Hafiza was only 2 and a half years old when I first met her. Sitting on the rough floor of the shelter in camp where she was born, she is oblivious that she is a refugee. Secure in the love of her family, she needs nothing more. The world has no place for her, but here in her home, she has all she needs.
Now she is 3 years old, eating a mango, sitting on that same rough floor. Still secure and content, still oblivious she’s a refugee.
Here she is, 4, posing in bright new clothes her parents bought for Eid. Huge grin, makeup, hair done to perfection. Oblivious to the background, a place littered with trash, dirty ditches, and hundreds of shelters stretching into the hazy horizon. This is a normal environment for her, but today is Eid. Today, she is a queen.
There she is, 5, standing on a concrete walkway near the ocean. A rare occurrence when her parents and I risked an outing to a nearby beach, outside the fence. This is the farthest she’s ever been from “home”. A mere 15 kilometers, but a completely different world. She eats ice cream, splashes in the water, then goes back through the fence to that bamboo and tarpaulin shelter. The size of her world just doubled, and she’s tired.
Now she is 6. She’s content with parents who love her, grandparents who spoil her, and an uncle who sometimes brings her sweets in his pocket. She knows she is a refugee, but she doesn’t know anything different. The UNHCR identifies her by 6 digits in a database of over a million people, but her Father knows every hair on her head.
Join us in prayer:
- Pray for the refugee children, a 52% demographic, who are growing up without citizenship.
- Pray that more Rohingya would learn about the Father Who knows them.