Dildar Begum’s story inspired Canadians to help hundreds
of thousands of Rohingya Muslims fleeing persecution in Burma. But what
happened to her after she arrived at Kutupalong refugee camp, with a newborn
son she had no time to name?
By DANNY GLENWRIGHT
KUTUPALONG REFUGEE CAMP, BANGLADESH—I knew her name.
Dildar Begum. That’s all I had.
I wanted to track her down in Bangladesh this week because
Action Against Hunger Canada, the Toronto-based aid organization I help run,
had used her story to illustrate the refugee crisis taking place here; she had
put a human face on this calamity.
In Toronto, I had naively thought it was possible. Surely,
our team would remember her and know where she was. Maybe they were still
treating Dildar or her children for malnutrition.
Several weeks ago, a heavily pregnant Dildar fled her
home in Burma on foot, escaping the persecution we now know is responsible for
the deaths of thousands of Rohingya Muslims — Dildar, her aging mother and
three young children in tow.
Her fourth couldn’t wait for safety. Dildar gave birth to
him in the bush in the no man’s land between Burma and Bangladesh. For seven
days, the terrified family walked, desperately looking for safety — without
food and water the entire time.
They arrived at our clinic dehydrated, malnourished and
traumatized. Our team treated and fed Dildar’s family, and took down her story.
She hadn’t named her son. She had bigger priorities, like keeping him alive.
Her story touched many of our supporters in Canada, who
have been watching this tragedy unfold. I wanted to find Dildar and learn her
boy’s name.
It was not as easy as I thought it would be. I’ve spent
three days in Kutupalong refugee camp, outside Cox’s Bazar in southern
Bangladesh — one of the largest camps in the world. Over the past several
weeks, more than 700,000 refugees fleeing violence,
rape and slaughter have settled here. https://lnkd.in/dBBFHcR
Think about that. That’s the population of Winnipeg or
Edmonton. More than half are children.
Dealing with crises is part of my job, so I should be
used to it. But I am heartbroken and immensely affected by what I’ve seen in
Bangladesh this week. So many kids. So many people who have had their lives
ripped apart, simply because of their religion and where they were born. The
trauma and exhaustion shows in the faces of people I see scrambling to make a
go of it in the burgeoning camps.
Read more:
‘What have they done to us?’ Survivors recount brutal
massacre of Rohingya Muslims in Burmese village https://lnkd.in/dBBFHcR
Rape of Rohingya women by Burma’s armed forces has been
sweeping and methodical https://lnkd.in/dqn8PKK
21 women, 21 accounts of brutal rape at the hands of
Burmese soldiers https://lnkd.in/dT2gFnt
But I’m also heartened by the work of aid agencies like
ours. As the first organization working with the persecuted Rohingya people in
this region — we’ve been here since 2009 — Action Against Hunger has been
feeding as many as 86,000 refugees a day. It’s a massive operation that
involves more than 700 staff and more than 2,000 volunteers. There is no doubt in
my mind that many thousands would have died were it not for quick response from
humanitarian organizations like ours.
In the camp, I have watched production lines of
volunteers mix enormous vats of lentils with oil, pumpkin, onion, garlic and
rice. Our volunteers dump warm portions into bright pink plastic bags and toss
them onto a giant flatbed truck — like thousands of loose Tic Tacs — before
handing them out all over the camps.
We also distribute huge quantities of water.
Environmental protection is not typically a top priority in a crisis, but I was
pleasantly surprised to see our teams reusing large bottles from local garbage
dumps. We rinse them with chlorine solution before refilling them with fresh
water.
The mass of people who have descended on the area are
sadly affecting the landscape in other ways. Nearby areas are home to wild
elephants; three Rohingya children and their mother were recently trampled to
death after seeking shelter in an elephant walkway.
The main thing you notice is simply the scale of the
crisis — people and makeshift homes for miles. There are, of course, the
hallmarks of all refugee camps: the odour of sewage and human detritus; queues
of people waiting for food, blankets, and medicine; and commerce amidst the
confusion as anxious refugees look for ways to survive. Some sell bananas, soap
and peanuts. Others have created makeshift restaurants that serve puffed luchi
bread and curry for those who can afford it. There is constant construction in
every corner — bamboo poles carried on bikes for new tents, local volunteers
stacking bricks to create walls for new health facilities, cement poured into
moulds for new latrines — all to provide for the seemingly endless flow of
arrivals from Burma.
I wasn’t expecting the sheer number of kids, especially
those without adults to care for them. Groups of youngsters march in single
file with giant bags of supplies on their heads, walking beside the chaotic and
dirty streets to avoid the steady stream of honking rickshaws, construction
trucks and humanitarian SUVs.
At one point this week, a child no more than 8 years old
arrived at one of our treatment facilities with a baby on her hip. A kid caring
for a kid; she was barely able to manage under the weight of her charge.
Two adults on our team helped her weigh the baby on a
scale and check its upper arm to assess its nutrition. The child was in the red
zone. The older one waited as our staff recorded the malnourished baby’s
details on a tracking form. This they handed to its young guardian, along with
a bag of ready-to-use therapeutic food — called Plumpy’nut, a peanut-based
paste in a plastic wrapper — to feed the sick baby. The older child adjusted
the youngster on her hip and walked out the door, transaction complete.
I was the only one who seemed to find it unusual — our
team didn’t blink an eye.
We find Dildar and her family just as I have finally
given up. She is living in an area with tents we had built earlier in the
crisis. We cross a recently erected wooden bridge, climb over fetid sewers and
through muddy pathways to reach her family’s tent. Children peek through the
slits in the sides of nearby shelters, curious about the strange visitors.
Dildar welcomes us into her tent, where she shows off her healthy baby. The
tent is dark and cramped, but for now it’s home.
She tells us she hasn’t heard from her husband since she
fled Burma without him. She suspects he is dead.
Her children are all stronger now. I watch one of them
nibbling on some high-energy fortified biscuits. She has finally had time to
name her youngest son, who is now 4 months old: Rofiq.
I take some time with the family and especially young
Rofiq. I look into his big brown eyes: bright, innocent, completely unaware of
the struggles his family has faced to bring him to safety. In this moment I
thank all of those in Canada who have contributed to our work in Bangladesh —
the many donors and the federal government, which stepped up to help during
this year when it often seemed we zigzagged from one crisis to another. Rofiq
now has a second chance.
Before we leave, I ask Dildar, through our translator,
about her wish for her future.
Her response is simple. “I wish I could go home.”
Danny Glenwright is executive director of Action Against
Hunger Canada