Cox's Bazar refugee camps: where social distancing is impossible

Abu Kalam lives with 11 other family members in a home built from bamboo and tarpaulin with mud walls. It’s extremely cramped, he says, but everyone is staying at home.

Outside, life in the camp has ground to a halt. The children are no longer able to go to school; his two older sons, who used to work on a tea stall and pulling a rickshaw, have lost their income.

It’s the start of monsoon season, and some nearby homes have already been flooded, adding to the misery of lockdown. Fortunately Kalam, who lives on a hill, has not been affected.

His home is divided into four small rooms, but disease spreads easily. Two weeks ago, his wife began to suffer from fever and flu-like symptoms. Now, his three-year-old son and his three daughters are sick. “I’m worried but I don’t tell them,” says Kalam. “I’m the head of the family and I don’t want to frighten them.”

He reassured them that it is just the usual flu – it is flu season in the camps – and told them not to worry about Covid-19.

Going to the clinic, he adds, isn’t an option. He fears that doctors would assume they had coronavirus and immediately quarantine the family. He doesn’t know where they’d be sent.

Sometimes, messages about how to stay safe from the virus are relayed on loudspeakers outside, but for updates on the pandemic, he relies on people who are able to pick up an internet connection on the outskirts of the camp. Reading news updates or online advice about staying safe isn’t possible, due to an internet blackout across the camps, which the Bangladesh government says is necessary for security concerns.

The family have enough soap for handwashing, but he worries about the conditions in communal facilities. The toilets, he says, are hard to maintain when they are used by so many people. They have some masks, but not enough for everyone. “It is not fit for a human to live here, it is not hygienic,” he says.

It is not clear if there are confirmed coronavirus infections in camp 2E, but Kalam fears that if testing is increased then hidden cases will emerge. “It is extremely difficult to live in this crowded place in this situation,” he adds. “But we have nowhere to go.”

Every morning at 6.30am Mohamed Meah’s children queue for up to half an hour at a nearby tube well. After filling their containers, they trudge for 15 minutes back up the hill to their home. They make the same journey at noon, and sometimes in the evening, heaving water back to their bamboo and tarpaulin shelter.

There used to be a water point just minutes away, says Meah, but it has been broken for almost a year. Nowadays, the family of 13 relies on the tube well that has to serve a far greater number of families. His children, who don’t have masks, wait alongside others for their turn. There’s little social distancing.

Even before the outbreak, access to water was one of the biggest problems facing his family, says Meah. Now, the need for clean water, so that families can wash their hands and reduce the risk of virus transmission, is even more urgent.

He adds that thankfully there are no known coronavirus cases in camp 17, but everyone is on high alert and lockdown means the already dire conditions have become even harder.

“I have 13 family members, so it is very tough,” he says. They rely on rations, and barely have enough to eat. Many people in the camps have lost work due to the lockdown, and services provided by NGOs have been cut to reduce the risk of aid workers bringing the virus in with them. Meah is still able to work in a madrasa school, but no one else in the family is earning. They can’t afford to buy extra vegetables or snacks for the children.

“Whenever we see people, we have a talk about Covid-19 and about the situation in the camp. We try to get more information from each other,” he says. An internet ban means there is no way to access reliable news, and instead people rely on word of mouth.

Meah says that if he developed symptoms he would go to the clinic, about half-an-hour’s walk away, and follow whatever treatment is given. He isn’t sure what to expect, though. Many people are reluctant to go, he adds. Some have had bad experiences in the past, or worry about being sent into isolation.

Social distancing at home, he says, wouldn’t be possible. “We all sleep together. There’s no space.”