Henry the survivor - Bangladeshi's battle to bring joy to body and soul.

Words Jill Nicholas

Pictures/video Stephen Parker

Reconciling religion and sexuality has been the conundrum that's tormented Joy Henry Boidya for more than half his life.

Born and raised in Bangladesh where 90 percent of the population are followers of Islam, he was an outlier from before his birth.

Henry was still in his mother's womb when his father was murdered by Muslim extremists. He was killed because of his Christian beliefs. 

The son who never knew him was educated in schools of varying faiths and denominations. One was Muslim run. 

Compounding the religious confusion that dogged him was Henry's subconscious knowledge that he didn’t fit the template of what others considered 'normal'. 

At school he was teased and humiliated but couldn't fathom why. 

Had he had a deeper understanding of the insults being tossed at him a clue lay in their wording. He was frequently called  a "half lady".

In his youthful naivety the taunt passed him by. 

Searching the Bible for answers to the reason he felt 'different'  he was unable to find any that gave him solace. 

The angst continued to plague him into adulthood and ultimately across the world to Aotearoa New Zealand where Henry's struggles for acceptance continued.

This was a country he'd never heard of until it was suggested he study here. 

Compressed into the shell of a very small nut that is the unique life story of a man who shares it in the fervent hope it will, and these are Henry's words: "Inspire others to conquer their self doubt, find the answers they seek and the acceptance and love they deserve." 

He's not being glib. At 48 he's validated each of these objectives, bringing to an end a journey that was seared with pain and bigotry. 

Bunnings pinny, steel capped boots

For the past 13 years he's been "ecstatically" married to his husband, Keith Rimmer. Rotorua has been their home for much of that time. 

They agree it's where they've found the willingness of others to allow them to be themselves as they dare to be different "in the most normal of ways".

It's hard to find anything more "normal" than Henry's workplace.

It's Bunnings. He runs the cafe. Before that the tools department was his domain. 

For the couple the loudest laugh out loud moment in their 12 years together was the first time Henry put on his  Bunnings pinny and steel-capped boots.

What made the sight even funnier was that Henry's previous job had been in the menswear department at Farmers. Sartorial elegance is his personal fashion statement and he's no handyman.

"When I came to Bunnings I'd never held a tool in my life. It was a big learning curve as I became a tool expert. I loved it there but the cafe hours suited better."

Father's gunpoint murder

So that’s the Henry Boidya we meet today. Undisputedly he's the polar opposite of the person who grew up in a country where violence is rife.

It was religious extremism that claimed Henry's father’s life and became the bedrock of the oppression that was to haunt his then unborn son.

Henry doesn't soft pedal on the facts that led to his father’s gunpoint murder.  

"He was a Christian living in a Muslim country where you don't know what’s around the corner. 

"My parents, two sisters and brother lived in a village run by an Australian Baptist mission. When the missionaries left my father became the head figure.

"Men were coming to the village to rape the women. Dad said 'We have to protect them'."

His decree made him public enemy number one.

"One night these men ordered his best friend to get him out of the house. My mother said 'Don't go'. He told her not to worry because he would be with his best friend. They never saw him alive again.

"Three days later my mother and elder sister found his  decomposing body in a rice paddy. They dragged him back to the village to bury him.

"I was born three and a half months later."

Victimisation continues

Horrific as their patriarch’s murder was the family's victimisation continued. 

At that time in Bangladesh widows were considered outcasts.

"No one wanted to associate with a widow, they were like lepers," Henry says.

"They were seen as the bringers of bad luck. They were  excluded from weddings in case they ruined the couple's future.

"When I was seven months old my mother had to leave us with our grandmother and find work. In Dhaka she got a job in an Assembly of God orphanage. She sent money home to help look after us."

Henry was not yet four when he was accepted into a Seventh Day Adventist boarding school.

Eight years there were followed by time at a Catholic  College. Ironically, his schooldays were rounded off at a Muslim school.

Urged by his mother to become a doctor, he took physics and biology in his final school year but they weren’t Henry's "thing". 

Commercial subjects were. He switched to them, supporting himself with a receptionist's job at a German organisation that built cyclone shelters.

He graduated with Bachelor and Master of Commerce degrees from the Tejgaon College, a division of the University of Dhaka.

He paid his way by working in a bank.

Questions go unanswered

Throughout this time he was unable to find solace in any church.

"The more I sought answers the more questions I had."

When his landlord suggested New Zealand would be a good place to study for his MBA, Henry naively believed the complexities that dominated his life would be solved.

He was to discover that, if anything, they worsened.

"Through my brother who is an IT guru in America I got the chance to study at Waikato University.

"I came here in 2002. For the first three months I learnt English at Wintec. I had no English at all. I only spoke Bengali." 

He joined a Protestant Christian church. 

"I was still trying to find out about my sexuality. I was trying to test God asking why he created me this way but God never answered."

He was made a team leader and began his quest to unravel religion's complexities

University plans were shelved in favour of missionary training at an interdenominational bible college.

Diary found, sexuality unmasked

For his first summer vacation he headed to a religious retreat in Sydney. It was run by the Evangelical Sisterhood of Mary.

"Much of the time was spent in prayer. I was still trying to find out about my sexuality.

"As a Seventh Day Adventist I grew up knowing you couldn’t be gay.

"In Bangladesh homosexuality is a taboo subject. It is never talked about.

"In Sydney I wanted to make sure I was on the right path with God."

Henry's confidence that he would finally find the answer was smashed to smithereens when the sisterhood's leader received an email from his missionary college. 

"It said my room-mate had found my diary. He'd read it and run to the principal saying 'I think Henry is gay'.

"The email said I couldn’t return if I didn’t confess and repent.

"I was really, really shocked. I was thinking 'Oh my gosh, what is going to happen now?'.

"I couldn’t eat, I couldn't sleep. My whole world had collapsed around me.

"Looking back I think God planned this to show me a way forward."

Henry returned to Hamilton a quivering wreck.  

"The college kicked me out. All my things were out on the lawn. I wasn't allowed to go inside."

Bangladesh return

Shattered and demoralised he headed for Auckland where the only person he knew was a South Korean who'd spent time in Bangladesh and had met his mother.

"He said he was at the Laidlaw Bible College and I could live there until I found somewhere else."

"Somewhere else" was a Bible college in Howick where he studied advanced Christian theology.

In 2005 he returned to Bangladesh, setting up a home-based church in Dhaka. 

"The congregation was small, no more than 14 or 15. We were helping children with their education, doing social work, not just preaching the gospel. 

"Then trouble started to come close. People would pretend they wanted to know about Christianity but they really wanted to trap me. They were accusing me of converting people to Christianity.

"My mother found out. She pleaded with me to leave the country.

She said 'I lost my husband, I don't want to lose my son'."

Bold move inches open closet door

Back in Auckland and teaching English to street kids Henry joined a fundamentalist church. Its strict doctrine damned homosexuals. Henry's hope was that this creed would eradicate his innermost guilt. 

Eventually he made a bold move.

He inched open the door of the closet he'd locked himself into for so long and began making contact with men on line. One of those men was Keith Rimmer.  

"He had separated from a lady he'd been married to for 26 years. We started to see each other. 

"At the end of 2012 we ran away to Wellington. We were feeling batted and bruised because we were gay."

Their "togetherness" didn’t have smooth beginnings. Henry's Auckland church launched a witch hunt to track him down. It included calls to Parliament, based on the knowledge that Henry had volunteered in a National MP's electorate office.

 The new twosome unintentionally outed their whereabouts  when they advertised for a housemate.

 "The ad stated 'Gay couple looking for boarder'.  That gave us away. 

"A church elder messaged me demanding that if I didn’t repent they'd excommunicate me and strip me of my position. 

"I had been a deacon and was financial controller of their early childhood centre.

"I resigned. We drove through the night to return the keys in the dark.

"We were terrified of being seen. It was like we were just scum. They made us feel so unclean, sinful."

Church rejection  

Before they left Auckland a respected theologian with  rainbow community connections suggested a Wellington church where he believed the now openly gay couple would find compassion. He was wrong.

"At the end of the first service we attended the assistant minister said 'You are not welcome here'.

"We were both broken-hearted that this church was not accepting of us.

"Keith said he wasn't going to church any more. I said 'God never gives up'."

Henry didn’t give up ether. 

"I called the Presbyterian church St Andrews on the Terrace. 

"It was a progressive church. The woman minister said we were most welcome. The people were so loving and caring.

"They embraced us when nobody else would. I cried for weeks after so many years of rejection."

Rotorua 'Gaycation' proposal 

St Andrew's is where the couple married.

"It was a huge celebration, the whole church community came." 

They'd become engaged in Rotorua during a "gaycation" break from the capital.

Once married, the decision was made that Rotorua would be the place they wanted to call home.

But the first church they attended fuelled a disconcerting sense of deja vu.

"It was made plain we were not the right sort of people for them."

Acceptance - finally  

An approach to St Luke's Anglican church brought an assurance the congregation would be happy to have them.  

"The then vicar said 'If people don't like it tell them to come and see me'."

Both became church office holders. Keith was the vicar's warden and oversaw the op shop. Henry was appointed parish treasurer. 

In 2022 they switched to St Faith's. Henry is the management board's co-treasurer.

The pair speak in unison when they say in Rotorua they have finally found acceptance. Both have become steeped in the community. Henry's presently studying to become a Justice of the Peace.  

It is Keith who says: "We have grown so much in ourselves here. It doesn’t bother us any more to be different or what people think. 

"We are very comfortable now in our own skins. We have nothing to hide, no shame.

"We open up our home to all kinds of people. We advertise it as 'a non-judgemental, safe place to be'."

Henry is unequivocal that he's finally at peace with his tumultuous past.

"I am happy here. I've never experienced any outright  religious or sexual discrimination in Rotorua.

"Yes, my life's journey has been one of struggle and self discovery. It has not been easy.

"I am Henry the survivor. I still believe in God.

"God created me this way. He has absolute power to create how he likes. He loves me."