Thousands of refugees trapped in Cox’s Bazar camps emphasize the importance of education
COX’S BAZAR (BANGLADESH), 28 (From Europa Press correspondent Guiomar Quintana)
“When I came from Burma, I was seven years old. I couldn’t go to school there. My brothers came with me. We walked to the river and then crossed by boat. It took us fifteen days; I still remember,” recounts a 16-year-old girl who lives in one of the more than thirty Rohingya refugee camps scattered across southeastern Bangladesh, in the Cox’s Bazar district.
Under the humid and hot climate that plagues the region, a vast alluvial plain, the young woman travels to a center run by the United Nations Refugee Agency (UNHCR) in Camp 4. This center provides a safe space for women, a place where they can express themselves freely and support one another in the arduous task of living in the present.
With nowhere to go and no land to return to, the Rohingya women reclaim their language, customs, and identity—a form of resistance against the dangers they face in Bangladesh, the country they arrived in with nothing.
“We’re better off here than in Myanmar, although there are security problems. I’m afraid of being kidnapped, especially when I go to the latrines alone at night,” laments the young woman, whose name cannot be revealed for security reasons.
“Kidnappings are common. They kidnap children and teenagers and then demand money in return. It’s happened to many of us. They tried to kidnap me, but they didn’t succeed. This situation was more common last year; now it happens less,” she says in an interview with Europa Press.
The young woman, who fears the situation will worsen due to the decline in global funding for humanitarian aid, calls for more security guards and an improvement in the already appalling conditions so she doesn’t have to be afraid to walk to the latrines at night.
The future is difficult for her to imagine: she lives in a three-room shack with eleven other people, with no prospect of the war ending in Burma, which is only a few kilometers away. With their lives frozen, more than 600,000 women are fighting to preserve their threatened identities.
“I want to go back to Myanmar, but with rights. I want to have the same rights there that I have here,” she says, her face covered in a kind of thanaka paste, a popular cosmetic that also serves to protect the skin from the sun. “Wearing makeup is important to us; it’s part of our culture, and it’s what I like most,” she declares.
At the UNHCR center, time seems to stand still. More than a dozen women warn of the problem of not having enough water, medicine, and healthcare, but they emphasize the welcome respite that comes from leaving the barracks and meeting in an area separate from the men.
This, they point out, helps them make decisions about issues that affect their daily lives, especially when it comes to overcoming obstacles and conservative social impositions.
“Unfortunately, these kinds of centers are being severely affected by the cuts in aid, which also impacts the security situation. That’s why we need more funding,” one of them asserts. “We’re overcrowded, there isn’t enough space, and that’s what people need to know,” she adds.
GIVING BIRTH IN THE CAMPS
In Camp 22, more and more women are going to the health facilities of the International Rescue Committee (IRC), especially to give birth or report gender-based violence. The center has seven midwives who assist an average of about 70 births a month.
Although this center allows for the management of complications—such as cases of hemorrhage or preeclampsia—and requests for possible transfers to hospitals outside the camp, many women remain reluctant to seek help and continue to give birth in their shacks, on the ground.
“At first, I had trouble introducing the idea of going to the center to the community. It’s important that this fits with their traditions, going door to door to ensure they know these services exist,” explains Yasmine Aftar, a midwife, who emphasizes the possibility of receiving guidance and reproductive health services.
Aftar points to the prevalence of teenage pregnancies, many of whom end up giving birth in the camps to which they have been relegated after crossing the border from Myanmar fleeing war and persecution, especially since the brutal military campaign launched in 2017.
This campaign triggered the mass exodus of some 700,000 people who continue to live today in what is now the world’s largest refugee settlement, with a population exceeding one million.
The importance of traditions and family networks, as well as Rohingya dietary rules, further complicates their work, which involves navigating the unreliable electrical grid. “We suffer more than ten power outages a day, even though we have a generator for emergencies,” Aftar emphasizes.
“WE’VE BEEN HERE A LONG TIME”
R., 28, has a 40-day-old baby and arrived in Cox’s Bazar eight years ago. “In Myanmar, we couldn’t even access hospitals because we aren’t considered citizens. I spent days walking to get here and then had to take a boat. We had no money, so we left my mother there. When we arrived, the army brought us here directly,” she recalls.
“When I became pregnant, there were challenges, especially with food and cooking. Of course, we’re afraid; the materials for building shelters aren’t good. We’ve been robbed. It happens very often, but the neighbors and host communities have treated us well,” she points out.
“We’ve been here a long time, and everything is uncertain. We don’t know if we can go back because so many people are being killed, and there are cyclones here, and the shelters are in danger. We need more security,” says R., gently rocking her young daughter.
The young woman says she had to leave everything behind: “We couldn’t take anything because they were tearing down houses and looting them.” “I couldn’t even take my burka. I left with only the clothes on my back because I was only thinking about saving my life, but I want the countries to talk to the warring parties and put pressure on them to find a solution so we can go back to our country and live our lives there safely,” she adds.
These women, trapped in Bangladesh with the sole purpose of returning to what was once their home, warn of the possibility that the crisis could drag on and become permanent. Fearing that their culture will fade away over time, many emphasize the importance of education.
Sadia, a 21-year-old Rohingya teacher from Camp 13, warns of the difficulties many of her students face. She teaches them in their native language, spoken primarily in Myanmar’s Rakhine State (Arakan) and similar to the language spoken in Bangladesh’s Chittagong Camp.
She works with Minoara, a 26-year-old Bangladeshi teacher who notes that “what worries the students most is the closure of the schools.” Together, they form a striking pair, their eyes bright and their gazes measured.
“If the schools close, I don’t know what will happen. Many parents no longer want their children to come because of the security problems in the camp, and sometimes we have to go and pick them up from their homes,” Minoara explains, before adding that her work “contributes to the community.”
Stateless and hoping for a better future, these young women fear the widespread closure of schools starting in January, when budget cuts are expected to intensify. These places are, for the moment, a breath of fresh air for Rohingya girls, who live day by day on the edge of the abyss.
