BORN IN NO MAN’S LAND
She gave birth while fleeing Burma, with no time to name her newborn boy. Aid worker Danny Glenwright went in search of the woman whose plight moved Canadians to help the Rohingya
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. 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.
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 kilometres. 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 ba- by 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 slits in the sides of nearby shelters, curious about the 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
There is no doubt in my mind that many thousands would have died were it not for quick response from humanitarian organizations