Dear Motherland,
I am Rashid Ahmed, now a resident of FDMN Camp-07. Yet in every beat of my heart, I remain a son of Maungdaw. My soul yearns for the hills that touch the sky, the waterfalls that sang their eternal songs, the winding paths shaded by trees, and the endless green fields where I once played as a carefree child. In those golden days, neighbours were like family, our lives woven together with threads of harmony and laughter. Though time and violence have torn me away from that life, the memories of my birthplace remain carved into my soul – bright and unshaken, like stars that refuse to fade.
But those dreams were shattered when the soldiers came. One dreadful day, nearly 350 soldiers surrounded our village like a wall of fire. They set our homes on fire, the shelters that once held our joy and love. They dragged away our young men and women, subjecting them to cruelty too unbearable to describe. Screams filled the night, and every corner of my land was painted with fear. What once was a place of peace became a prison of terror. Such brutality became a daily reality until survival itself demanded a choice: leave behind everything we knew or be buried in silence. With trembling hands and a broken heart, I fled with my family, carrying nothing but the hope to live.
Every step toward the Bangladesh border was a journey between life and death. We walked through fire, hunger, and fear, knowing that at any moment our breath could be our last. Crossing into Bangladesh was for us nothing short of a Hijrah – a sacred migration for survival, dignity, and faith. The moment I stepped onto Bangladeshi soil, I felt as though life had been given back to me. For the first time in many nights, I breathed without fear.
I never imagined that Bangladesh would embrace us with such open arms, offering not only safety but also love and dignity. For this boundless compassion, I remain forever indebted to the government and people of Bangladesh. Here, we have received food to fill our hunger, clothing to cover our shame, water to quench our thirst, and shelter to protect us from the storms. We have been given access to education and healthcare, things denied to us in our homeland. And above all, we have been given the gift of safety.
I cannot forget the hands that reached out to us in our darkest hours. Islamic Relief Bangladesh has stood beside us time and again through Qurbani meat that fed our families during Eid, warm clothes that shielded us from the cold, essential items that carried us through hardship, and now shelter support that protects our dignity. These are not mere acts of charity. To us, they are lifelines, threads of hope that keep us alive in a world where we have lost almost everything. For this unwavering solidarity, I will remain eternally grateful.
Yet even as I write these words, my heart bleeds for my homeland. Myanmar is where my roots are buried, where my ancestors lived, and where the soil carries the scent of my childhood.
Though I am safe here, I remain voiceless, dependent, and incomplete. Life in a camp, however kind, can never replace the home I lost. My only dream is to return, to walk again on the soil of Maungdaw, to rebuild my life with dignity, and to live as a free Rohingya on the land of my birth.
That day has not yet come, but I wait with unshaken hope. One day, peace will return. One day, the doors of our homeland will open again. And when that day arrives, I will return, not as a stranger, but as a son, carrying with me the love, gratitude, and resilience that Bangladesh helped me preserve.
With endless love, unbroken hope, and tears that still fall for you,
Your beloved son,
Rashid Ahmed