Rohingya in Cox’s Bazar: Resilience amid shrinking aid in the world's largest refugee camp

After half a day in Dhaka’s rain-soaked streets, navigating traffic, meetings, and the emotional weight of aid cuts, I traveled south to Cox’s Bazar. It felt like moving between worlds, from the capital’s urban pulse to vast coastal plains where nearly a million Rohingya refugees now live. Fleeing violent crackdowns, widespread persecution, and discrimination, these stateless Rohingya sought refuge in Bangladesh in 2017.

The contrast struck me. The city’s calm gave way to sprawling shelters made of plastic sheets, bamboo, and tarpaulin. The informal settlement in Cox’s Bazar is home to families who fled violence in Myanmar, carrying only hope and memories.

Walking the camps, I saw fragile shelters offering little protection against the relentless monsoon rains. Muddy paths made movement uncertain. Life felt precarious: access to safe water, sanitation, health services, and protection remained a daily struggle amid scarce infrastructure. Yet amid hardship, humanity endures — in resilience and the dedication of humanitarian teams.

During my time in the camps, one young man stood out — Ayas. He arrived as a child and, recognizing the limited opportunities around him, taught himself English online. Now pursuing an MBA with a European university online, he embodies strength and hope despite eight years of displacement.

His determination inspired me deeply. If Ayas can strive for a better future, how can we leave him behind? His story reminds us that behind the statistics are people with potential and dreams. This compels us to unite in ensuring this community lives with safety and dignity.

Eight years of displacement show in faces and stories. Children grow amid uncertainty; parents bear survival’s heavy burden and longing. This protracted crisis demands lasting support, solidarity, and justice.

Women, safe spaces, and their longing for home

Safe spaces for women have become sanctuaries. They call their centers Shanti Khana — home for peace — a name reflecting what it means.

 Women come here for psychosocial support, skill training, income opportunities, and to share joys, sorrows, and often to rest. “Just having enough space to lie down and take a nap under a fan is a huge luxury,” one woman said.

It shouldn’t be, but it is.

Talking with these women was heartbreaking. They carry so much — caring for children, families, and communities — yet often forget to check in with themselves.

All women in the room spoke of home. A shared yearning filled the space. One woman said, “Back home, even a simple spinach stir-fry tastes incredible. That’s the taste of our homeland.” As I listened, I reflected on my own decades away from home — by choice and privilege — and how much I still carry small tastes and smells of India with me. Their longing runs infinitely deeper: for them, home is not just memory, it is identity, security, and dignity.

Another woman grew emotional describing home, then broke down: “We had so much space — a home, land, our crops. Kids played; we had cattle. However, here, at least, we don’t have to run for our lives, but there’s still nothing to call our own.”

No refugee camp should be home. It can never be.

Some women, curious about my work, asked whether I’d been to Myanmar. When I nodded and spoke of the country’s beauty and its food, their faces lit up with pride. One smiled and asked, “Did you meet Myanmar’s government and talk about us?”

I said I would try next time I visit. Tell me what you want me to tell them.

Her answer was clear: “We want our country and homes. They’re ours. Just as their children go to school and college, our children should be able to do the same. The way people there get government jobs, we want that too. We want to work with the government.”

She added, “Maybe you can ask them to at least try to give us back some of the lives we had.”

The women also shared stories of learning embroidery and making handicrafts at Shanti Khana — tissue boxes, wallets, children’s clothing, and hand fans. Though market links remain weak, these small livelihoods help.

One woman said she got a volunteer job with an NGO because of the skills training she received at CARE: “I shared what I learned in my interview, and I got the job.”

There was one thing all the women shared: they miss the Shanti Khana on Fridays and Saturdays. The presence of a fan — a basic comfort — often came up as a rare luxury.

CARE’s lifelines: Compassion and science in action

What I witnessed in Cox’s Bazar was humanitarian work that is scientific, systematic, and compassionate. CARE teams, local partners, and refugee volunteers form lifelines in water, sanitation, hygiene, safety, protection for women and girls, livelihood skills, solid waste management, and vegetable gardening.

Among these lifelines, water, sanitation, and hygiene (WASH) are huge life-saving operations. I visited an extensive water distribution network supplying safe water to about 70,000 people daily. Water is extracted from the ground, carefully measured, monitored, and managed through tanks, taps, and timed points to ensure safety.

I met Shahnaz, CARE’s dedicated WASH officer, who shared pride in this life-saving mission. She spoke of scientific knowledge, community trust, and the expert coordination required to manage this complex system.

“It’s not just water,” she explained. “It’s shared humanity and dignity — getting clean water to every family helps prevent disease, protects women and children, and is fundamental to survival.”

This complex WASH operation demonstrates CARE’s blend of scientific expertise and genuine care for the community — overcoming logistical and environmental challenges.

As needs remain immense, CARE has already scaled efforts to reach around 750,000 people across the camps.

The road ahead: We need urgent action, not empty promises

This Cox’s Bazar visit reinforced the coexistence of heartbreak and courage in refugee lives and humanitarian work alike. The challenges are immense, but so is the potential when guided by integrity, vision, and accountability.

This deep yearning of Rohingya people for home, safety, and dignity demands clear, non-negotiable commitments — urgent action over empty words.

The situation remains extremely fragile. As of July 2025, only 35% of the $934.5 million required for this year’s  response has been funded. Food rations have been halved, and several health facilities closed due to donor cuts and a WHO funding suspension — worsening food insecurity and leaving critical gaps. The cost of inaction is not just borne by the Rohingya — growing desperation also threatens the stability of the entire region, with risks that extend far beyond the camps.

I urge donors, stakeholders, and decision-makers to sustain flexible funding, prioritize women and girls’ safety, and invest decisively in women-led organizations. These organizations must be central to the humanitarian response, as they best understand the needs and are most effective in delivering quality programs. There must also be investment to ensure women are present at the right tables where decisions are made, strengthening leadership and accountability. They are vital to quality programs and progress.