A conversation with Rohingya refugee Misbahur Rahman, who fled Maungdaw in 2017 and has spent the past nine years living in Bangladesh, reflecting on displacement, life in the camps, the challenges facing Rohingya youth, and his enduring hope of returning safely to his homeland.

Interviewed by Sakibul Hasan

When I asked Misbahur Rahman about his life before 2017, he spoke first about home. A Rohingya from Maungdaw, Rakhine State, Misbahur was born and raised in Myanmar. His family lived with discrimination and restrictions on movement, education and employment, but Myanmar was still their homeland. They had a house, relatives, neighbors, a community and the ordinary routines of everyday life.

Looking back, he says those ordinary moments have become some of his most precious memories. “Before 2017, even though life was difficult, I knew where I belonged,” he said to me. “After 2017, I became someone living away from home and waiting for the chance to return.”

Fleeing for Survival

In 2017, violence made staying impossible. Misbahur and his family fled Myanmar because they feared for their lives. He is clear that becoming a refugee was never their choice. “We did not leave because we wanted to become refugees. We left because we were trying to survive.”

Rahman remembers a frightening journey filled with exhausted families, crying children and people carrying whatever belongings they could save. The hardest part, he says, was the uncertainty of whether they would ever see their homes again. They crossed into Bangladesh hoping that the displacement would be temporary.

Nine Years in the Camps

When the family arrived in Bangladesh, there was relief that they had survived, but also the pain of leaving everything behind. Rahman initially believed they would return home once the situation improved. Instead, one year became two, then five, and eventually nine.

For him, the biggest hardship is not only the difficult living conditions but the uncertainty. Families continue to face challenges involving shelter, healthcare, education, safety and livelihoods. Humanitarian assistance has been essential, but it cannot replace the opportunity to live independently and plan for the future. “He says, survival is not the same as having a normal life”. After nine years, the camps have become home to a generation of children who have never experienced life in Myanmar.

A Generation Waiting for Education

Education is one of Misbahur’s biggest concerns. Rohingya young people have ambitions to become teachers, doctors, researchers and community leaders, but opportunities remain limited.

Rahman believes displaced children should not have to choose between survival and education. Many have the motivation and ability to learn but lack consistent access to meaningful educational opportunities. “Education is one of the most important ways to give a displaced generation hope,” he says. He worries particularly about children born after 2017 who know Myanmar only through stories told by their parents and grandparents.

When the Violence Returned

The renewed fighting in Myanmar in 2024 brought back painful memories for Misbahur. Hearing about violence and displacement around Maungdaw made him think of his own escape. “For me, Myanmar is not just a country mentioned in the news,” he says. “It is where I was born. It is where my memories are. It is my homeland.” He worried about relatives and other families facing the same fear his family had experienced in 2017. Being far away made the situation even more painful. He wanted to help, but often could do little more than listen, pray and hope that people survived.

Home Is Still Maungdaw

After nine years in Bangladesh, Misbahur still considers Myanmar his home. Bangladesh, he says, gave his family safety when they needed it, and he remains grateful for that. But displacement has not erased his connection to Maungdaw. “Home is not just a building,” he explains. “It is memories, family history, community and the land where your ancestors lived.”

He wants to return, but not simply to cross a border and go back to the same conditions. For him, return must be safe, voluntary and dignified. Rohingya people need security, legal recognition, freedom of movement, access to education and healthcare, and the opportunity to earn a living. Most importantly, he wants assurance that his family will never again have to flee.

More Than Refugees

Misbahur hopes the world will see Rohingya people as more than refugees living in camps. They are a community with a history, culture, identity and homeland. “We did not choose displacement. We did not choose to live in camps. We did not choose to leave our homes,” he says.

Humanitarian assistance remains vital, but he believes the crisis also requires a long-term solution based on rights, safety, justice and opportunity. “A refugee camp should not become someone's permanent destiny.”

Still Holding on to Hope

After everything he has experienced, Misbahur’s greatest hope remains simple: to go home.

He wants to see Myanmar again, walk through the places connected to his childhood and see Rohingya families living safely. He wants children to attend school without fear and young people to have the opportunity to build their futures. Nine years is a long time to wait, he admits. There are moments when he wonders how many more years will pass. Yet he refuses to give up hope.

His hope, he says, is not only for himself but for his family, his community and the children growing up in the camps. He wants the next generation to inherit more than the trauma of displacement—he wants them to inherit their culture, resilience, knowledge and hope. And one day, he hopes, he will return to Myanmar and no longer feel like a displaced person. He simply wants to feel at home.