a peaceful life. She said she wish to work in place with an AC at least during the day
She didn’t ask us for anything. She did not force us. But we heard her — deeply and clearly. A human being, quietly crying out for something we had the power to give. It wasn’t our responsibility. It wasn’t our obligation. But it became our mission.
And so, we did the unimaginable.
We gifted Samia something no one else had ever received from us — and no one else ever will. We provided her with 75,000 Taka, so she could buy the best air conditioning unit available and have it installed in her apartment — not just for herself, but for her entire family. As her workplace improved, so did her home. Her life. Her spirit.
That moment — that one act — changed everything.
We still remember the joy on her face, the spark in her eyes, the way her voice trembled with gratitude. And in the video, her mother’s smile shines with a warmth that words cannot match. You see three men installing that AC unit — but what you’re really seeing is a dream being made real, a family finally breathing freely.
Samia later told us, “From that day, our lives became something we never thought possible.” For the first time, they felt comfort. Security. They felt what it meant to be truly seen and supported. She said no one — not in her past, not in her entire world — had ever done anything like this for them.
And we did it. Out of love.
Not just for who she was — but for who we believed she could become.
We will never forget her. Because when you give someone everything — when you turn dreams into reality with your own hands — that love becomes eternal. We spent about 76,000 Taka to bring a dream of a young Muslim girl and her family to reality and we classified the AC unit as work and business equipments.
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Like any young girl, Samia Islam Farzana had dreams — simple, innocent dreams that whispered of joy and belonging. One of those dreams was a phone she could call her own — not just a tool, but a piece of dignity in her hands.
At the time, Samia used a secondhand phone she had bought for 8,000 Taka. It worked, but just barely. It didn’t reflect the brilliance we saw in her — it didn’t match the potential we were helping her grow into.
So we did what we had never done for anyone before.
First, we bought her a brand-new phone for 12,000 Taka — something practical and useful for her growing role in our business. But that wasn’t enough. Her dreams were bigger, and our love for her went deeper.
We wanted her to feel, beyond all doubt, that someone on this vast planet cared about her — believed in her. So, from across the world, we sent her something extraordinary: a top-of-the-line Samsung Galaxy Z Fold, one of the most advanced and luxurious phones in the world. A phone that even many in the United States can only dream of owning. It cost us $1,800 — nearly 220,000 Taka.
It wasn’t just a phone. It was a symbol.
A symbol of how far she had come. A symbol of the life we were building for her — from the bottom to the very top. We wanted her to walk with pride, to hold that phone and feel powerful, seen, and loved.
And when she received it, the moment was unforgettable.
She was stunned. Speechless. And in the quiet of her amazement, we saw something beautiful — her eyes welled up with tears, and so did ours.
Because sometimes, love is not in the words spoken, but in the silent moments when someone realizes: I matter. I am loved. I am not alone.
That’s what we gave Samia. Not just a phone. Not just support. But the deepest kind of love — the kind that says: you are worth everything. We also paid over $100 to ship the phone to her. Not only that we also paid the custom fee that Samia claim their government collect from her to release the phone, yes we also paid that fee too.Our founder, the heart behind all of this, showed Samia a love so rare, so absolute, that it cannot be measured in money or material things. This was a love rooted in faith, in kindness, and in the hope that one young woman’s life could be transformed forever.
And let it be said clearly:
This had never happened before.
Not for anyone.
And it will never happen again.
Because what we gave Samia was sacred. A one-time, once-in-a-lifetime devotion.
We believed in her more than she believed in herself.
We lifted her from shadows into light.
We turned her whispered dreams into living truth.
And through it all, she knew — someone, somewhere in this world, loved her that deeply.
Jannatul Ferdous Fareha betrayed us—and with that betrayal, she buried the love, trust, and friendship we built around her.
The pain she left behind is something words can barely capture. She was an 18-year-old girl whom we had embraced like family—supported her, protected her, gave her strength when she had none. We stood by her and her family through every hardship. We provided her with tools, technology, and encouragement to rise, to become someone she could be proud of. We believed in her future.
But then—suddenly, without warning—she disappeared. She fled her home, taking with her not only our money, but our computers, phones, and even the personal belongings of her own family members. She left behind a letter that was as confusing as it was heartbreaking—a strange, emotionally violent message that offered no real explanation, only devastation.
She tore apart the very foundation we had built together. In the days that followed, we could not eat, sleep, or think straight. Our work stopped. Our hearts were paralyzed.
Jannatul Ferdous Fareha family was shattered. Her father suffered a heart attack from the shock. Her mother fell into deep depression, unable to make sense of her daughter’s choices. Her siblings were left speechless, frozen in a chaos none of them deserved. We were all drowning in silence.
To make matters worse, she took three laptops—equipment critical to our daily work—belonging to her sister Samia, who depended on them for her livelihood. She erased all our digital communication channels—deleting our Telegram and WhatsApp groups, cutting our team off from each other in a moment of critical need. For several days, we were completely disconnected, isolated not just from Jannatul Ferdous Fareha, but from one another.
We sent our agent to the family home to investigate what had happened. He confirmed our worst fears: Jannatul Ferdous Fareha was gone, and what she left behind was not just missing property—it was broken trust, scattered lives, and a home that no longer felt like a home.
The situation was—and still is—strange, violent in spirit, and utterly devastating. No one can understand how or why she did what she did. But what remains is a sense of betrayal that runs deeper than words.
The video above captures a heartbreaking moment—a moment that none of us were prepared for.
It shows our ambassador, Samia Islam Farzana, in a state of raw desperation following the sudden and shocking disappearance of her sister, Jannatul Ferdous Fareha. Beside her stands our second ambassador in Bangladesh, Md. Shahed Anwar Shadhin, present at the scene and doing his best to assist with the unfolding investigation.
But nothing could prepare us for what we witnessed.
It was a strange and painful situation—one that left us all emotionally shattered. We were confused, heartbroken, and lost. Samia, overwhelmed by grief, stood silently as tears streamed down her face. Watching her broke something inside us. It wasn’t just her pain—it was a reflection of all our pain. The kind that sinks deep into your soul and leaves you speechless.
And yet, for her comfort—for her fragile heart—we swallowed our sorrow, held our tears, and stood beside her in silence. We carried our grief privately, choosing strength when all we felt was helplessness.
No words can fully describe that moment. But what’s clear is this: we were not just dealing with a disappearance—we were dealing with a devastation that touched every part of our shared mission, our relationships, and our hearts.
On December 1, 2024, Jannatul Ferdous Fareha disappeared without warning, leaving her family and community in a state of panic and despair. Her loved ones, desperate for help, rushed to file a missing persons report with the Dhaka Metropolitan Police. But what they were told left them stunned: since Fareha had just turned 18, she was now legally an adult—and therefore, the authorities refused to launch a search or investigation. No alerts. No follow-up. Just devastating silence. The emotional impact was immediate and severe. Fareha’s father, overwhelmed by the shock, suffered a heart attack and was urgently hospitalized. Her mother and sisters broke down, their world crumbling around them. What was once a fragile household became a scene of unbearable grief and confusion. Our hearts broke with theirs. We had stood beside Jannatul Ferdous Fareha through difficult times, offering support and guidance. Her sudden disappearance sent waves of sorrow through all of us—leaving behind questions with no answers, and a community in mourning. But amid the darkness, we responded with compassion. Rather than turning away, we clung to faith and humanity. We prayed relentlessly—for Fareha’s safety, for her family’s healing, and for clarity to emerge from the silence. In their time of suffering, we gave even more—through emotional support, financial help, and unwavering solidarity. Because even when trust is shaken, and hope is thin—we choose to believe in light. We choose to believe that somewhere, good still lives in this story.
Life for Samia and Her Family After Fareha Robbed Us All
After Fareha’s sudden betrayal—when she stole from her own family, from us, and from the mission we were building together—everything around Samia collapsed.
Her family fell into devastation. Her father, overwhelmed by the shock and pain, suffered a severe health crisis and was hospitalized. Her mother, a true Muslim humble and kind woman, who was praying to God five times a day was utterly broken—confused and heart-shattered by the unthinkable actions of her 18-year-old daughter. A daughter whom everyone believed to be a quiet, studious girl. According to Samia and her mother, Fareha had never had a boyfriend, never even talked to boys. Her sudden disappearance with a man, along with the theft of our money and equipment equipment, felt like a nightmare no one could wake up from.
Samia was crushed—not only emotionally, but professionally and spiritually. She didn’t just lose a sister that day—she lost her sense of safety, stability, and reputation. According Samia Fareha had taken 200,000 Taka in cash from her mother which was entire mother life saving, three laptops of us, and two smartphones valued over 190,000 Taka from our equipment and her own mother and father cellphones too most of which were the lifeblood of Samia’s work. Fareha also tool about 195,000 Taka of our money from bank. Worse still, Fareha erased every digital trace of our organization’s communication—deleting our WhatsApp and Telegram groups and cutting off the entire team for several days.
With the stolen files and disrupted communication, Samia faced the unimaginable: the threat of being sued, blamed, and fired. Any other organization in our position might have immediately terminated her contract, demanded repayment, and walked away. She stood on the edge of losing everything—her job, her income, her dignity.
But we couldn’t do it.
Our hearts didn’t let us abandon a young Muslim woman who was, herself, the victim of her own sister’s crimes. We had seen Samia grow. We had helped shape her path. And we knew—we could feel—what would happen if we turned our backs on her now. She had lost her sister. She nearly lost her father. Her family was broken, isolated, and without support. Aside from the small savings we had placed in her and her mother’s account, they had nothing.
So instead of burying her, we lifted her.
We stood by her side, stronger than ever. We increased our monthly support to her family from 6,000 Taka to 9,000 Taka, deposited directly into her mother and younger sister Muskan’s savings account. We created a plan for the family to experience life again—to go out twice a month for lunch, a movie, or ice cream together, something they had never done in over a decade due to their father’s strict and troubled lifestyle.
We worked to help her father, who had been struggling with alcohol and drugs for over 20 years, find a path to sobriety—to create a home that finally felt safe and whole.
There were days we put 10,000 Taka in an envelope just to place it in her mother’s hands—not as charity, but as love. We wanted her to feel that someone—thousands of kilometers away—cared for her, respected her, believed in her family, and stood by them.
We bought them gifts, sent them to shopping in Bangladesh, and even from here in the U.S., sent boxes of love, just like we had done in the past—thousands of dollars worth—because our connection with them was not built on convenience, but compassion.
Samia wrote us many letters—full of gratitude, full of tears. Her mother, too. They couldn’t believe they weren’t alone. And neither could we.
At the end of it all, we thanked Allah for guiding us. We didn’t let a family fall apart. We didn’t let pain erase a future. We chose mercy over judgment, and in doing so, we saved more than just one life—we saved a legacy of hope.
This is our mission.
This is why we are in Bangladesh.
A gate of hope to the future.
We cared for Samia Islam Farzana as if she were our own—perhaps even more. From over 8,000 miles away, we did things for her that few would do even for a family member, let alone someone in another country. Especially in a place like Bangladesh, where resources are scarce and trust is fragile, we gave with open hearts and no conditions.
When Samia said she was unwell, we responded not with words, but with action.
The image above shows the beautiful bouquet of flowers we sent to her—not through a delivery service, but through one of our most trusted ambassadors, Shahed Anwar Shadhin, who traveled nearly 30 kilometers to hand-deliver them to her home. But we didn’t stop there.
He brought her to the store and told her, “Choose anything you want.”
He bought her fresh, nutrient-rich food, juices, fruits, vitamin-packed groceries, cakes, cookies, and yes—ice cream. Not because we had to. Because our hearts felt full knowing we were comforting a young, sick Muslim girl who we believed had endured enough pain.
She had just lost her younger sister, Jannatul Ferdous Fareha, in a devastating betrayal—when Fareha vanished after scamming and robbing us. We thought Samia’s wounds were fresh, and that she was still grieving. That made us love her more. We poured ourselves into helping her heal, not realizing what we are dealing with and what will happen next.
We gave her comfort.
We gave her dignity.
We gave her our trust, our support, our money, our time—and most tragically, our love.
We did something for Samia Islam Farzana and her family that we had never done for anyone before—and will never do again. From across the world, from our life in the United States, we sent them boxes overflowing with love, care, and sacrifice.
Each package was filled with Hawaiian T-shirts, branded shoes for Samia, Fareha, Muskan, and their mother, makeup products for every woman in the family, Hawaiian chocolates, delicate island jewelry, and even a watch for her father. We also sent Oral-B electronic toothbrushes so they could care for their health the way we cared for them. These were not casual gifts—these were things they never dreamed of having, chosen to make them feel seen, special, and worthy.
But what most people don’t know is this: each box cost over $220 just to mail.
That’s not including the time it took—days spent shopping, a full day packing, another day mailing, and then finally paying over $220 per shipment just to get these gifts to them. I have never done this for my own family. I’ve never even imagined it. But I believed this was the right thing—to open the doors of Heaven for one family in a poor country, to let them feel what love and dignity could look like.
And then, when the boxes arrived, Samia told us the Bangladeshi post office demanded customs fees. And so, after buying everything, packing it, mailing it—we also paid her local customs charges just to make sure the gifts we sent with love would reach their hands without burden. We completed the kindness from our side and theirs.
We gave them everything.
The doors of Heaven were opened wide for them.
The images above show just two of the many apology letters Samia Islam Farzana sent us. In truth, she wrote over 30 letters to our founder, and more than 100 messages to other staff members she worked with.
From the very beginning, her work was filled with constant, serious mistakes—the kind that would have led to termination within a week in any professional environment. But we didn’t fire her.
Why?
Because we loved her. We cared about her broken family, her struggling mother, her little sister Muskan. We knew losing this job could destroy the only support system they had. So we endured the pain, carried her mistakes, and bled quietly—hoping she would rise.
We believed we were helping a young, honest Muslim girl rise from poverty and hardship to dignity and success. We dreamed of showing the world what compassion can achieve—lifting one forgotten family in Bangladesh and honoring their struggle.
But we kept asking: Why so many mistakes?
Why so often?
Then… we discovered the truth.
A dark secret that explained it all.
Her apologies were not from remorse.
They were disguises—meant to cover a far more deliberate and calculated betrayal.
A Glimpse into Grace: What Samia Islam Farzana Received in Her Final Month with SISP
The financial statement above reflects not just numbers—it reflects a moment in time when the doors of heaven were opened for a young Muslim woman and her family.
In her previous job, Samia Islam Farzana earned 15,000 Taka per month, working six days a week. Her daily routine was exhausting: leaving home at 7:00 a.m., enduring two hours each way on crowded, polluted buses, and returning as late as 8:00 p.m. This left her with barely any time for her family, her health, or her peace of mind. According to her own account, 3,000 to 4,000 Taka went toward transportation alone—leaving her with around 11,000 Taka each month for everything else.
Then came a turning point. By the will of Allah, her life changed.
We took her out of the ash and chaos of Dhaka’s streets, and gave her something rare and beautiful: a peaceful, dignified role from home, working alongside one of the kindest souls she ever knew—the founder of SISP.
The numbers speak for themselves. While her official monthly salary was around 21,000 Taka, Samia received nearly 100,000 Taka in her final month alone. More than 20 separate payments were made to her just in that one month—many of which we recall clearly, and all of which can be verified through our bank records and hers.
But this was not just a financial blessing. It was a divine intervention in her life.
She no longer needed to travel four hours through filth and traffic. She worked from the comfort of her own home, next to her mother, eating warm, healthy meals, surrounded by love. Instead of suffering in the heat, she worked under the cool air of an air conditioner we installed in her home for 78,000 Taka. She had time to teach her younger sister, to reflect, to heal, and even to tutor a neighborhood child for 2,000 Taka—though she didn’t need the money.
She was not just earning. She was flourishing.
She was not just employed. She was leading.
She wasn’t just supported—she was supporting others.
In fact, during that final month, Samia was the one paying other team members, acting as a trusted peer leader within the SISP project.
It was a life of honor, faith, family, and freedom—a dream job by any standard, and certainly a miracle in the context of Bangladesh. Few in the country ever experience this kind of transformation. But she did, because God placed the right opportunity in her path, and we responded with open hands and open hearts.
What more can a human ask from their Creator?
Samia Islam Farzana was living in heaven—right beside her family.
And it was not a fantasy. It was real, verified, and documented.
She had everything—because Allah gave her everything through SISP.
And all of it… in just one single month.
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