Connor had learned that Bangladesh had also passed legislation denying the Rohingya people citizenship. No one wanted them.
More thana millionpeople with nowhere to go.
That’s gotta suck.
“Is sanitation a big problem?” Shanti asked.
“You might think that, but the camps are very clean. We have a very active WASH sector—that’s water, sanitation, and hygiene. They take care of any problems that might arise. The residents of the camp do many of these jobs themselves, just like any community.”
Ms. Montreux told Shanti that their most worrisome threats were infectious diseases and violence from Bengali gangs and human traffickers.
“There aren’t enough water stations, so many young girls are sent to nearby villages for water, only to be raped or kidnapped and sold into the sex trade. People are sometimes robbed and beaten by roving gangs.”
“What a nightmare.” Shanti shook her head. “These people have suffered so much already, and now they’re trapped in a place that doesn’t want them, waiting to have a future, waiting for a place to call home.”
“It is a terrible tragedy,” Ms. Montreux agreed.
“Do those towers help people watch out for gangs?” Shanti asked.
Ms. Montreux laughed. “Those are for elephants. Kutupalong sits on a migratory trail. People have been killed when elephants entered camp and became cornered and afraid. Now, we are organized. If an elephant is spotted from one of the towers, volunteers try to herd it gently back into the forest. It is much better now.”
Connor would’ve been lying if he hadn’t just found himself hoping to see an elephant or ten while he was here.
They flew to the southernmost camp—Nayapara—and had turned to head northward again, the women talking about repatriation efforts, when Connor spotted something on the ground, something that shouldn’t have been there, something that made his blood run cold.
“RPG! Incoming! Nine o’clock!”