by Delowar Sha (Mohammad Arif), Rohingya refugee and human rights advocate
Climate change may at times feel like a distant, abstract global environmental issue. Yet for communities like mine, this is a reality we live with every single day. I am a Rohingya refugee living in a refugee camp in Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh. When the monsoon clouds gather over the hills, I feel fear before the rain starts. It is a quiet fear felt by everyone around me. People look at the sky with worry because here in Cox’s Bazar refugee camp, rain brings danger to us displaced people.
Our shelters are made of bamboo and tarpaulin, which we refugees built on steep and unstable hills. When heavy rain falls, especially at night, it becomes impossible to sleep. I have spent many nights listening to the sound of rain hitting the plastic roof and wondering if the ground beneath us would give way. In those moments, every sound feels like a warning and reminder of the risks to our life. For many of us, fear is neither abstract, nor distant. I have seen what happens when the soil becomes too soft to hold the shelters in place. Landslides have happened suddenly, and repeatedly, leaving little time to react. I remember seeing a nearby shelter fully collapse into pieces after heavy rain. A family lost everything they had rebuilt after fleeing Myanmar in 2017. It is painful to watch people go through loss again and again in refugee life.
Today, nearly one million Rohingya refugees live in Cox’s Bazar. Most of us arrived after violence erupted in Myanmar in 2017. We came here seeking safety in refugee camps, hoping to escape the fear of violence, crimes against humanity, and religious persecution. We fled our homeland with very few belongings, determined to protect the dignity of our families, our mothers, and our sisters.
While the world sees our situation primarily as a political crisis, another reality shapes our daily lives and receives far less attention. Climate change has become another crisis for us. The camps were built to respond to a humanitarian emergency and save us from hunger and starvation. Large areas of forest were cleared to create space for shelters to house us. I can’t forget how the hills used to be covered with trees. Now, without those roots to hold the soil together, the land has become too unstable to keep our shelters standing through the night.
The moment you enter the camp, you can immediately see how closely people live together in its crowded areas. Narrow pathways wind through crowded shelters. Refugees climb up and down the hills. During dry days, the paths are dusty, making it difficult to move around freely. During monsoons, the paths turn into slippery mud. Moving from one place to another becomes dangerous, especially for children, elderly people, and those with disabilities, who already struggle to live comfortably in such an environment. When heavy rain falls, the situation quickly worsens, and our shelters cannot withstand the elements because they are made of bamboo and tarpaulin. Water flows through the pathways and enters homes. I have seen families trying to lift their belongings onto higher ground, trying to save what little they have left. Sometimes, our shelters are left unsafe and exposed. Clothes, food, and bedding get drenched in rain. The feeling of helplessness, of powerlessness, in those moments is hard to describe.
Many parents fear for their children. I have seen mothers holding them tightly during storms, trying to protect them from the wind and rain. Fathers often stay awake all night, watching for signs of landslides because they feel responsible for protecting their family. There is a quiet strength parents portray, enormous and selfless. There is a constant question in our minds: Will our shelter survive tonight? For elderly people and persons with disabilities, the risks are even greater, including in my own family. I take care of my disabled mother and younger sister, they need medical treatment and constant care. Evacuation is not easy in a crowded camp, especially when paths are flooded and blocked. I have seen people struggling to move quickly when danger comes. These are the moments when our vulnerability becomes most apparent, and when I wish I could get them move to a safer place.
The physical dangers create an emotional fear that many people carry silently. Every monsoon season brings anxiety and fear in Cox’s Bazar refugee camps. When a shelter is damaged and destroyed our families are relocated to another area of the camp. This might seem like a simple solution but it means losing neighbors, routines, and a sense of belonging. It feels like starting over again. Access to clean water and sanitation becomes more difficult during floods. Dirty water spreads quickly and the risk of disease, such as diarrhea and chicken pox, increases. In these conditions, even small health problems can become serious. I experienced this myself in 2025, when I fell ill and my condition became severe enough that the MSF-run Jamtoli hospital in Camp 15 had to transfer me to Kutupalong MSF hospital.
What I have described above is only part of the vulnerability we face. I have also observed how the presence of such a large refugee population affects nearby communities. Resources like firewood, water, and land are in limited supply, affecting our ability to cook food and feed our families. Many refugee families depend on firewood for cooking, which has contributed to deforestation in the area of Cox’s Bazar. At the same time, host communities are also struggling with poverty and environmental changes. This creates a difficult situation where both refugees and local communities are pressured. Climate stress does not affect one group alone, it affects everyone in the region of the refugee camp.
Inside the camps, energy is another daily challenge. Some organizations have introduced alternative fuels like LPG, which helps reduce the need for firewood. However, supply and access is not always consistent. Many families rely on traditional methods because they have no other choice. Expanding renewable energy, especially solar power, could make a meaningful difference in reducing environmental damage and improving daily life. Women and girls face additional challenges during environmental disasters. I have seen how difficult it becomes for them to move safely during floods, especially at night. Access to safe sanitation facilities becomes limited, increasing risks to their safety and dignity. Many women are responsible for collecting water and managing household needs, tasks that become much harder during extreme weather.
When I reflect on all of this, I cannot ignore the issue of justice. The Rohingya people have contributed almost nothing to global carbon emissions. Yet we are among those facing some of the most severe consequences of climate change. This is not just unfortunate, it is unjust. There have been efforts by humanitarian organizations to reduce risks in the camps. I have seen projects to stabilize hills, improve drainage systems, and strengthen shelters. These efforts are important and they do make a difference. But they cannot fully solve the problem, especially when the scale of the population is so large and the environmental pressures are so severe.
We need solutions that look beyond immediate emergencies, solutions that are comprehensive and sustainable. We need approaches that connect climate adaptation with human dignity, supporting both refugees and host communities, and recognizing the long-term nature of this crisis. I believe that one of the most important aspects of the solution lies with young people. Many Rohingya youth, including myself, want to learn and contribute to our communities. But opportunities for education are limited. If we are given access to education, especially programs that include environmental awareness and disaster preparedness, we can become part of the solution.
Education is not only about personal growth. It is about building stronger communities. I continue to experience all the challenges and suffering around me in Camp 15. Yet I also see the awe-inspiring strength of humanity’s will to survive and live in dignity. I have seen families rebuild their shelters after storms, even when they have very little and no source of income. I have seen young people continue studying even in difficult conditions. I have seen community members helping each other during emergencies. For people like me, this is not just a topic of discussion. It is our daily reality. And our future depends on the world’s will to listen to the voices of those living in refugee camps.
Delowar Sha (Mohammed Arif) is a Rohingya refugee, humanitarian worker, and human rights advocate based in the Cox’s Bazar refugee camps in Bangladesh. He is a Human Rights Diploma graduate from the Institution of Human Rights and Democratic Government (IHRDG). He works as a teacher in a BRAC education program supported by UNICEF and is the founder of the Student Advocacy Network for Rights (SANR), promoting youth empowerment, education, and climate awareness in refugee communities.
Edited by Marios T. Afrataios, Co-Founder of The ASEAN Frontier
