(Series III): Story of a Relentless Refugee: The Testimony of Mohammad Hashim
Editor’s Note
This is the third installment of Rohingya Khobor’s monthly series based on field experiences from the Rohingya camps. The author is a humanitarian worker with a background in law who has been involved in the Rohingya response since 2017, particularly in gender-based violence work.
In this installment, the author documents the testimony of a Rohingya survivor who fled Myanmar during the 2017 genocide and now lives in the camps of Ukhia. Through memories of loss, displacement, fear, and survival, the testimony reflects both the long-term impact of genocide and the uncertainty shaping Rohingya life in displacement.
The series documents lived realities from the ground, focusing on testimony, survival, and the conditions shaping everyday life in displacement.
by Luthfunnahar Shancyi
The third part of Witnessing the Rohingya Genocide centers on the testimony of Mohammad Hashim, a pseudonym used for security reasons. Hashim is a 48-year-old Rohingya man currently living in one of the camps in Ukhia with his mother, wife, two daughters, and son. He fled Myanmar on September 3, 2017, and sought refuge in Bangladesh.
Today, Mohammad Hashim works as a teacher at a community learning center and serves as a SASA! Together Community Leader with ActionAid Bangladesh. He is actively involved in raising awareness on gender-based violence prevention and community protection.
“Sometimes Death Feels Easier Than This Life”
“Sometimes I feel so desperate that I think it would have been better to die that day at the hands of the Myanmar military than to live every day in fear inside the camp.
Life here is hopeless, painful, and humiliating in ways I could never have imagined. I cannot remember the last time I slept peacefully for seven or eight hours. The nights in the camp never truly feel safe.
Children are becoming targets of kidnapping. Young boys are falling into gambling and drugs. The memories of Myanmar haunt me every day. I often ask myself whether this uncertain life will ever end.”
Maungdaw in Memory: “When We Had Everything”
“We had an abundant life in Maungdaw, Myanmar. We had a beautiful two-storied house and generations of ancestral land. We were a large family with eleven siblings and our parents.
I still remember Eid nights. When the moon appeared, our home would fill with celebration. Relatives and neighbors gathered in our yard. Those childhood memories of playing with friends after school now feel like a distant dream.
Even today, the dust of Maungdaw and its open sky continue to haunt me.
But despite everything we had, we never truly had rights. We were trapped people living in our own homeland.”
A Childhood Surrounded by Fear
“Gradually, the Myanmar military took away every space we had for living.
Men often fled their homes at night and hid in forests or bushes because military raids could happen at any time. People were routinely forced into unpaid labor. Those who refused because of illness or exhaustion were beaten brutally.
No one could speak openly.
Women and girls lived even more restricted lives. Families were afraid to send daughters to school beyond the seventh or eighth grade because of fears of sexual violence and harassment.
Life itself became confined. Even looking outside through the windows felt like a luxury.”
The Violence of August 2017
“What happened on 25 August 2017 was not sudden. It was planned.
When the military and police attacked our area, many young men, including my cousins, were there. Without warning, they opened fire.
Three of my cousins were shot in the neck in front of us. After the soldiers left, we tried to give them water. But the water came back out through the bullet wounds in their throats. That sight is something I will never forget.
The soldiers poured kerosene on homes and burned them. Elderly people and disabled people were attacked on the streets.
Because the army camp was around three miles from our village, we had a short amount of time to escape. Otherwise, we would have died there as well.
Many people fleeing from Rathedaung, Buthidaung, and Kyauktaw had to walk for ten or twelve days through mountains and mud before reaching the border. Their exhausted faces carried stories of suffering greater than ours.”
The Journey to Bangladesh
“When we decided to flee on September 3, it was around 10 at night. We saw a group of people moving through the darkness and followed them.
We carried almost nothing with us. Everything remained behind except our land documents.
My wife, two daughters, son, and elderly mother were with me. My mother held a Quran tightly against her chest. In her other hand, she carried a walking stick as she crossed mountains and muddy paths through the night.
We did not know where we were going. We only knew that staying behind meant death.
When I finally saw the Bangladesh border the next morning after walking all night through forests and canals, I felt as if I had been given another life.”
Speaking the Truth in Myanmar
“I remember an incident from my teenage years.
In 1997, a foreign investigator connected to the United Nations came to Myanmar to investigate human rights abuses. I spoke honestly about the torture we faced.
That same evening, Myanmar intelligence detained me.
I was interrogated for hours. I cried from fear and was eventually forced to deny everything in order to save myself.
At that age, I understood that Rohingya people had no space to speak the truth or seek justice in Myanmar.”
Hashim refused to describe this memory as extraordinary. But his experience reflects the broader system of fear and surveillance imposed on Rohingya communities for decades.
Building a New Role in Bangladesh
“I remain grateful to Bangladesh.
After arriving here, I learned many things that I could never have imagined in Myanmar. Different NGOs gave me opportunities to grow and contribute.
Now I work as a teacher in the camp and serve as a SASA! Together Community Leader with ActionAid Bangladesh. I work on gender-based violence prevention, intimate partner violence awareness, and community protection.
These responsibilities have changed me as a person. I now feel able to make people in my community more aware of their rights.”
Relief as a Father, Fear for the Future
“As a father, I feel relief that despite many hardships, I was able to marry off my two daughters.
But I constantly worry about my son’s future.
The growing insecurity in the camps, drugs, gambling, and the risk of kidnapping create fear for all parents. NGOs alone cannot protect our children. We also need awareness within our own community.
I still dream that one day we will return to our homeland with safety and dignity. We know how to farm. We know how to survive through our own labor. We do not want to depend on aid forever.
My final wish is simple: I want to take my last breath in my own land.
We are still waiting for the day we can return home with honor. Our return matters for the future of our children.
Will we ever smell that soil again?”
Confidentiality & Protection: In the interest of personal security and to maintain the survivor’s confidentiality, all identifying details have been protected. “Mohammad Hashim” is a pseudonym used throughout this testimony to protect the individual’s identity.
Consent & Rights: This testimony was obtained with the survivor’s full and informed consent. All rights related to the use, reproduction, and distribution of this account, in whole or in part, are held exclusively by the writer and the publisher. Unauthorized reproduction or use of this material without written permission is strictly prohibited.
Luthfunnahar Shancyi is a law graduate and human rights professional. She entered the humanitarian sector during the 2017 Rohingya genocide response, which shaped her work in transitional justice and capacity building. She is also engaged in youth-based community advocacy in Bangladesh, focusing on empowering future human rights defenders.
