Rohingya Life

Have you ever considered a value of knowing your date of BIRTH - so that you can get together with family members to celebrate this happy occasion over a slice of cake, make a wish when blowing the candles?... Most Rohingyas do not know any other date of birth apart from 1 January. Our parents were not conscious for marking the date in their calendar - the luxury they didn't have. And who would remember in the absence of a proper birth certificate? My mother did not have one, neither did I, so you can track my messy history through the UNHCR’s and govt’s papers with different dates and year of birth, as for my mother - sometimes even different surname.  I was born shortly before the 1992 exodus from Myanmar to Bangladesh started but my papers persistently indicate 1989 as my birth year. This doesn't make any sense when I compare to my mother's documents where her age equally makes no sense. This is just about how deep this identity crisis even runs. When you are blowing you

When I was studying in the refugee camp in Bangladesh, these were my classmates and friends. They were always kind, loving and sincere with me.  Most important person, though, was the teacher who taught me everything, patiently correcting my mistakes and praising my handwriting. I still hang on to the sweet memories of Abdu Rahman, Amdad Ullah, Zahid Hossain (Sarfaraz Yosoff), Abul Manjur, Shomsul and Rafiqul and how every night we gathered at the block centre. We always wondered about our future and where we will end up. My best friend Abdu Rahman was always an incredible and honest guy, whom I've known since early childhood. In fact, no day would pass that we wouldn't see or speak to each other. Every afternoon, after completing our studies, we visited the east side of the camp to play football and dive into the lake there. The student life was a golden time, full of joy from being around the classmates. I miss all of you! God bless!