Joung-ah Ghedini-Williams is an Emergency Response Coordinator with the UN Refugee Agency (UNHCR). She was recently in Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh, responding to the . Since 25 August more than 600,000 refugees have arrived in Bangladesh from Myanmar. These are in addition to the 300,000 already in the country prior to this latest influx. It is the fastest growing refugee emergency in the world.
At the UN Refugee Agency Transit Centre in Bangladesh I held hands with a Rohingya mother who had lost her daughter the day before. The boat they had taken on the final leg of their journey from Myanmar had capsized. Of the 42 people on the boat, nine had been killed – mainly children, like her daughter, and the elderly.
The most vulnerable new arrivals stay at the transit centre for a few hours or several days to rest and recuperate before being relocated to their settlement sites. These are the families needing special assistance before they can continue: the elderly, the disabled, pregnant women, new mothers, malnourished or sick children – and the families who had survived the boat capsize the day prior. Their trauma was raw and their pain palpable.
I saw women trying to reassure their terrified children, when they themselves were clearly struggling to make sense of the last few months. I had to fight back tears as I held hands with the Rohingya mother. She was trying to be strong for her surviving children – stunningly beautiful girls whose eyes were haunted with faraway looks. I could not bear to see this young mother and her children so distraught, grieving for their beloved sister and daughter, after already enduring years of persecution and fear.
Joung-ah Ghedini-Williams, left, at the UN Refugee Agency Transit Centre in Bangladesh. (UNHCR) Source: UNHCR
Women told me about witnessing young girls abducted, and fathers, sons and brothers arrested and never seen again. I cannot imagine living like that, trying to maintain some sense of security and comfort for your family when you spend each day in fear of having them snatched away from you.
In Bangladesh, UNHCR teams are out at the borders, in the camps and transit centres, every day from early in the morning until night. With 600,000 new arrivals in just a few weeks, and 300,000 Rohingya refugees already in the country, needs are immense. Although it is nothing compared to the treks the Rohingya families have had to make to reach safety here, my colleagues are walking, climbing, crossing many kilometres daily to reach the farthest outreaches of the makeshift camps and settlements where vehicles cannot go. One man told me he once walked over 18km in a single day. He was identifying vulnerable families and ensuring they could access critical services and assistance. He interviewed almost a hundred families that day.
On my first day, as the sun set over the latest section of the Kutupalong extension site to be developed, I was surrounded by the sound of hammering, sawing, animated chattering, laughter as families built new homes with the bamboo, cord and plastic sheeting they have been provided with.
I saw children flying kites they’d fashioned from used plastic bags and bits of twig, finding such joy when they finally soared high above them. I smelled the aroma of dinners being cooked by families to share together. And then the sun blushed crimson and pink above a sea of UNHCR-logoed homes as far as I could see. It felt hopeful and so did I. There is so much work to be done, but there is so much we can do.
The following morning at breakfast with UNHCR colleagues I heard that thousands more refugees had come in the night, and some of the team had already been to the border before dawn. We heard that the Bangladeshi border guards planned to allow the new arrivals to continue onward to the camps and settlements later in the morning but that for the time being they were unable to proceed any further. My heart went out to them. Imagine enduring such a long, difficult journey to be stopped at the border with Bangladesh, so with safety so close but still just out of reach.
We arrived at the border crossing – vast rice paddies, narrow rivulets and wide rivers, broken up by knife-thin mud paths rendered barely navigable in places by heavy rains and relentless footsteps. I felt as though I was balancing on a high-wire as we crossed approximately two kilometres of these raised mud paths that fell straight into murky waters.
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As we got closer to the border area where the refugee families were waiting, we were blanketed by the sound of 3,000 people suffering. I heard children crying, the sick moaning, and mothers trying desperately to comfort their babies. All 3,000 people were queued on a mud path only three paces wide. UNHCR colleagues and other aid workers trying to get through to identify and assist the most vulnerable had to crab walk sideways one-by-one. People were exhausted. Many were trying to lean against each other as there was not enough space to lie down, though the smallest children were curled shrimp-like against their mothers.
These families were desperate to get to the camps and settlements near Cox's Bazaar and to put the horrors of Myanmar far behind them. They told us of hiding in the jungles, too scared to cook the tiny stores of rice they had brought with them, hushing their children, and trying to sleep while holding their breath and praying not to be found by military patrolling in the area. One mother told me she has been scared for so long that she cannot remember feeling anything else.
Ghedini-Williams holds up a baby amid the makeshift Rohingya camps. Source: UNHCR
By the end of the day, 1,700 people had been allowed to continue to Kutupalong camp and the new extension site. The most vulnerable had been transported to the UNHCR transit centre, to receive urgent medical attention and other services. But up to 2,000 other people spent the night in the open with little more than a few tarps to share as they waited for morning and the hope of being allowed in.
At night when I finally close my eyes, I see images of people streaming past me - throngs of people waiting to cross borders, queues of people lined up for food distribution, crowds of people in the marketplace that has cropped up in the camp. I feel like a salmon swimming upstream against a sea of never-ending faces. And when I wake up I remember hazy dreams of walking, walking, walking.
In February, I'll have been with UNHCR for 20 years. That's most of my adult life and yet the years have passed in the blink of an eye. Although a UNHCR life is often nomadic, I am somehow rooted to my colleagues, to the refugees and to the work itself. In Bangladesh I was reunited with two aid workers I met 20 years ago during the Rwandan crisis. We have a bit more white in our hair, but we're still here.
The bonds and stories weave us all together. I began my first day in Bangladesh sitting with Rohingya families who shared stories so painful that a huge knot forms in my stomach when I think of them, and I know it will always be there. I will carry them with me, just as I do the Bosnian, Rwandan, Kosovar, Eritrean and Syrian families I think of time and time again. I truly connected with the Rohingya mother as I held her hands and mourned with her. We may never meet again and the moment may have been fleeting amidst the chaos of tents and noise and dust but I believe she knew I was there with her, sharing her grief, witnessing her pain, remembering her child.
The day before I left, a group of children started following me, sneaking mischievous smiles at me and pointing to my camera. I snapped a few photos on my smartphone, and when I showed them the images it was clear they had never seen photos of themselves before. Their eyes went round and they broke into laughter, jostling each other and gesturing for more. After taking several more photos and showing them the pictures, to their continued giggles and amazement, I knew I wanted a photo with them to capture that moment of joy and discovery. I know that I will pull up this picture in the future, and I will wonder about these kids weeks and years from now. I'll wonder where they are, if they’re safe, if they’re well, if they’ve left their trauma and tragedy behind and managed to build new lives. I'll wonder if maybe they have their own twinkly-eyed kids and are living somewhere quiet, lush and peaceful.
'These families were desperate to get to the camps and settlements near Cox's Bazaar' Source: UNHCR
Australia for UNHCR has partnered with other leading NGOs to launch an emergency joint appeal to help people fleeing violence in Myanmar, the vast majority being stateless Rohingya. All donations to Australia for UNHCR and The Australian Red Cross will be matched by the Australian Government. View a list of all the charities taking part and how you can help in the link below.
HOW YOU CAN HELP
How you can help Rohingya Muslims fleeing violence in Myanmar
