Written By Joyshri Sarker
Marzan comes to lie down at her shanty door at midnight. This small square of a door is the only world which she has. She is forbidden to go out in broad daylight. She sees from this door plenty of huts like blisters on high hills. One eyes only shanties and shanties in every nook and corner of hills and plains. There are no boundary walls, no yards, no flowers or fruits. No bird ever mistakenly flies to this region. Busy relief vans move noisily on the dusty roads throughout the day.
It is an altogether different world of refugees. There are only dark slums in and out. Inaccessible rough roads. Only a few public latrines whose are periodically broken. Some scanty arrangement of water, a marketplace of the Chakmarkuls, army camp, office of the munificent and streams of refugees. A refugee’s life is distressful, but more distressful are the lives of refugees like Marzan. Even if they are sad the Marzans cannot come out to view the sky
A full-throated song they cannot sing. Their souls cannot fly high on the sky or roam through the air.
Drinking water and aids. Some aids are exclusively for women. Marzan is allowed to go out only for these two purposes. But her father sternly escorts her. Asa bridled cow treads with downcast eyes Marzan walks with her father. The sky above her is very much unlike the sky of Burma. The road is unlike the roads there. This sustenance is so very unlike the life there. This world is not like the world there.
Marzan feels that this is a nightmare which will only end with the termination of this night. Her mother will come back. As she thinks about her mother her sorrow knows no bounds. She held her mother’s hand as long as she ran at the gunpoint of the military. Her mother was lost in the stream of the crowd at the bank of the river Nuff. If her mother is here she would have a square meal. If her mother is here she would never have the pinching pain in the lower abdomen. If her mother is here her father cannot be so cruel. Her hatred for her father swells up as she sees him sleeping. She spits on him. Jumping up she runs towards the end of the hills.
The night passes on. And the sun rises.
How I feel About the Rohingyas
Written By Armin Islam Tanaz
The vast water of the ocean seems like the unknown destination of their shelter. They are the Rohingyas,the helpless ethnic group of Myanmar who are stateless impoverished and victims of ongoing human rights. A fleeing mass of people we name as Rohingyas who have made desperate attempts to scurry for refuge with stories of mass persecution, torture, rape and arson shake us back to the reality of the world that we thought was left behind a long time ago. The Rohingya crisis is one of the worlds most persecuted minorities. According to Myanmar’s law the country recognises 134 ethnic groups but refuses to consider nearly one million Rohingya one of them. But they have been living in Myanmar for centuries and call it their homeland. When Aung San Suu Kyi was finally granted her freedom in 2012 and went to ‘Oslo’ to belatedly present her Nobel peace prize lecture, she talked in grand terms of creating a world free of displacement, homelessness, and helplessness, where every corner would be a sanctuary of freedom and peace. This is her government just after five years later that is responsible for this humanitarian catastrophe. I condemn on this issue. The ethnic cleansing of Rohingyas have occurred in 1978,1991 and last 2015-17 respectively . The Rohingyas have no access to education and medicines. They were not even allowed to move freely and were deprived to the right of marriage . A number of Rohingyas who have made their way to Bangladesh are now getting into better conditions than the previous time . But still they are in lack of food,water,shelter and sanitation . But this is worse than that their deprivation in total is that they have lost their rights, their homes, their freedom and even their identity as Rohingya people. The military in Myanmar afflicted these people in every single way that was possible by them. They shot people,raped young women and burned their houses. These helpless poor people are paying for nothing but the sectarian mentality . How long these people will stay this way? Where are this homeless people supposed to go? Who is gonna take their responsibilities and give them an identity? When will they get that so-called nationality that’s lacking has caused them to suffer like inhuman. Maybe thousands of people are carrying the same questions on their minds like me . And like me, they also get no answer. It feels like the rain this year is just an indication of the Rohingya people’s tears as if the rain is secreting the pain of refugees