The population of the Cox’s Bazar settlements faces a “critical” situation in one of the countries hardest hit by climate change
Bamboo, steel, and plastic. With these three materials, thousands of Rohingya try to build decent shelters in the sea of rudimentary shacks that has become the world’s largest refugee settlement complex, located in southeastern Bangladesh.
From there, on terrain that often becomes a death trap, they face the harsh weather and the constant dangers that lurk, season after season, in one of the countries most exposed to the effects of climate change.
Approximately two-thirds of Bangladesh’s territory lies below sea level, increasing the vulnerability of Rohingya communities and causing massive internal displacement. Unprecedented temperatures, exceeding 40 degrees Celsius in the summer, contribute to a situation experts describe as “critical.”
Insufficient supplies and overcrowding leave little room for survival: in the event of a cyclone or landslide, the chances of tragedy are high. Reaching the centers and facilities provided by humanitarian organizations working in the camps often becomes an ordeal.
Fears are mounting. “We fear a fire. Also landslides. If it rains heavily, there could be danger because we live on higher ground,” warns Jida, who fears another major fire like the one in 2021, when dozens of people perished in the flames.
The scene is bleak: the highly flammable materials spread the fire rapidly, melting the plastic and destroying the flimsy structures of the shacks in a matter of seconds. The blaze is unstoppable, and there is barely enough room to create firebreaks between the makeshift shelters, which are consumed one after another, like a house of cards.
For many, the fields are “unfit” for habitation. Caught in this contradiction and trapped in a no-man’s-land, they grapple with the need for permanent infrastructure, a kind of luxury that never seems to materialize.
THE TRAP OF HOPE
Temporality is the defining characteristic of their days, an idea permeated by the impossibility of returning home. “There are many gray areas here, and the government is considering repatriation. Although we had even fewer opportunities at the beginning because they refused to give us an education, there are still many restrictions. We can’t build with cement,” explains a teenager during a meeting at a gathering center set up in Camp 15.
These places—which cannot escape the precariousness of the situation—have become a kind of sanctuary, a corner in which to debate and rethink the limitations of the infrastructure, always with the underlying idea of returning to Myanmar and resuming their journey.
This glimmer of hope makes the Rohingya catastrophe a unique crisis in the world. In the labyrinthine alleyways that make up the camps, the Rohingya people seem to be spinning in circles on land that was once lush and green before their arrival.
“We have no opportunities. There are too many dangers, which make us afraid at night. Many of us have ambitions, but if things continue like this, we can’t move forward. We always have to be on guard. Holding onto hope doesn’t make much sense because there’s no future,” recalls one of the young women from Camp 13, who pleads with the world not to forget her.
The fate of the Rohingya people is tied to community and their deep roots. Faced with the ethnic cleansing they endure in Myanmar, they all demand a shared and indivisible future, which hinges on integration.
“The last fire I helped fight was in December. It’s not so difficult anymore to convince other women to leave their homes when there’s a fire. In Myanmar, this wasn’t a problem because there was much more space, but there we had nothing,” says Sahan, a 28-year-old woman who volunteers as a firefighter in Camp 10, where she has lived for almost a decade and participates in an Acted project, funded by the EU.
Incidents in the shantytowns are common, especially in winter, when many try to keep warm. “This also allows me to teach my own children, to tell them what to do if there’s a fire. How to act, what not to use,” she explains, before clarifying that she decided to volunteer “because women listen to other women.” “The community is proud of what we do, they support us, and now if there’s a fire, I’m not afraid anymore,” she continues.
Beside her, her 26-year-old colleague Mohamed says that if he returned to Myanmar, he would also be a firefighter: “It makes you feel safer, but we have few resources in the camps; access to water isn’t enough. We train several times a year and we’re confident when we act, but if the fire is very large, we need reinforcements,” he says. “We never feel afraid when we’re working,” he insists.
“The camps are very overcrowded, and it’s difficult to move around, but I thought that with this, I could help and contribute to the community. Sometimes it’s hard to convince people of the importance of evacuating because many are afraid of losing everything,” he adds.
THE ONSLASH OF NATURAL DISASTERS
In the last seven years, the area has been battered by numerous cyclones, which unleash torrential rain, flooding the land, burying infrastructure, and leaving everything in ruins, awaiting reconstruction.
This situation is particularly acute in some areas and poses a serious risk to people with disabilities, especially when everything is flooded with mud by the monsoon rains. Shobul Alam, 33, can’t even speak. He was seriously injured while working in Malaysia a few years ago, after fleeing Myanmar.
Alam speaks through his 25-year-old brother, Mohamed, who is also his main support. Without his family, he wouldn’t be able to survive in the settlements, especially during the rainy season. “He arrived four months ago. He had a serious traffic accident while working in Malaysia, although he’s receiving treatment now,” he says, before showing a long scar that snakes down one of his legs.
His whole body aches. He can barely move, leaning on a cane. “We don’t like living here; people threaten us. Our younger brother was kidnapped for a short time. We wanted to go to another camp, but we can’t,” Mohamed explains, adding that they can’t move to other areas because Alam needs treatment at the rehabilitation center in Camp 24, run by the NGO Humanity & Inclusion.
“Here he has the opportunity to receive treatment, especially to prevent his muscles from atrophying,” Mohamed emphasizes, before stressing what keeps them up at night: the idea of remaining in the camps forever. “If Myanmar is free and we can live in freedom and without security problems, we want to go back. If it were possible, we would like to live somewhere else; we want to get more treatment,” he stresses.
Worried about the future, their health, and the possibility of losing what little they have left, the refugees remain vigilant, aware that they are in a fragile and volatile situation. Left to the whims of natural disasters, the lack of resources translates into a continuous struggle to cling to bamboo and tarpaulins.
COX’S BAZAR (BANGLADESH), 28 (From Europa Press correspondent Guiomar Quintana)
