As I quietly follow Mohammad Kaiser Azad across the snowy ground he gently greets his daughter by calling ‘Pappa koi’ (“Where is papa?”, in his native Bengali).
He has been greeting her this way since she was in his wife’s belly for nine-and-a-half months of 2024, so he hopes his voice is a comforting sound to her. But now, we’re standing in the calm stillness of Skellefteå cemetery. His daughter, Jannatul Dua Azad, is buried here. She died after less than three hours of life.
I’ve followed Azad to the cemetery after our interview and photographs, which took place in the apartment he shares with his wife, Sanjida Yasmin. Sanjida greeted me, but her grief was still too raw, so Azad told me their story.
Azad and Sanjida moved from Bangladesh to Stockholm in 2020 for Azad to pursue his master’s degree in computer and system science at Stockholm University. Azad’s elder sister and brother-in-law were already settled there, so they were able to live with them. During this time Sanjida, a doctor, was travelling back and forth to complete her internship in Bangladesh.
Azad, now 31, gained a work permit and started working in Stockholm, whilst Sanjida completed her SFI studies and started work as a home care assistant.
– The government shortened the work permit length and raised the minimum salary threshold, so I was forced to find another job that paid more money, says Azad.
A successful job application for a manufacturing associate role at Northvolt led the couple to Skellefteå in January 2024. At the time they moved, Sanjida, also 31, was in the early stages of her pregnancy.
– When we came to Skellefteå we had a good family friend already living here. He made our life easier by introducing us to people. Life in Skellefteå is very calm and peaceful, something that I have always dreamed of. We were preparing ourselves to welcome our first child here, says Azad.
On hearing the news of Sanjida’s pregnancy, the Northvolt relocation team immediately arranged accommodation for the couple in Kåge. It’s evident that Azad is grateful for the help Northvolt provided.
Sanjida’s pregnancy was without complications; she was fit and healthy and her scans were normal. Close to the time of her due date, September 20, however, Sanjida felt something was wrong. Her blood pressure rose considerably.
– On September 17 we went to accident and emergency at Skellefteå hospital, because in addition to the rising blood pressure, Sanjida started feeling nauseous and suffered several bad headaches. She hadn’t felt that way at all during the pregnancy. The midwife in charge was quite angry with us for coming in, and told us that the baby was active, says Azad.
The couple returned to hospital on Sanjida’s September 20 due date for a scheduled appointment. The scan appeared normal, and they were told to return for another scan in 10 days time. Understandably, the conversation becomes more emotional now.
– 10 days is a huge gap. After the due date, the risk factor rises and a lot can change in 10 days, says Azad.
However, there was no sign of any more discomfort until September 29. Azad returned from his Northvolt shift and was sleeping when Sanjida woke him to tell him their daughter was not moving.
– We rushed to the hospital at 1.30pm. By this stage my wife was also experiencing abdominal pain, but her waters hadn’t broken. The midwife confirmed that these were labour pains. Sanjida’s blood pressure went up to 150. The doctor came around 2.20pm and told us we would not be sent home. They wanted to try for a normal delivery, says Azad.
Labour was induced at 5pm but nothing happened. At 8pm their baby’s heartbeat dropped suddenly.
– They decided on a caesarean section at 8pm, but that should have happened at 1.30pm when we first got to the hospital, says Azad.
At 9pm the caesarean took place.
– My baby was not moving. They took her away for one hour to try to help her breathe. My baby daughter was holding my finger, says Azad emotionally.
At around 11.30pm after an intensive effort to administer CPR on her tiny body, Jannatul died.
At this point we are both silent. Azad shows me photographs of his daughter on his phone and kisses her photo gently.
– When I kiss her I feel like I am actually kissing her. If I have to leave Skellefteå, I don’t know what I’ll do.
I find it incredibly hard to continue the interview, but I need to ask how they have coped with this immense loss.
– My family, such as my brother-in-law and my eldest sister, the Skellefteå mosque community, the Bangladeshi and Pakistani communities, my Northvolt colleagues and managers, these people's endless love helped us.
They told me it would not help us to go home to Kåge, as there were too many memories. We started applying for apartments in Skellefteå. When we arrived at this apartment we realised our baby's cemetery is just on the other side of the road. I was comforted that my baby will be beside me permanently, says Azad.
And then came the news about Northvolt. Azad is just 14 months away from being able to apply for permanent residency.
– I was just counting my days so that I could become permanent in this country. Before the Northvolt lay-offs started last year, I was telling my wife, even if I get laid off, I am thankful for everything. I will be holding my happiness in my hands. My daughter. But that happiness was taken away from me, says Azad.
Azad is worried that his daughter will be taken away from him again if he’s forced to leave Sweden.
– Of course I’m praying that the Northvolt sale process happens very quickly, he says.
– But I don’t understand why the government won’t help us. We abide by the law. We pay taxes. We are not a burden on this country. We love this country. We have emotions. We are human beings. Why give us only 90 days to find another job?
If he can’t find another job in Skellefteå, Azad says he’ll try to find work in other parts of Sweden.
– I will look for work elsewhere in Sweden, so that I can visit my daughter. If I am not here, who will visit her? My child is here. I cannot abandon her.