Hajji Abdullah Drury is a Hamilton Muslim and author of the book A History of Christchurch Muslims – Integration and Harmony (2024).
One does not expect to encounter the Basmala in an 1875 New Zealand newspaper, and yet, there it is.
The scattered archival traces of Sheik Budrodeen, preserved in colonial newspapers and police gazettes, open a rare window into the life of an early Muslim merchant in nineteenth-century Australasia.
Though the record is fragmentary, it tells a story that resonates strongly with the broader experience of migrant enterprise – marked by determination, exposure to risk, and the constant negotiation of belonging in a colonial society.
His earliest verifiable appearance in Australasia occurs in New Zealand in 1875, where he emerges as an itinerant entrepreneur trading in Dunedin and Wellington.
In May of that year, he styled himself as “The Real Fakir of Ulu” and as a “Shawl and General Merchant from the East” in local newspapers, advertising an eclectic range of goods – shawls, jewellery, cigars, and various “East Indian manufactures.”
The term fakir traditionally denoted a wandering mendicant associated with Sufi asceticism. The referent of “Ulu” remains uncertain, though it may allude to a devotional epithet rather than a geographic origin.
Notably, these advertisements constitute the earliest known instance in New Zealand of employing the Basmala – Bism Allāh al-Raḥmān al-Raḥīm – for commercial promotion.
Other newspapers identify him as a recent immigrant from Kashmir.
Budrodeen first emerges in 1876 as an active figure in Sydney’s commercial life. Advertising in major newspapers of the time, he presented himself as an “Indian shawl merchant, dressmaker, and tailor,” operating from central locations such as Bridge Street and later William Street.
His business offered a diverse range of goods (East Indian condiments, jewelry, preserved foods, cigars, tobacco, and textiles) reflecting trade links that stretched across South Asia and into the South Pacific colonies.
These advertisements, often highlighting fair pricing and imported authenticity, suggest both entrepreneurial energy and the need to remain visible in a competitive and unfamiliar marketplace.
Yet his story also reveals the vulnerabilities faced by small migrant traders.
In early 1876, a valuable diamond ring was stolen from his shop, leading to a widely reported court case. While the eventual conviction of the accused offered some justice, the incident underscores how exposed such businesses were to theft and loss.
At the same time, the public nature of the reporting hints at another reality: as a foreign merchant, Budrodeen’s presence was both visible and, at times, treated as noteworthy within colonial narratives of crime and commerce.
This was not an isolated episode. Throughout that year, Budrodeen appeared repeatedly in court records – sometimes as a victim of fraud or theft, and at other times pursuing legal remedies himself.
Police gazettes record stolen goods, fraudulent transactions, and arrests linked to his business. These recurring incidents point to a deeper structural challenge. Trading in portable, high-value goods without the backing of established networks left migrant merchants especially exposed.
Amid these pressures, glimpses of family life appear. Birth notices in the late 1870s and early 1880s record the arrival of his children, placing the family in suburbs such as Woolloomooloo and Surry Hills.
These notices suggest a measure of stability and participation in the social norms of the time. At the same time, advertisements warning against unauthorised credit issued in his name reveal the importance (and fragility) of trust in sustaining his livelihood.
By the early 1880s, however, signs of strain became more evident. Newspaper reports of theft continued, and there are hints of disruption in his affairs, including unclaimed correspondence.
There are also indications that Budrodeen sought to diversify his work, with references to him acting as an “Oriental interpreter” in the courts. This suggests both resourcefulness, the need to adapt as circumstances became more difficult, and the fact that the man was widely considered honest and reliable at the post.
The turning point came in 1887, when he was legally declared insolvent. Court notices trace the process in formal terms, but behind them lies a profound personal and social rupture. For a merchant whose reputation underpinned his trade, insolvency carried not only financial consequences but also a loss of standing within the community.
The years that followed paint a more troubling picture. In 1888, a police warrant accused him of abandoning his wife without support, with further proceedings continuing into 1889.
That same year a daughter, Elizabeth Sarah, was born in Wellington; she was later buried in the Sydney Islamic burial plot at Lismore in 1949. (This marks her as one of the earliest Muslims born in New Zealand.)
In any event, these familial developments suggest how economic hardship could spill over into domestic life, compounding personal difficulties. The man died five years later in a charitable home for impoverished folk, in Auckland, August 1894.
At the same time, his story is not simply one of failure. The persistence of his presence in the record (through advertisements, legal actions, and public notices) speaks to resilience and agency. He was not a passive figure, but an active participant in the economic life of the colony, navigating its possibilities and constraints as best he could.
In recovering lives like that of Sheik Budrodeen, we are reminded that the history of Muslims in Australasia did not begin in recent decades. It stretches back into the colonial period, shaped by individuals whose contributions were often overlooked, but whose struggles and aspirations remain deeply familiar today.
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