Last month, I had the opportunity to visit my family in Bangladesh.

After booking the tickets, I made the intention to visit the Rohingya refugee camps, especially after hearing about the influx of Rohingya Muslims into Bangladesh due to a crackdown by Myanmar’s military.

The Rohingya are a Muslim-majority minority ethnic group who have lived in the majority Buddhist country of Myanmar, (previously known as Burma), for centuries. However, they have been denied citizenship since 1982, leaving them stateless and considered by the United Nations as “the world’s most persecuted minority”.

Mass arson of Rohingya homes, extrajudicial killings and systemic rape as a ‘calculated tool of terror’ are only some of the injustices carried by the Burmese security forces, so it is not surprising that over 655,500 Rohingya have had to flee to neighbouring Bangladesh from the end of August last year. My uncle, who visited the camps in October, explicitly warned me of the atrocities he has witnessed himself. Despite this, I was not prepared for what I was to hear and see.

“We could see all the dead people. I was really scared. All I could see were the dead bodies and burnt houses on my way here.”

SubhanAllah.

One man and his family will forever be etched into my memory. The deep scar on his temple, and fresh stitches on his upper leg from being slashed by the Burmese military. These physical reminders were nothing in comparison to the emotional pain he had gone through. He greeted me with the warmest smile, and he was eager to speak to me. They had chosen him as one of the designated ‘majhi’ (uncle/leader) from among the Rohingya refugees in Balukhali refugee camp.

“Back in Burma, when times were good, I used to be a bus driver. Me and my family were happy and I earned a decent wage alhamdulillah. But then one day whilst I was driving, I saw the Burmese army approaching from a distance and they were killing some of our people. So when I saw this I quickly pressed the break on my bus and got down. That’s when they started shooting me too. The glass on my bus got destroyed and I got shot on my temple, and then another man started hitting me hard.’ He then went on to show me his spine where there were 12 stitches still in the process of healing. That’s when I lost my brother and my son in law. If only we could place the bodies so we could give them a proper janazah. But how can we trace the bodies. They’ve all been burnt. Nevertheless, Alhamdulillah. Alhamdulillah always. My wife and children are still alive.”

SubhanAllah. How could they have gone through so much suffering and be so grateful? With all the injustices they have faced, they’re living and breathing the word ‘Alhamdulillah’.

Smiling, the majhi then led the way inside the camp and took us to his home to meet his family. Through congested and makeshift huts made of plastic, bin liners and local materials, in the distance all you could see were stacks upon stacks of man made dwellings. A sight I had only ever seen in the media. It was only a small shack, a few metres wide with the basic necessities, but his wife was ecstatic to meet us.

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“Salamualaikum sisters! Please sit!” She then went on to show us around the hut and the sleeping arrangements. For a makeshift home, it was difficult to imagine five people living and sleeping within such a confined space. “I’m so sorry sisters. If I could, I would offer you food. But…I don’t even have any for myself or my family. Alhamdulillah were so glad you’re here”.

SubhanAllah. My mind was drifting between anger, sadness and a constant questioning of – Why?

Why had they been denied basic human necessities? Why was this happening to them? How could this be happening to them when they had done nothing wrong? Why have these innocent souls had to undergo so much suffering, while I’ve been given such blessings in my life? The luxury to be able to get back into a car and drive home to food waiting for me on a plate. I drifted off and recalled a particular hadith:

It was narrated from Salamah bin ‘Ubaidullah bin Mihsan Al-Ansari that his father said:

“The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said: ‘Whoever among you wakes up physically healthy, feeling safe and secure within himself, with food for the day, it is as if he acquired the whole world’.”

So why is it that the brothers and sisters in the camp were living with ‘Alhamdulillah’ on their lips, when they were being denied all that this hadith has stated? How small our troubles are in comparison to what our brothers and sisters are facing.

When I could grab a quiet moment with the women of the home, I decided to ask them about gender based violence (rape). The majhi’s wife looked away and was silent. It’s been reported by Human Rights Watch that cases of rape are within the hundreds, with accounts so severe and traumatising due to the fact that it’s being used methodically as a means to exterminate the Rohingya people. I spoke to Nadirah, a doctor working with the NGO, MERCY Malaysia, and she informed me that some of her patients are giving birth to children who may belong to the men they have loved and lost, or to merciless attackers that have thinly spared them.

I looked around me and saw children with faces so pure, and smiles wide. It then hit me that this was the only reality that they had ever known. A reality of fear, bloodshed, unthinkable tragedy. A reality of inhumanity and injustice. Genocide. A reality where their existence is being wiped out, exterminated for  purely for believing in ‘La ilaha illallah Muhammadur Rasulullah’. The Rohingya are being promised safety in Myanmar, on the condition that they leave Islam. SubhanAllah. Yet they persevere.

Click here to read Part Two of Ryssa’s journey.