Fatima was gang-raped during attacks on Rohingya Muslims
as part of Myanmar's ethnic-cleansing campaign. Now, she and her family live in
a camp in Bangladesh with few prospects, DW Editor-in-Chief Ines Pohl reports.
Apart from the rhythmic pitter-patter of the rain on the
white tarpaulin roof, no other sound can be heard in the camp: no television,
no music, no children laughing. The silence is in stark contrast to the noisy
streets of Cox's Bazar.
With her parents-in-law, Fatima fled across the border
river to Bangladesh, where international aid organizations assisted her in
finding her husband.
Resources are scarce in Bangladesh, which is regularly
hit by natural disasters. Cartels smuggle drugs and weapons, leading to
increased violence.
Source:
The quiet is only interrupted by the sound of the
muezzin's voice; his calls to prayer are broadcast over the hills and through
the muddy valleys from silver-gray speakers hung from trees.
Camp 7 is located in the northeast section of Kutupalong,
the world's largest refugee settlement. Officials estimate that up to 40,000
people live per square kilometer (250 acres). Nobody knows the exact number of
Rohingya people stranded in the coastal town on the border between Bangladesh
and Myanmar, an area that was once jungle. Some reports say 1 million people
live among the camps, but it could be 1.2 million or even more.
From a hilltop, you can survey the camps. Rows of huts
stretch as far as the eye can see. Plastic tarps serve as roofs on structures
made from bamboo; very few houses have tin roofs.
Persecuted Muslim minority
Rohingya have fled Myanmar since the 1970s. Within the
space of a few months last year, more than 700,000 people from the Muslim
minorityfled to Bangladesh to escape the intensifying brutality and violence at
home. Nobody knows how many people were murdered, but one thing is clear: It is
one of the worst genocides in the recent history of South Asia.
Fatima is one of the survivors. She rubs her fingers over
her teeth, picking at gums inflamed from chewing the tobacco and betel leaves.
The habit has helped a little at this particularly traumatic time, but it has
also blackened her teeth. On some fingers, her nails are chewed down to the
cuticles.
Fatima is 20 years old and has two small boys. Before she
fled Myanmar, she was raped 30 to 40 times in a single night. She is unable to
recall how exactly how many times or how many men there were.
"I left my body there," she said, speaking with
a soft voice, her gaze fixed on the trodden soil.
We sat on a carpet striped turquoise and red in the front
room of Fatima's hut. Her husband, Ali, two years older than his wife, sat next
to Fatima as she told her story.
In 2017, Ali, like so many others, was forced to leave
his village to avoid being killed when the militias arrived, leaving behind his
wife, and their infant and toddler sons.
A few nights later, the militia dragged Fatima and other
women — many of whom had huddled together in a shack to hide — into the jungle.
The militia assaulted the women over and over again.
Nobody could hear their cries and screams. Their husbands and brothers were
either dead or running for their lives.
Somehow, Fatima made it back to her village. Skillful
hands tended to her wounds before she could bleed to death. However, it is
likely that she will not be able to have a child again.
Many Rohingya men abandon partners who have been raped,
leaving them alone with the children — and the pain. Ali did not.
"For me, it is not an issue to stay with her,"
Ali said. She didn't choose any of this, he added.
Fatima and Ali live in one of Kutupalong's illegal camps,
which were built very quickly last year to accommodate the displaced people
arriving in the hundreds of thousands. The structures are basic emergency
shelters. They are intended for immediate shelter — not as long-term
accommodation.
Fatima and Ali expect that they will have no choice but
to remain. Myanmar has not taken measures to issue displaced Rohingya Muslims
official papers or to allow them to repatriate. Without valid documents,
refugees are officially stateless and at the mercy of Bangladesh's government.
Safety for women
In the camps, women hardly leave their huts — not even in
the blazing heat of the Bengali summer, when the temperatures above 40 degrees
Celsius (105 F).
Monitored by international organizations, 19 women-only
huts are spread across the camps to provide some relief.
Women who spend a few hours in these safer spaces have
access to medical advice. If the power is working, there are even fans that
provide temporary relief from the heat. There is a proper toilet and a place to
bathe children.
Lack of support
Bangladesh's own history is one of exodus and expulsion.
In the beginning, there was empathy and understanding for the refugees. That is
slowly changing. Many Bangladeshis have the feeling that their country has
already done more than enough to assist the foreigners.
There is also a growing fear that young Muslims could be
radicalized. People in despair are thought to be particularly vulnerable
recruitment tactics — young people living in the camps are favored targets of
religious extremists seeking new militants. Officially, Rohingya are not
allowed to leave the camps or even to work, and the children only receive only
rudimentary school educations.
Fatima wants to return to Myanmar. Maybe her will isn't
strong enough anymore to make a new life in a foreign country.
The rain continues to patter on the white plastic
tarpaulin roof; the sound has become the rhythm of waiting.
Also read this article: Pace of Rohingya repatriation depends on Myanmar, says
Bangladeshi official https://www.dw.com/en/pace-of-rohingya-repatriation-depends-on-myanmar-says-bangladeshi-official/a-45208195
