Image: Sufida, 12, attends a CPI-supported learning center in Kutupalong Refugee Camp, Bangladesh. (Md. Dipu/CPI)
In the sprawling hills of Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh, lies the world’s largest refugee settlement. Eight years after more than 700,000 Rohingya fled violence in Myanmar, Kutupalong Refugee Camp remains home to over one million people who cannot safely return. Among them are at least 400,000 children of school age — young lives shaped by displacement, uncertainty, and the fragile hope of a better future.
Education offers children living as refugees more than literacy and numeracy: it brings a sense of normalcy, security, and dignity. Yet for many, schooling remains out of reach.
The Rohingya Refugee Response Inter-Sector Needs Assessment (ISNA), published in February 2025, illustrates the scale of the challenge. While 78% of Rohingya households with children aged 3–18 had enrolled them in a learning facility, 22% had no access at all. However, enrollment is not attendance, and the real picture is more complex.
Then ISNA data estimates that 41% of children between 6 and 18 are out of school, either because they have dropped out, cannot attend regularly, or face protection-related risks. Younger children are far more likely to be enrolled. At ages 5–7, enrolment reaches 83–92%. But beginning around age 8, the numbers fall sharply. By adolescence, especially among girls, education rates plummet. By 16, as many as three out of four Rohingya teenagers are out of school.
A growing crisis in funding for Rohingya refugees now threatens to devastate education in the camps, with 4,500 schools suspending operations in June, affecting more than 225,000 children.
These numbers represent more than statistics. They reflect the daily struggles of children and families caught in limbo, navigating cramped shelters, food insecurity, and cultural pressures, all while trying to keep learning alive.
Amid these challenges, Community Partners International (CPI), in partnership with Educo, supports education programs that help Rohingya children continue their studies.
CPI sustains three learning centers for 240 adolescents (ages 11–17) and five early childhood education centers for 150 younger children (ages 3–5) in Camps 1W, 4, 8E, and 17 of Kutupalong. The learning centers provide foundational education in Burmese, English, maths, science, civics, life skills, art, and physical education.
With your help, CPI supports school operations, uniforms and learning materials, teacher training, food, and parental and community engagement in education and child protection.
For children who have endured trauma and disruption, these spaces offer not just lessons but stability, friendships, and the possibility to dream again. The stories of three students at CPI-supported learning centers — Sufida (12), Jokiya (12), and Abdu Rahman (13) — reveal what education means in the life of a Rohingya child.
At just 12 years old, Sufida has already experienced the disruption of displacement. In Myanmar, she had just completed her first year of school when violence forced her family to flee. “I was in class 1. The teachers there were very good and kind. My favorite subject was math,” she recalls. “I was about to start my second year. But everything stopped.”
The journey to Bangladesh was perilous. Her family left everything behind, running into the hills to save themselves. “We hadn’t eaten anything proper in days. And even after arriving here, we had to stay hungry. There were no houses, so we had to lie on the ground without a roof over our heads.”
Today, her life in the camp is more structured. At the CPI-supported learning center, she has rediscovered her love of math. She beams when recalling a proud moment: “There was a test one day, and I was the only one to get all the questions right.”
For Rohingya girls, education is often threatened by social pressures to marry early. But Sufida’s parents have stood by her. “My parents want me to continue studying so I can help my siblings and community.”
Her dreams are ambitious and intertwined: “I want to become a doctor so that I can serve my community. I also want to be a teacher, to teach the next generation.” For her, education is not just about personal advancement but about collective progress: “Life will be a lot easier if my community is literate.”
Like Sufida, 12-year-old Jokiya remembers her life in Myanmar with nostalgia. “I remember our house, our yard, and where I used to play in the evening. I had a lot of friends back there. We played skipping rope and hide and seek.”
But unlike Sufida, she had not yet entered formal school. She only studied with a private tutor until the day her parents hurriedly gathered their belongings and fled. “Back then, I was very young. I couldn’t understand much; I only remember that we suddenly took everything they could and ran away.”
Her family’s journey to Bangladesh was harrowing — days of walking barefoot over hills, eating leaves for survival, and crossing by boat. Jokiya’s elderly grandmother made the journey with them and later fell ill and died in the camp.
Despite these losses, Jokiya has embraced learning with joy. Her favorite subject is English. “Everyone from outside speaks it. And I want to speak with people from outside as well.” She lights up when describing how she recites poems for visitors: “They clap for me.”
Daily life remains full of hardships. “The houses are very small and cramped. We have to stand outside in a line to get water. When it rains, this place gets very slippery, and lots of houses get damaged. I worry that my house might be damaged next time.” Yet her father’s encouragement sustains her education — he helps with homework every day.
Jokiya dreams of becoming a doctor, inspired by the needs she sees around her. But she also views education as a pathway to empowerment. “If everyone in our community is educated, they will know about their rights, and they can advocate for themselves in the outside world.”
Her advice to other children is simple: “Time is very important. In the age of learning, we should learn.”
For 13-year-old Abdu Rahman, education is tied to responsibility. As the eldest child, he sees his learning as a way to support his family and community.
He remembers school in Myanmar fondly. “I learned English, Burmese, and math. The teachers were very nice. During breaks, I used to play with my friends. We always went together to and from school.”
That ended abruptly when violence forced his family to flee. “We had to walk for eight days, then crossed the border by boat. The journey took 14 days. We had some rice with us; we had to survive on that. There was no clean water, no place to sleep. Even if we found a place to lie down, we could not sleep due to fear of snakes and other animals.”
Now in Bangladesh, he studies at a CPI-supported learning center, where he thrives in math. “I love all the lessons, especially when the teacher teaches multiplication and asks us questions on it.” His teachers, he says, patiently explain concepts “word by word on the whiteboard.”
Abdu Rahman hopes to be a teacher. “Education is very important for us. We don’t have a country, and we are refugees. I can teach my younger siblings what I learn and help my community survive.”
His message to peers reflects his sense of duty: “If you start studying, we can both help our community in the future. The more educated we are, the safer we are.”
The stories of Sufida, Jokiya, and Abdu Rahman reveal the resilience of Rohingya children and the transformative power of education in crisis settings. Each has endured loss, hunger, and displacement. Yet each also shows determination to learn, to dream, and to give back.
These learning centers and early childhood programs are modest in scale compared to the vast needs of Kutupalong. But for the nearly 400 children they serve, they mean the difference between hope and despair, futures imagined and futures foreclosed.
Educo Project Officer, Khadimol Hoque, emphasizes how parents’ attitudes are changing. “Nowadays, when we go to households, we see parents helping their children’s learning. They make a proper place for them to study. Some even make study tables for them,” he reveals. “They keep telling us, ‘When we return to Myanmar, we want our kids to be able to face the new world.’”
As international attention ebbs and flows, the education crisis for Rohingya children remains urgent. Without sustained support, an entire generation risks being left behind — denied the knowledge and skills to navigate an uncertain future.
For Sufida, Jokiya, and Abdu Rahman, education is not a luxury. It is their most vital resource. As Sufida put it: “Education is very important for me and my community. Without it, I cannot go far.”
Δ
Thank you for subscribing! We will update you on impacts and milestones as we empower vulnerable communities in Asia to meet their essential health, humanitarian, and sustainable development needs.
