By: RO Maung Shwe
In the vast sea of tarpaulin shelters and winding dusty paths of the Cox’s Bazar refugee camps lives a woman whose story, though rarely heard, captures the silent endurance of an entire displaced nation. Meet Khotiza Begum — a 52-year-old Rohingya woman whose life has been shaped by unthinkable hardships, quiet sacrifice, and a steadfast hope that refuses to die.
Born in Fuimali village in Buthidaung Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, Khotiza was the eldest daughter of Dil Mohammad and Lotiba Khatun. From her earliest days, life was a relentless struggle. Growing up in poverty, she faced a world with little food, no education for girls, and a society where survival consumed every waking hour.
When she reached the traditional age of marriage, her parents arranged her union with Mustak Ahamed, a hardworking agricultural labourer from Sarap Prang village. Their life together was modest but filled with dreams of a better future. Allah blessed them with two children — a daughter and a son — who became the center of their world.
Mustak, who had lost his father at a young age, grew up quickly to support his mother and household. Nights spent guarding paddy fields against wild animals were part of his life — a testament to the unyielding struggles of Rohingya villagers.
But tragedy struck one Thursday night. Mustak never returned home. The next morning, the village was shattered by the news — his mutilated body was found stuffed into a bag. It was discovered that he had been killed by local robbers who feared he would report them. The horror of his murder left a wound in Khotiza’s life that would never heal.
Despite her grief, Khotiza remained resilient. She stayed in her village for seven years, battling the suffocating hostility faced by widowed Rohingya women. But the increasing violence and social isolation finally forced her to flee. In 2004, carrying only a few belongings and her two children, she crossed into Bangladesh in search of safety.
Denied formal refugee status, Khotiza settled in the informal settlements around Cox’s Bazar. There, she worked tirelessly — washing dishes in restaurants, scrubbing floors in private homes — to feed and clothe her children.
In time, she arranged her daughter’s marriage to a fellow Rohingya man living in Bangladesh. Her son found work in Shamlapur and later migrated to India in search of better opportunities. Tragically, after his departure, he lost contact with his mother, leaving her with another void of sorrow.
When the Myanmar military unleashed renewed terror against the Rohingya in 2016 and 2017, international aid flooded the camps. With new hope for stability, Khotiza moved into the Kutupalong refugee camp, officially registering under UNHCR.
Today, she lives within a cramped shelter, tied to her daughter’s family registration card. Her son-in-law, a day labourer, supports their growing family with meagre earnings, often requiring them to move from place to place in search of work.
To survive, Khotiza runs a small business inside the camp, selling simple items that earn her between 200 to 300 taka a day. It’s enough for a little food — some rice, some lentils — and the occasional betel leaf, a tiny comfort against a lifetime of suffering.
When her daughter and grandchildren are away, loneliness gnaws at her heart. Nights become frightening; illness becomes a solitary battle. Hunger often stands as her only companion.
“In my heart, the untold stories have become heavy stones,” she says. “No one hears me. I only receive food rations. I gave up my youth, my dreams, my life, just to see my children smile. I never lived for myself.”
She voices not just her pain, but the collective sorrow of countless Rohingya women who have sacrificed their dreams on the altar of survival.
“Yes, we get rice and lentils,” she says, “but who will give us clothes? Who will provide us fish or meat to cook a proper meal for our children?”
The world rarely sees the invisible labor of women like Khotiza, whose lives are lived at the intersection of displacement, poverty, and gendered marginalisation.
Despite all that she has endured — the brutal murder of her husband, the loss of her son, the grinding poverty, the hunger, the loneliness — Khotiza remains a living symbol of resilience. Her quiet dignity, her refusal to surrender to despair, and her enduring love for her children stand as powerful testimony to the strength of Rohingya women.
Her voice, though soft and often overlooked, carries within it the weight of an entire people’s suffering and endurance. It is time for the world not just to hear, but to act — to affirm the dignity of Rohingya women like Khotiza Begum and to stand with them in their ongoing quest for justice, humanity, and hope.
