Disclaimer: Due to the high security risks regarding this story all names and exact locations have been removed to protect the identity of the people that are involved

It can be somewhat unsettling to visit a foreign country for the first time, particularly one that is politically unstable. That country was Bangladesh; with all my experience travelling all over the world, I have never witnessed a place so overcrowded; the situation was like a slap in the face. Privacy and personal space were a commodity here. In terms of population density, Bangladesh is the most densely inhabited country in the world, with 1,315 people per square kilometre, three times more than India. In addition, 971,904 thousand refugees call it home; the bulk of them are Rohingya who have fled the fighting in Rakhine and the neighbouring states in Myanmar.

I arrived in Cox's Bazar, the location of the largest refugee camp in the world, which is home to almost 1 million people. It was right after the rainy season, so although the temperature was still high, the humidity was a major concern. I was always wet, and my camera gear was constantly overheating. Life within the city is extremely fast-paced; everyone is on the move doing something. Markets, food stands, and shops are constantly teeming with life, rickshaws weave in and out of each other like an impromptu dance troupe, but it seems to work. The sound of car horns creating an orchestral piece of music with many pitches seems to never end. The first day is an overload for the sensory system, which is perhaps why I enjoyed my experience at the camp. It was different over there; although being densely populated, the camp appeared quiet, life had a much slower pace but that did come with reason.

There are numerous fundamental human rights that are denied to refugees living within the camp. The right to work is among one of them. It has been mentioned by camp residents that they are not permitted to start businesses and work outside of the camp. Additionally, they are not permitted to leave unless they have a good reason and permission to do so. People are unable to make a living and provide a comfortable life for their family as a result of these restrictions. Refugees spend the whole day wanting and yearning to have this basic opportunity. Due to a society unable to earn, gangs have risen from the shadows, a result of unstable desperation. These gangs have a tight grip around the necks of the residents and law enforcement that operate within the camp, so much so that everyone fears talking about them.

One afternoon I was seated at a restaurant a couple of kilometres out of the camp; the place was quiet. I was talking to some of the residents that live within the camp who had obtained permission to leave. We sat down and spoke about their situation and how they have been struggling with the restrictions. This couldn’t be discussed inside the camp because it would draw too much attention; we couldn’t have anyone that we didn’t know and trust hear what was being said. Halfway through the discussion, one of the men asked if his friend could come; he had an urgent story that he wanted to share with me. I was taken aback for a couple of seconds, but I told him I would be happy to sit down with him. Thirty minutes went by, and a young man timidly walked into the room, his eyes wide open, processing everything and everyone around him, double-checking corners and scanning people who might be within earshot of me. He walks over and introduces himself with a skittish demeanour; I shake his hand and ask him to take a seat. He takes a deep breath and explains that the story that he is going to share with me is incredibly important; if anything happens to him, I will still have his story, and people will know what has happened to him. I could see that he was nervous, legs bouncing up and down, sweaty palms, and eyes darting to whoever moved within the room. I told him that his story was safe with me, I turned on the fan next to us so it dampened our voices. I said, “You can begin whenever you are ready,” that is when he leaned over to me and said, “my life was happy before 2017 but after, you will not see any happiness.” He began his story with a whisper…

I've been in Bangladesh since 2017. My family and I were forced to leave Rakhine State due to the genocide. Everyone who was Rohingya was being hunted down and killed. The Rakhine extremists would seize control of the communities and conduct raids on all the stores, warehouses, and homes while the Myanmar Army would bomb us. They would burn everything after they were finished with the area, erasing any trace of our existence and past. Generations of families, tradition, love, and sanctuary were taken away from us instantly. Before the genocide, my family was well-respected. My father owned a large number of shops and warehouses within the village, and that gave us a large income; we were comfortable.

Everything we owned was destroyed, and our status was taken away as soon as the battle reached us. We were forced to flee into the jungle and abandon everything. I recall waiting there in the hopes that the fighting would end so we could go home, but nothing changed—instead, the horrors continued to creep closer to us. We were out of food and water; my family had to make a choice. Do we stay and see if things change, or do we follow everyone else towards the Bangladesh border… we chose the latter. Surviving cannot be based on luck and fate; rational decisions have to be made. My family and I travelled for several days on foot before joining thousands of other Rohingya to cross the infamous border. It was a mass exodus; there was turmoil everywhere, no one felt safe, and nobody could be trusted outside of their immediate family. Nothing was prepared or waiting for us when we crossed the border.

That day, a miracle took place. We all managed to stay together as a family—no one drowned, no one perished, and no one became separated from the group. We experienced an extremely rare moment. Many families who had already lost everything quickly discovered that their loved ones could get taken away from them without the guns and bombs. We felt like our luck was on our side, however, in my experience now, good things never last.

I was raised in a fortunate household that could meet all of our needs as children. We were comfortable, not spoiled exactly; my father always made us work for the money he provided us. When we fled to Bangladesh, we only took the money that was in the house. We knew that money was needed for us to stay together. However, having money brings a lot of attention and risk; we couldn’t have anyone know who we were; we would avoid people from our area just in case we were recognized. When people are desperate and have nothing, that’s when you see what humans are capable of; we didn’t want to risk that. It was hard to isolate ourselves from our community, but we had to protect ourselves. Every one of my family members carried some money; collectively we had 2.1 million Taka, that was about 26,000 USD back in 2017. We managed to find a safe house once we crossed the border; it was further away from where everyone was settling. We liked the idea of being away from the thousands of people. It was quiet, just us and the sound of the jungle. Whenever I sat outside and had some time to myself, I would close my eyes; nostalgia would take over, and I would imagine myself back at home. The scent of the humid air, the sound of the animals, and the gentle breeze sweeping over the canopies of the tall trees. However, the silence would turn sinister. Now I can only imagine how afraid my sisters were to breathe while we hid in the jungle in silence, fearing that the military would hear us...even the sound of the peaceful nature has been taken away from me. 

The host family was extremely generous; they didn’t have to take us in and shelter us for a couple of weeks, but we built a strong friendship. They owned a lot of farmland and were financially stable themselves. We had to take into account the fact that we would not be able to keep this money while looking for a place to stay. My father asked if they could hold onto it for us until we needed it. He trusted them, and they were wealthy… they didn’t need our money. They accepted the task and assured my father it would be secure in their hands. Being a refugee, we had to stay safe; we were already vulnerable targets… we didn't want the money to cause us any more difficulties. By this time, the UN had established an area for all the new arrivals; we lined up, single file, like sheep waiting to get processed and receive our refugee IDs. Little did we know that we were being processed and volunteering ourselves into an open prison, criminalised for fleeing our early graves. However, we made do with what we had… we built our temporary home neighbouring thousands of others that were in the exact same situation as mine. But we didn’t care; we were finally safe.

Three years later, the temporarily constructed home has now become our permanent residence. What our life has become within the camp is now normality. The overcrowding, no jobs, lack of opportunity, and no purpose in life. People have become desperate once again. We have become old news to the outside world; a pandemic has hit, and what little resources we have received will now be affected due to the whole world shutting down. On top of this, my whole family’s life was going to get flipped upside down once again. Because of the difficult living conditions within the camp, gang life has taken a prominent effect in each district. Not much can be said about these gangs apart from everyone fears them. If they ask for something, you do it; if they want to speak to you, you speak to them. Everyone tries to avoid interaction, but once your name is called, you must follow suit. This unfortunate lottery that no one wanted to win happened to my brother, Ahmed. His mobile phone rang, and on the other side was a voice that brought anxiety and fear in an instant. The person told Ahmed to meet him at the end of his block; they wanted to have words with him. My brother was hesitant to meet him; they didn’t explain what they wanted on the phone; he had to meet them to find out. Nothing good was going to come of this; however, you did everything they said, otherwise, it would just become worse. If they have your phone number, then they know where you live, and he couldn’t risk putting the family in danger. My brother told me he was going away for a bit; he wasn’t sure when he was coming back home. I was told not to let the family know and to keep all this a secret. I respected my older brother’s orders and continued my day as normal.

Ahmed shortly arrived at the meeting point; he was confronted by the caller and was told to go to another section of the camp, a new location, unaware that en route the gang was waiting for him. In the middle of the day walking through the camp, he was jumped, kidnapped by a group of guys, a bag shoved over his head, making it impossible for him to see where he was going. Ahmed had now become a hostage in the world's biggest refugee camp. People disappear and go missing every day here, and Ahmed has become one of them. A day after my brother was abducted, my father's phone began to ring… it was Ahmad… my father, concerned about the disappearance of his son, picked up the phone with zero hesitation. Instantly my father starts asking why he hasn’t come home, if he is okay, where is he. The silence was broken by an unfamiliar voice… “we have your son. If you want him returned to you, you must pay us 10 million Taka (125,000 USD)”. Word got around that my family was rich and that we had money hidden away somewhere. My father was in shock, unable to talk and negotiate. I took the phone away from him and started talking. I told them that we did not have that amount of money, not even close. They told me they wanted everything we had, all the gold, jewellery, and money; if the amount was sufficient then they would hand over my brother.

Five days had passed, we gathered everything we owned, including my mother's and sisters' gold jewellery that they had stashed throughout the house. My father had to take a trip to see our host family that sheltered us three years ago. They still had the cash, all 2.1 million Taka. I called my brother's phone and told the gang that we had everything. I looked at my father, a broken shell of a man, blaming himself for not being able to protect his family. It broke my heart seeing him like this; he was not the man I used to see. My father was well respected, a leader; nothing broke him, until today. The next day I received an address and instructions to pack everything into a single bag. I headed off with my family’s life savings slung over my shoulder; they looked at me fearing for my life, but we had no choice. To get my brother back, we had to follow their instructions.

I arrived at the location; my heart was in my throat. I had no idea what to expect or how this was going to end up. For all I know they could kill us both and take the money. I called Ahmed’s phone again, and before it even reached the second ring, I was confronted by one of the gang members. Without hesitation I asked for my brother; they brought him around the corner. For the first time in 7 days, I can look at my brother; he was in shock that this was even happening. I gave them the bag; it took them a couple of minutes to look through the contents; I started to doubt myself, if this was even enough… what was going to happen if they were not happy with the amount. Before I could even say anything, one of the members said that it was ok; they let go of my brother and pushed him towards my direction. I gave him a big hug asking if everything was ok; he was unscathed but shaken up. The gang member then turned to me and showed me a video. The day before they filmed Ahmed smuggling drugs into the camp. I was told if I reported anything to the police or the camp administration my brother and I would be killed. Blackmail is common practice here, but the gang members take it seriously; we promised them that we were not going to report them.

After my brother's kidnapping, things started to fall apart with my family. My brother and I were constantly confronted by the gang, reminded that if we said anything to the authorities, then we would be killed. My parents couldn’t take it anymore. We were struggling to hold onto hope. My father made the overall decision that he was going to take my mother and my sisters back into Rakhine State. The terrorising death threats from the gang became so bad that my parents felt safer returning to their homeland where they can get arrested, hunted, and killed for just being them. Unfortunately, my brother and I couldn’t go; my brother is sick and awaiting an operation. We sold everything in our house and managed to get permission to live in a safe house outside of the camp. I spoke to someone that wasn’t part of the administration, and they were able to help us. I can work now and provide for my brother while he is recovering from his operation. We are safe for now, but we have to use different names and keep a low profile. We cannot be caught again… I refuse to be killed in a country that I have taken refuge in by the same people who I ran away with.

I think about my family all the time, constantly praying for their safety. I am able to talk to them once a week, but it is not enough when you are always worried about their safety… I am sure they think the same about us. They update me about their situation; they are safe currently. But it is not guaranteed; the conflict seems to be getting worse day by day. I struggle to describe how I feel about my family living in Rakhine State again; they are living in a nightmare. One day we will be together, whether it is in this life or the next.

I closed my notebook and turned off the fan; I was silent for a couple of seconds. I've had many conversations with people from different walks of life who have faced danger, hardship, and even death. Looking into the eyes of a young man who has lost everything, whose life is in the hands of another person, gives me a reason to help and support anyone as much as I can. There are few reports of gang crime and everyday struggles; the situation has been silenced here. The Rohingya population residing in the camps left their homeland and homes in search of safety from persecution and genocide. Since 2020 security has changed hands from the Military to the police, coinciding with that, violence, drug trafficking and kidnapping has been on the rise. Extreme political views have also been increasing over the years, Bengali residents have adopted an anti-Rohingya agenda and have been pushing for a decrease in refugees. The U.N have mentioned multiple times that the conditions within Myanmar is not safe for voluntary and forced repatriation. The situation in fact is getting worse, yet the Bangladesh government are still pushing for the deportation of the Rohingya people. Many people fear for their lives and are unwilling to return to Myanmar, the refugees are stuck in a rock and a hard place and must choose between getting kidnapped tortured and killed by the Myanmar military or kidnapped tortured and killed by gangs within the camps. Refugees who have managed to accumulate a large amount of money have been able to pay for an extremely dangerous and treacherous journey on old wooden boats and over crammed attempting to cross the Andaman Sea and Bay of Bengal, in search to find refuge in a safer location. Because of the lack of support, the Rohingya are now facing the same problems that they were running away from. Sharing the story of a single person equates to sharing the story of hundreds, maybe thousands of people that have experienced the same or similar situations here. This is why we are here, to support, to care, to provide in any way, shape, or form. Partners are that shoulder to cry on, that listen to the needs and provide accordingly. We are here. Stand by us while we stand by them.