By: RO Maung Shwe
Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh – June 2025
As the sun rises over the bamboo-and-tarpaulin landscape of the Rohingya refugee camps in Cox’s Bazar, an 11-year-old girl named Sultana Akter looks at her worn clothes and remembers Eid in a different world. “Back in Myanmar, the mosque courtyard would be decorated. We wore new dresses. It felt like a real celebration,” she says, her voice soft but clear. “Now, it’s just another day we try to survive.”
This year, as Qurban—or Eid al-Adha—approaches, over a million Rohingya refugees prepare to mark one of Islam’s holiest festivals under conditions that test the limits of their faith and endurance.
Faith Amid Displacement
Qurban commemorates the unwavering devotion of Prophet Ibrahim (A.S.), who was willing to sacrifice his son in obedience to Allah’s command. For Muslims worldwide, the occasion is observed with animal sacrifice, communal prayer, and the sharing of meat with the poor. But for the Rohingya, displaced from their homes in Rakhine State, Myanmar, and living in cramped refugee settlements since 2017, the traditional joy of Eid has long been overshadowed by grief and scarcity.
Still, many strive to uphold the core values of the festival: prayer, unity, and generosity.
Memories of a Different Eid
“Back in Myanmar, our Mahalla (neighbourhood) was closely tied to the mosque,” recalls Mohammed Ayoub, 64, who now lives with nine family members in Camp 9. “We couldn’t afford to perform Qurbani ourselves, but our neighbours made sure we got 15 to 25 kilos of meat. Sometimes even rice, spices, and oil came with it.”
“In the camps,” he continues, “we hear that animals are donated from Middle Eastern countries, but we rarely see them. Last year, I could only afford a farm chicken. This year, I don’t know what I’ll do for my grandchildren.”
His son, a daily labourer, sometimes works illegally outside the camp to provide for the family. “With his earnings, he bought us new clothes for Eid,” Ayoub says. “But Qurbani? That’s too expensive now.”
A Widow’s Painful Shift
For Solima Khatun, 45, Eid now brings more sorrow than joy. Her husband was killed during the 2017 violence in Rakhine. “He used to perform Qurbani every year—sometimes a buffalo, sometimes a cow,” she says. “Now, I struggle just to feed my children. In Myanmar, I gave meat to my neighbours. Here, I can’t even feed my own.”
Holding On to Traditions
Despite financial hardship and a crumbling aid system, many Rohingya families still gather in makeshift mosques or open fields for Eid prayers. Community imams deliver khutbahs that echo with themes of sacrifice and resilience. Small portions of meat—when available—are shared between families. The act may seem modest, but for those in the camps, it carries profound spiritual meaning.
“Even if we can’t perform the sacrifice, we remember the story of Ibrahim (A.S.) and we try to share whatever little we have,” says a community leader from Camp 13. “Qurban is not about meat—it’s about submitting to Allah and caring for each other, especially in times of hardship.”
A Celebration of Spirit, Not Wealth
With aid shrinking and international attention dwindling, Qurban in the camps is more symbolic than material. Yet it endures.
For the Rohingya, Eid al-Adha is not just a religious obligation. It is a memory of home, a hope for return, and a quiet act of resistance against erasure. Every shared meal, every whispered prayer, and every child dressed in whatever their family could afford, is a reminder: faith lives on—even in exile.
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