9th December, 2019
My name is Sakhina, I am about 75 years old. I live in a refugee camp called the Leda camp in Bangladesh with my daughter and grandchild.
Once upon a time, I lived in my birthplace, Myanmar. My husband was a farmer, he was a very loving man. When he died, I prayed to Allah to allow me the privilege of being buried next to my dear husband...but then the killings started.
Every day we kept hearing villages were being burnt, targeting Muslims. I saw with my own eyes the murders of innocent children, thrown into fires as if they were just garbage. Humanity died in my village when the army came that day. I can still hear the screams of our daughters as they were brutally raped.
My son in law was murdered by the military that day, as too was my loving grandchild. I knew I had to escape to protect my daughter and her newborn. I am old and weak but I don't want these tired eyes to close until my daughter and grandchild are safe. So we
walked for 5 days, 5 days of hunger and these tired legs never gave up I kept praying that Allah doesn't take me until my daughter and her son are safe.
We finally made it into Bangladesh, and today I find myself as a homeless refugee.
It seems my wish to be buried alongside my husband’s grave will not be fulfilled and I will die in a land that is not mine.
I am not much worried about me but about my daughter. She lost her husband and newborn son. She is having a tough time, still traumatized by her loss, and spends the night crying silently. Scars that the human eye can't see...but only the heart that feels.
She spends her day searching for food and medicine for us. I do not know what is waiting for her. My life is in the end, but she is still young. She does not have anywhere to go. I am just praying for her.
I have faith in Allah that my daughter will one day be happy.