by Ro Maung Shwe
Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh
At 17, Mujibur Rahman carries a dream that reaches far beyond the bamboo and tarpaulin walls of a refugee camp classroom. He is a Rohingya student, born in Kyet Yoe Pyin village in northern Maungdaw Township, Arakan State, and his story reflects both the violence that uprooted a people and the quiet determination that refuses to let education disappear.
Mujibur is the eldest son of Mohammed Rashid, who once worked as a clerk in the village administrator’s office. Like many Rohingya parents, Rashid believed education was the only inheritance he could offer his children. That belief was tested early. Under Myanmar’s discriminatory system, Rohingya students were denied equal access to schooling, making even basic education uncertain.
In October 2016, Kyet Yoe Pyin was among the first villages burned during military operations. Homes were destroyed, villagers were arbitrarily arrested, and several died after torture in detention. Women were subjected to sexual violence, and civilians were killed. Mujibur was still a child when his world collapsed. The family initially stayed, hoping the violence would end. It did not.
By 2017, mass killings and ethnic cleansing forced more than a million Rohingya to flee Myanmar. Mujibur’s family crossed into Bangladesh and settled in Kutupalong, carrying little more than memory and fear.
Inside the camp, education became their anchor. Mujibur’s father found work as a teacher with an NGO-supported learning centre and taught his son privately whenever possible. When Rohingya community teachers later established their own schools, Mujibur enrolled at Rohingya Ideal Private High School in Camp 6/2E. These community-led schools, built through self-initiative, remain the only option for Rohingya students seeking structured education beyond basic learning.
Mujibur studied with unusual discipline. Last year, he completed Grade 11 with high marks. Like thousands of Rohingya students, his achievement went unrecognised, as community schools are not formally accredited by UN agencies or the Bangladeshi authorities.
In 2025, a rare breakthrough emerged from within the community itself. Rohingya educators and leaders established the Examination Board of Rohingya Refugees, creating a unified examination system for community-led schools. More than 95 percent of such schools joined the initiative, agreeing on common standards and assessments.
Mujibur continued his studies under this system. This year, when the Board conducted mid-term examinations for Grades 5, 9, and 12 across more than 70 schools, over 3,500 students took part. Mujibur scored 527 marks, placing first in Grade 12.
Teachers and invigilators described the results as historic. For the first time, Rohingya students saw their efforts measured collectively, their excellence visible beyond individual classrooms. Community leaders said the achievement proved what many had long argued: given even minimal opportunity, Rohingya youth can excel.
Mujibur’s dream is simple and ambitious. He wants to attend a university. He believes education is the path to dignity and self-reliance, not only for himself but for his people. Community advocates say students like him represent an untapped resource, one that could contribute positively if pathways to higher education were opened.
A young community advocate from Kyet Yoe Pyin reflected on the long struggle behind the examination board, saying it took months of meetings, sacrifice, and persistence to become reality. Village-based youth groups continue to support students financially and publicly recognise academic success, keeping hope alive where formal systems remain closed.
Mujibur Rahman’s journey does not erase the violence that displaced him, nor the barriers that still stand in his way. But it offers a clear message. Enforced illiteracy is not inevitable. With recognition and opportunity, Rohingya youth can move beyond survival toward a future shaped by learning, confidence, and contribution.
For now, Mujibur studies in a camp classroom. His eyes are set on a university he has never seen, carrying a belief shared by many Rohingya parents and teachers: education, once ignited, is harder to burn than any village.
