Wednesday, September 20, 2017
They look at us with hope, but we can only document their despair |
It is mid-day. The humidity is unbearable. The stench of stale sweat hangs in the air. We are in a small and impoverished Hindu community in the Bangladeshi port city of Cox’s Bazar, telling the stories of some of the more than 400,000 Rohingya who have fled neighbouring Myanmar. A 16-year-old girl – one of the minority of Rohingya who are Hindu – is wailing, grieving for her murdered husband. 
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