Taking refuge in the refugee camps, Greece, 2016 – TWB Community stories.

Written by Caroline Fakhri, professional interpreter and TWB Community member. 

In the refugee camps in Greece, I was interpreting for the people of Afghanistan of whom many were women. As a woman, I could empathize with their difficulties. Most importantly for the women, they felt able to reveal their inner worries without being judged, because I was not from their culture but still understood their language. This was a huge advantage for them to feel they had a safe space to chat and unburden themselves mentally. Interestingly, many of the Afghan men expressed similar sentiments to the women.  

“People need to be understood, not just on a word-to-word level but at a deeper level of the culture and customs of where someone is from.” 

Fires have burnt the tents in refugee camps in Greece - piles of debris and ashes are shown, with camp tents, people and children in the background inspecting what's left

Caroline Fakhri took this photo of fires in the camps in Larissa, Greece.

The importance of language and communication was expressed to me very clearly by one of the doctors that I was working with at Medicins du Mond

“As an interpreter you are the most important member of our team. Without interpreters we cannot do our job effectively.”

The photo below shows Caroline Fakhri, on the island of Chios in one of the containers where they saw patients.

Caroline holding a baby, in a refugee camp in Greece

“I am a qualified interpreter and English tutor/teacher. I am self-employed and tutor English language and literature to school children up to GCSE level. I also teach EFL to adults and children in schools.  I interpret and have worked in the refugee camps in Greece as well as for local authority clients. My mother tongue is English; I speak Farsi fluently, French at intermediate level and I am learning Spanish at the moment.”

A Farsi interpreter in Larissa, Greece

The black smouldering mess was all that remained of half a dozen or so tents that were burning wildly when we arrived at the camp for our afternoon shift. We were there to attend to the aches and pains of the hundreds of refugees housed in these tents just outside the city of Larissa, approximately 350 kilometres north of Athens. 

What an opportunity. I had jumped at the chance to use my Farsi language skills on a humanitarian mission during the refugee crisis of 2015/2016. This crisis was brought to the world’s attention when the dead body of the three-year-old Syrian Kurdish boy Aylan Kurdi was splashed across the front pages of national and international newspapers, highlighting the cost of this humanitarian crisis, almost on our doorstep. 

Large numbers of Syrian and Afghan refugees had left their war-torn countries and got as far as Turkey. In the majority of cases, they had paid a small fortune. Some had sold all their possessions and given their life savings to smugglers to get them from Turkey to the nearest point in Europe. Many arrived on Chios, where I was sent, as well as Lesbos Samos and Kos. 

The Greek coastguards were rescuing people as soon as they entered Greek waters in the small dinghies they had been packed into, so full there was standing room only. The smugglers sold them life jackets but they were homemade, sometimes packed with newspaper instead of anything buoyant and invariably made from black material to stop them from being visible at night. The majority of sailings took place under the cover of darkness.    

It was just a couple of weeks earlier that I had received a phone call. “Is that Caroline?” a female voice asked, I noted the French accent. “Yes”, I said hesitantly. “Are you ready for your mission? This is Medicins du Monde, Brussels”, the voice continued.  We have 14th March for your availability, is that still the case? 

Momentarily, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t believe I had been successful in my application to go to Greece to work as an interpreter for the humanitarian organisation Medicins du Monde. “All being well you will leave in a couple of days,” the voice said. We are assembling the rest of the team that you will be working with.” 

I put the phone down, jumping up in the air with excitement. In just a couple of days, I would be off to work with people in the now full-to-bursting-point camps on the Greek Island of Chios, as far east in the Mediterranean as you can go before you get to Turkey. I phoned my sister to tell her the news. “You have to go,” she said emphatically.  

First stop, Chios

I arrived in Chios on the eve of the new EU Turkey agreement. From March 22nd, 2016, any migrants arriving from Turkey would be sent back. All the authorities knew this was an impossible task. There was not enough manpower to process all the new arrivals, spring was coming and with the warmer weather, there would be more and more boats. 

After a briefing in Brussels at the Medicins du Monde office and having met my new colleagues, a Belgian nurse, a German doctor and an Arabic interpreter we were on our way. First, we flew to Athens and then by a very small plane, which to me resembled a crop duster, to Chios. Chios is one of the larger Greek islands, sitting just 11 miles from Turkey. It is tantalisingly close for the people who wanted to get to Europe by any means offered. 

On arrival at the tiny island airport, we were greeted by the field coordinator Justine and the logistics guy Remy, both of them French. They gave us a warm welcome, asked if we were hungry, whisked us away to the hotel where we would be staying then took us for our evening meal. During the meal, we all had a chance to introduce ourselves and explain our reasons for wanting to come to work in the camps. The overwhelming reason was to help people in dire need.  

Whilst having our meal, we became aware of the number of refugees along the harbour front promenade: sitting, chatting and eating on the benches, looking out to sea across to Turkey from whence they had arrived. Many, I was told, were waiting to buy tickets for the large ferry which sat moored, towering over the harbour. The ferry company was waiting for authorization to start selling tickets again. Large numbers wanted to get across to the mainland and continue their journey to destinations such as Germany or the UK. Now the agreement was in place, the Greek authorities wanted the camps empty because from Monday anyone arriving would be deemed an ‘irregular’ migrant, detained, their paperwork processed and returned to Turkey. Well, that was the plan. They wouldn’t go to one of the many temporary camps on Chios; they would go to the detention centre way up in the hills, inland. 

Having arrived on Saturday, we were given Sunday off. We spent the day exploring the streets and squares of Chios Town, drinking coffee and getting to know each other in readiness for our first day at the camp on Monday. That Sunday we saw three ferries leaving for the mainland, the majority of people on the ferries were refugees, the people we had come all this way to help.

People leaving refugee camps, hoping for transport, Greece

Little did we realize that tomorrow there would be hardly anyone left in the camps for us to look after. They looked happy, they thought they were on the way to the places they had dreamed about, the places that they had put their lives in danger to reach, but many got stuck in Athens and other places on mainland Greece as the borders all across Europe began to close on them. 

With the exodus of so many refugees, we found the camps almost like ghost towns on the Monday morning. We met the team that we were taking over from. After being shown the ropes, there was little to do so we set about writing up guidelines for interpreters. Lunchtime found us sitting in a sunny square ordering Greek delicacies, lapping up the sun and generally thinking we could get used to this life. But of course, we weren’t on holiday. 

After this slow start, Thursday saw us up at the detention centre, giving the Greek staff the day off for the Greek National Day, and the following Thursday we were at a camp for minors. A holiday camp which in more usual times would be full of holidaymakers having fun, it now housed a very different clientele The owner had very kindly housed minors, travelling on their own, rather than leaving it sitting empty in the off-peak season. The holiday camp stood on the top of a hill surrounded by pine trees with a breathtaking view over the Mediterranean. We climbed slowly up the steep twisting roads in the medical bus, our mobile clinic allowing us to reach so many more people. 

The following Thursday saw us again in the medical bus but right by the beach, attending to the new arrivals who were now considered ‘irregular’ migrants, and were processed accordingly, then taken by bus inland to the detention centre which was now beyond capacity. I saw heartbreaking cases but I also saw what this situation was doing to the islanders, their generosity now stretched as many were still suffering the financial repercussions, left over from the crash of 2008. The now ‘irregular’ migrants were no longer housed in the camps but were left waiting to be processed in a small area where they had landed and this was causing havoc: too many people and too much noise on the locals’ doorsteps, some of whom were fishermen getting up at dawn to get their catch for the day. 

people standing waiting for transport near the road
The Syrian refugees making their way to the road in the hope of getting transport.

With the dwindling number of refugees on Chios, our field co-ordinator made the decision to transfer all of us to a camp on the mainland in Larissa; tickets for the 12 hour sea crossing were purchased and we got ready to leave early on the Saturday morning ferry. Friday afternoon saw a breakout from the detention centre; very disgruntled refugees, now accommodated in the overflowing centre, decided to up and leave and walk some distance down to Chios port where they hoped to get on a ship across to the mainland. 

Locals became alarmed at the large numbers of people wandering aimlessly around. There were no ferries and no tickets. We were due to leave in the morning. We spent our last night getting ready to leave early and the following morning after an early breakfast we walked down to the ferry departure point, but there were no ships in sight. All the ferries had been redirected to the other side of the island, we were told, to avoid confrontation with the refugees, so we drove at break-neck speed to the other side of Chios just in time to see our ferry pulling up anchor and winding in ropes ready to leave. We missed it by minutes. Back to Chios town and a rethink and by midday we were on board ready for the long trip to Athens, arriving at nearly midnight. Piraeus Port was busy; there were tents everywhere. It was chaotic. In the chaos, we found a taxi and we were taken to our hotel, home for the next two nights. 

Life in Larissa

We left Athens around lunchtime and when we arrived in Larissa it seemed as though summer had arrived with us. We stepped out of the car, stretching our legs in the warm evening air. It had been a long journey with a breakdown on the way. The terraces of the bars and cafes were full despite it being a Monday evening. We booked into our rooms at the lovely family-run hotel, the owner giving us a warm welcome as though we were long-lost relations. It wasn’t long before we too found ourselves out on the terraces enjoying a delicious dinner before deciding it was time for bed, we couldn’t keep up with the locals. I was sharing a room with my Arabic interpreter counterpart Ive. This forced sharing has resulted in a lifelong friendship. “I hope you don’t snore,” I said, “otherwise you will be sleeping out on that balcony.” We had a ringside view from our fourth-floor room. We could almost join in with all the excitement in the square without budging from our balcony, but we were here to work. We needed an early night to be ready for our briefing the following morning. And so began life in Larissa for the next three weeks. We were like a little family, eating, working and sleeping together. 

At breakfast the following day we were informed that the Greek army were running the camp and in the morning the Greek Red Cross were on hand to help and that we would start our shifts at 3pm, staying until whenever the army left around 9pm. On Saturdays and Sundays, we worked the whole day and had Wednesday off. Apart from the army, there were no other organisations to help in this camp and as a result from the moment we arrived and set up shop we were inundated with people coming for medical attention. When it was time to leave in the evening, the queue seemed as long as when we had arrived. The doctor really wanted to give every person as much attention as they needed. Everyone had something wrong mentally or physically. We only had one doctor, one nurse, two interpreters and so many hours in a day.

Afternoons went by in a whirl of activity, we tried each day to organise a fair system but it wasn’t an easy task. When we arrived in the afternoons, we were checked in by the army and as soon as the refugees spotted us a queue formed to see us. It was tiring and exhilarating at the same time. 

Then one afternoon without warning the Syrians upped and left. “We have heard the borders are open,” one of them explained. This was not the case. “We are leaving anyway, we are going to go to the nearest border,” and so they left, only to get as far as the main road and that is where they sat for two days trying to get transport. On our Saturday and Sunday shifts, the police escorted us past the camping refugees to the refugee camps; and then just as quickly as they had set up camp they were gone.  

A cardboard sign given to the team working in refugee camps reads "Open the border" in black marker pen. The background has been blurred out to preserve personal identities.
“An elderly lady who came to see the doctor plonked this down in front of us. She didn’t speak a word of English.”

Life settled into a slightly different rhythm as only I was required for the most part, for the interpreting: no more Arabic speakers, no breaks while Ive took over, but there was still not enough time to attend to all the people who came to see us. My afternoons were non-stop now. We wondered how far the Syrians had to travel to cross the borders out of Greece that were now closed. It was probably their first time since Eastern Europe had joined the EU.  

All the refugees had tragic experiences in one way or another but for the women, it was especially hard. Some of them felt able to confide things in me that they didn’t want anybody else to hear. One woman talked of committing suicide as she was scared her new mother-in-law, travelling with her and her husband, would find out she had been married before. “Nobody must know,” she said to me. “Gossip spreads easily.” She wrote me a letter explaining her life. She was heartbroken when I told her my mission was ending. I also met a former gold medalist, a boxing champion from Afghanistan. We joked with him when we saw his T-shirt, proclaiming he was a champion, “Oh were you in the Olympic Games?” I jokingly asked him. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I won the Gold.” Well, that silenced me. He was a gentleman who often apologised for his fellow countrymen’s behaviour; we waved his apologies away. It’s a difficult situation: an understatement. He showed us long-cut wounds on his head. The Taliban with a sword, he explained, had inflicted them on him. He didn’t explain why. 

And then the day of the fateful fire came. And the atmosphere in the camp changed again. Blame was put at the door of the mother cooking food for her children on her camping gas. It was a very windy day. The wind blew the flames and in no time the tents caught light and the fire quickly spread. Thankfully nobody suffered serious burns but the few possessions that they still owned had gone up in smoke. 

The mood in the camp changed from day to day. The outbreaks of common diseases, chicken pox, viruses, coughs and colds, and contact skin diseases such as impetigo were difficult to control. There were big tragedies and small tragedies, but the people never gave up hope of something better because hope was all they had left. 

Words and photos provided by Caroline Fakhri, TWB Community member.

Read more of our community members’ stories – impacting the lives of refugees around the world on the TWB blog:

World Refugee Day: Community member stories

On World Refugee Day 2023, we’re sharing our community members’ stories. Read on to discover Kateryna’s journey and feelings around the word ‘refugee.’

Scroll down to see Jasmin’s story this TWB Community member shares her experience moving away from home because of war at a young age, and how “everyone speaks their own language.”

Kateryna’s journey from Ukraine: about the word “refugee” 

Kateryna Chepiuk, Ukrainian translator and TWB Community member shares her experience.

I’m a student of Germanic philology and translation. I combine my studies with volunteering for Ted, Gwara Media Group, a nonprofit organization of Ukrainian translators, “Invisible Frontier,” and TWB. I have a vast experience of translating and interpreting from subtitles to articles and texts of different origin. During these scary times I feel the need to participate in helping people, especially refugees with my translation skills. I am a refugee myself and I personally felt how valuable, important and necessary the help of volunteers can be.

KATERYNA CHEPIUK sits on a grassy hill in front of a historic building in Poland.

The word “refugee” hasn’t settled with me for quite some time.”

KATERYNA CHEPIUK, UKRAINIAN TRANSLATOR AND TWB COMMUNITY MEMBER

The word “refugee” hasn’t settled with me for quite some time. Not when Russia attacked my country, Ukraine, on 24th of February. Not when we were clutching the emergency bags in the hallway, absolutely clueless where to go or hide in case of the bomb shelling. Not even when we were in a car heading somewhere West. I didn’t even think that I could be one – a refugee, even in the middle of the war. Me and my family were just trying to find a more or less safe place. The status as a refugee struck me painfully and unexpectedly when I received food from the volunteers. It was the middle of the night of the third day of our trip. We were stuck in the middle of the field in the queue to the Polish border among many other unfortunate victims of Russian abuse. The queue went on for kilometers without an end in sight. 

By the time we got there we had run out of food and we were almost out of water. My dogs were slowly dying of dehydration because I had nothing but a cup of sparkling water they refused to drink. It was cold and I dozed off a couple of times but the red flashes of artillery on the black horizon kept me awake, along with the fear that we were the perfect target for the Russian army to strike from the sky a queue of thousands of refugees. A white minivan stopped on the side of the road. We saw that those were volunteers giving the food and hot drinks, though something in me twisted uncomfortably with the thought of taking this food I followed my mother. We were pretty late so we got a cabbage salad and a scone. I hadn’t eaten anything for more than 24 hours, I wasn’t starving, but I was hungry. A thought flashed through my head, “there is no coming back.” With the first bite of the scone the tears started rolling down my cheeks and I finally felt myself identifying with this terrifying word – the refugee. 

Kateryna kneels in the grass smiling with one arm round her dog Sonia in their village near Zhytomyr, Ukraine. Sonia on the left wears a long sleeve light-coloured jumper, black trousers and her hair is down over a red gilet, next to her large black and brown dog, right.
Kateryna and her dog Sonia in their village near Zhytomyr, Ukraine.

June 20 is World Refugee day.

I was lucky to find a safe place in Poland but there are thousands of less fortunate people than me. People who are stuck in the occupied regions, left without shelter and have to constantly move as soon as they’re not welcome in their previous hideout anymore. The prejudice against refugees grows with the continuation of the military conflict, local people always forget that it could’ve easily been their home and that war doesn’t choose only the poor and the sick. Even after moving to safe territories, refugees are still in considerable danger from hate and discrimination crimes. These people are some of the most vulnerable to human and sex trafficking, work exploitation and profiling behaviour. 

As a refugee, I was judged for being Ukrainian, for looking for a safe place, for receiving help and for purely existing. On this day, I appeal to you to remember that a “refugee” is just as much a human being as you are. That the tragedy of losing one’s home is one of the most terrifying things that can happen to a person and which leaves its mark on one’s heart forever. You can try to escape war physically, but you can never escape it mentally. And even when I’m on the streets of Warsaw I’m still on the battlefield on my land. 

Only in love we are united; I know from my experience that kindness is the most powerful tool to fight for someone’s soul. I still remember the cherry cakes our old lady neighbour brought us as soon as she found out we are from Ukraine. We didn’t speak the same language and could barely say a couple of words to each other, but understood each other perfectly, through tears. And the pharmacy worker who gave my grandma glasses as a gift, when my grandma tried to buy a new pair after she dropped her old ones on the way to the Polish border. And the librarians in Bogatynia town, my first shelter, who were so kind to me and gave me a pile of books in English from the fair because I had to leave my library at home, and had been starved of books for months already. In the small refugee world, every kind gesture is a ray of sunlight that reminds one – you are a human being. And as cruel as strangers can be, they can be just as kind as well. 

Jasmin: “Everyone speaks their own language” 

Jasmin Kreutzer, German and English translator and TWB Community member, shares her experience.

 I learned about TWB two years ago, in July 2021, through a social media post about how one can get engaged in volunteering! Of all the volunteering opportunities I knew about, TWB was the most inspiring to join because it gives one access to gaining knowledge about humanitarian response and translation from anywhere in the world, and a range of language skills can be useful for it. I especially want to help projects relating to intercultural connections, such as organizations that work with people from various cultural and linguistic backgrounds.

Watch Jasmin talk about her experiences in this video:

I attend the Oxford Hub Language Exchanges, where no distinction is made between attendees who are refugees or those who are there for other reasons. But, for all of the attendees, one of the main reasons for attending is to work through barriers of information. Sometimes we help the attendees by doing role plays with them, such as going to a doctor’s appointment, as this helps them be prepared for situations they are not used to facing in English. Some of the attendees are children who go to school in the UK, and they enjoy demonstrating the new skills they have learnt (especially in English, but also in other subjects). A big part of the volunteering sessions is the creation of a social community, where events of personal importance are shared with each other, as it can be difficult to make friends and contacts with other UK residents because of the language barriers.

“We don’t know what language she is speaking either!” 

I left Israel at the age of three and half together with my parents just after the second Lebanon War – from there we moved to Germany, which is where my father’s family lives (they are actually of Romanian origin, and migrated to Germany during the Romanian Dictatorship in 1974). 

Because I was so young, my memories of the transition are limited and blurry. I mostly remember not understanding where my friends were and why we had to leave so suddenly. The only memory I have of the war was of waiting for my parents at my grandparents’ house while they went to pick up our belongings from the flat, which was in a war-torn territory. Once we were in Germany, I struggled at kindergarten,  because I did not understand German at first. I spent a lot of time on my own, and the other children often laughed at me. One time the kindergarteners wanted to speak to my parents about the fact that I was always speaking Hebrew in kindergarten, but my parents said: “Sorry, that isn’t Hebrew. We don’t know what language she is speaking either!”

As my personal experience illustrates, language matters to me because it is one of the major tools through which we can communicate with others.

Not understanding a language the same way as others around one puts one at a disadvantage and makes one vulnerable. Language is not just about understanding foreign languages but also about being able to translate between everyone’s subjective experiences. If one thinks about the world through the lens of languages, one is much more attuned to the differences between every single individual and the fact that, to some extent, everyone speaks their own language or has their own meaning. The more we train language skills of all types, the more we can all get better at understanding each other and pursuing shared aims.


To learn more about the TWB Community and how you can get involved, visit our website.

Discover some of the ways our community members make an impact around the world in our blog.

Or visit the CLEAR Global blog to discover how language offers hope away from home for refugees. 

Why language is power in the Algerian Desert: Farida Alvarez-Fetouhi

Farida Alvarez-Fetouhi, professional linguist and TWB Community member shares her experience.

Mural in National Union of Saharawi Women building, Boujdour Camp

What is the Western Saharan Conflict?

Often dubbed “Africa’s last colony”, it seems that few people are aware of the 200,000 plus Saharawi refugees living in camps in the Algerian desert. 

Cuban-influenced “Sahara Libre” mural.

A Spanish colony for almost a century until 1975, Western Sahara is a coastal territory (roughly the size of the UK) located south of Morocco. 

Right, a Cuban-influenced “Sahara Libre” mural. 

Despite the promise of independence, when Spain withdrew in 1975, Morocco and Mauritania were given administrative control of Western Sahara. Morocco took things a step further by mobilising 300,000 Moroccan civilians to occupy what they claimed were their “ancestral lands,” and orchestrated a full military invasion.

Thousands of Saharawis fled and crossed the border over to neighbouring Algeria where they sought refuge in camps near a military base called Tindouf. Mauritania withdrew their claim to the Western Sahara in 1979 and in 1991, the UN created the Mission for a Referendum in Western Sahara (MINURSO) and the promise of a referendum from the Moroccan government. Thirty years later, Sahrawi refugees in Algeria are still waiting. 

How did you first get involved?

The Western Saharan conflict came to my attention in the beginning of 2020 through a London based charity called Sandblast Arts.

I learned of an educational project called Desert Voicebox, where local female teachers are trained to teach English and music to children aged 6 – 12. Sandblast Art’s goal is to “equip the next generation of Saharawi refugee children to become cultural ambassadors, and to empower local women to become educational leaders in their community, and acquire the skills and confidence to tell their story to the world.” – Danielle Smith, founder.

I immediately wanted to get involved, and planned to go in early spring of 2020. Half Spanish and half Algerian myself (my father being Moroccan-born), I felt somehow intrinsically linked to their story. However, when the pandemic broke out, those plans were shelved. I volunteered online instead, providing training to two local female teachers remotely for over a year. 

Finally in 2022, I was able to visit the camps and deliver English language and teacher training in person. 

To be able to finally go out to the camps and meet these extraordinary women was an honour. 

I was received with a warm welcome into Nanaha’s home (one of the teachers who I’d worked with online) where I stayed for the following two weeks immersing myself into their family life. I felt truly privileged to be able to do that since it gave me a real insight into the struggles as well as the many wonderful aspects of their collective community.

I (left) visited in October 2022 along with Sandblast director Danielle Smith (centre) and journalist Maxine Betteridge-Moes (right), the Communications Officer at the time. We’re wearing the traditional Saharawi mihlfa at the Fi-Sahara Film Festival

Can you talk about your unique experience helping empower local women?

One of aspects I admire the most about Sandblast Arts, and what attracted me to it in the first place is that they prioritise “recruiting and training young Saharawi women who have not been able to complete their schooling but are passionate about working with children in the educational sector.” – Danielle Smith

While I was there, I felt the biggest challenge, even bigger than the lack of resources, was that of balancing a woman’s role in Saharawi society. 

They are the primary caregivers in a community where families are numerous and basic supplies are thin on the ground. Cooking for your family takes on a broader meaning when you take into consideration the amount of extended family members that also need to be taken care of. 

Women are expected to do the lion’s share of the work, and their husbands are often away for long stretches at a time working abroad to bring home much needed cash and modern conveniences. “And because the majority of the Saharawi children have to leave the camps  to continue their studies after primary school, growing numbers of girls have been dropping out before even finishing their secondary education.” – Danielle Smith

For a woman to take all this on board and add a teaching job to her plate, while only part time, is a considerable strain. As a teacher observing lessons, it was painfully obvious that not enough planning had gone into the lesson- but the luxury of taking an hour out of your day to do that is something that I had clearly taken for granted. 

Above: an English class taught by local teacher Nanaha. 

I felt privileged and humbled to be able to share my knowledge with women who want to learn. 

Despite the social pressure, projects like the ones offered by Sandblast Arts give local women the opportunity to have a meaningful impact on the lives of the children in their communities, and to be leaders within their communities. 

“Desert Voicebox is a place where I can practise my English, and develop my knowledge and skills to communicate with children. It’s a place where I can show the children how to express themselves and give them a voice in English. Having the means to earn a simple salary is of huge help to me and my family, and it’s the same for the other women I work with too.”

Nanaha Bachri, local teacher. 
The Desert Voicebox centre is located on the local primary school’s grounds.
Doorway to Desert Voicebox – Desert Voicebox is anEnglish language and Music education centre run by local women and supported by Sandblast Arts. 

Can you tell us from your experience, why language and communication is so important in humanitarian situations like this?

Above: Signs in Spanish welcome you to Boujdour district (one of the five camps)

“There are lots of languages at the camps – from Spanish, English and Arabic to Hassaniya and many other dialects of Arabic too (from Tindouf and neighbouring Mauritania in the south). But then also Italian and German with all volunteers that come to the camps for various projects. 

It’s a really funny thing ….

But I think language is the power; the weapon that we are using to speak about ourselves – to tell the world that we are here.

Nanaha Bachri, local teacher

It seemed to me that just as the Saharawi people have had to learn to become resilient both physically and mentally; they have also learned how to be linguistically resilient too. 

They are hungry to learn English and Spanish and whatever else comes their way because as Nanaha rightly says, language is power. It is the tool that ultimately, especially now in a more digitally connected world, is going to help them raise awareness. 

In a multilingual, complex and challenging environment such as this, clear communication is critical, especially with health concerns such as anaemia and breast cancer among women on the rise. Najla Mohamed-Lamin, a Saharawi women’s rights and climate activist in the Smara camp, hosts regular breast cancer awareness sessions with health experts.

“As Saharawi women we are always told to endure. We are told that this pain and this suffering when breastfeeding is normal. But it’s not normal.”

Najla Mohamed-Lamin

On a logistical level, Danielle Smith observes thatmany of the agencies operating in the camps are staffed by Algerians and Saharawis which enhances communication with the local communities in the camps” 

Spanish, however, is still widely used as a lingua franca at the camps. 

National Union of Saharawi Women building.

A sign for an optician in Arabic and Spanish.

French and English can also be found at the camps. SIgn for an aid-funded bakery in Arabic, French and English. 

Did you or the people you were supporting face any language challenges? 

I was at an advantage because I speak Spanish, but not everybody speaks it, and basic Arabic would have been advantageous. In particular to communicate with the children. 

Generally speaking, the level of English in the camps is still low. Aid agencies from Spanish speaking countries (chiefly Spain and Cuba) are at an advantage, but as Maxine remarked when we were there, had she visited without a translator (someone who spoke Arabic or Spanish as an intermediary), she would have been completely lost. “It can be difficult to communicate as an international aid worker,” she added.

Final thoughts about teaching English in a Western Saharan refugee camp: 

Other than helping to empower local women, I was honoured to be able to help teachers give the next generation the gift of an international language. The more tools they have at their disposal to be able to raise awareness, the more agency they will have over their lives. 

As Danielle Smith of Sandblast Arts so passionately puts it, it’s all about “enhancing their chances to seize new opportunities and reach new audiences to break through the wall of silence”. 

Written by Farida Alvarez-Fetouhi, TWB Community member.

Donations can be made on JustGiving and Sandblast Arts can be found on Instagram and Facebook.

To learn more about the TWB Community and how you can get involved, visit our website.

Discover some of the ways our community members make an impact around the world in our blog.

Or visit the CLEAR Global blog to discover how language offers hope away from home for refugees.

Refugee voices

Communicating and connecting as a refugee

Imagine being forced from your home because of persecution, conflict, violence, or human rights violations. Seeking safety is dangerous. Especially when you find yourself somewhere new, when you don’t speak the language of the people around you, let alone the aid workers trying to help you. You are vulnerable to scammers and traffickers. You can’t ask the questions you want to ask, and you can’t get the information you need. That’s the story of people in all corners of the world: the story we’re telling today through the lens of our community members.

89.3 million people worldwide don’t have to imagine.

Refugees, migrants and forcibly displaced people deserve the opportunity to have their voices heard. Vulnerable people face some of the most difficult situations imaginable. Marginalized at the edges of society, too often their needs and concerns go unmet. Together, we can change that.

How can we show solidarity with refugees?

Photo of a woman cooking

When we put people first, when we prioritize access to vital services, resources and information, we can better support their wellbeing, health, safety and education. When we do so in the languages people speak, their worlds, which have already been turned upside down, become a little fairer. They get to know their rights, they can make informed decisions, their opportunities grow, and they can participate in dialogue that matters to them. 

Our members bring diverse experiences to the TWB community, of resilience, of overcoming difficult journeys, of integrating into new communities, and understanding their identities. Many have been displaced from their homes, and still find time to dedicate to translating, reviewing and recording voice-overs so they can help people elsewhere. We want to share their voices with you, and start a conversation. This is part of our movement to listen to marginalized voices everywhere, whatever language they speak. Learn more about our Four Billion Conversations movement

Read these community member stories

Lilav Mohamad Alarashi and Christina Hakim are Arabic speakers and valued TWB community members who have both contributed their stories to spotlight real-life refugee experiences in the world today.

Lilav’s story of war and its archenemy, hope

Can you imagine yourself as a child during a war, with your playgrounds replaced by battlefields filled with dead bodies, blood, and rubble?

Or, for example, all the delight of colors which were shining in your life disappeared, and now you are haunted by the dust of war and the smell of death wherever you turn?

Have you ever imagined that your existence in your own home would turn into a nightmare that can transform your whole life into a living hell?

These horrible imaginations are exactly what thousands of children and refugees experience today in several places around the world. Wars and conflicts can truly destroy everyone’s future and leave them living in very bad conditions, where they have to start from zero. They face an obscure life and future. Loss and waiting are the two biggest pains experienced by refugees during their long journey of displacement, and every refugee’s heart is heavy with fear and anticipation.

Besides all of that, the scars and memories will bleed deeply even if they move to safe settings where they can be in peace.

Wars never stop killing everything, but there is always a little hope hidden away in every refugee’ tear that will never fade/disappear.

Translators without Borders and its partner non-governmental organizations provide me with an opportunity as a translator and reviser to help refugees through the delivery of the needed words, information, and knowledge in their language, allowing us all to be there for every refugee who is facing a challenge in a foreign country and a foreign language.

Therefore, I will use every skill I have such as translation experience and every education I’ve obtained, such as law, to make a difference in this universe.

Read in Arabic / اقرأ المدوّنة باللّغة العربيّة

Christina’s day in a life of a refugee

I write in English, hoping to reach a wider audience as I’m sure it is the story of every human, regardless of nationality, who seeks to earn enough to provide for their family, to get out of their country, and bring them up if they’re lucky enough. At times, their motherland has failed to secure them their basic rights of survival as humans; financial and social stability, to name the most vital.

The reasons that pushed that young lady to leave her country, the mother or father who found no choice but to do that, the brother… every story is the same!

I am a Lebanese citizen who, like most migrants, found herself in a no-way-back situation. There’s nothing but to look forward to her children’s future outside of her homeland.

It’s still unofficially stated that “Lebanese” people are defined as refugees. Away from the literal classification of the word, the rush of miseries that hit the country since the #August2020blast and instability has pushed its people to migrate in remarkable numbers for years now.

In the World Happiness Report for the year 2022 issued by the United Nations, Lebanon ranked first in the Arab world among the least happy, and second among the most miserable people after Afghanistan.

What can be more devastating than someone taking the decision to leave behind their child, wife, sibling, parents, neighbor; desperate about a country that is one of the most beautiful on earth, known for its nature, culture, resources and memories?

You reach your host land, and here we face two scenarios: 

The first, a person who flees alone.

The second, a person leaving with their family. And here I mean spouse and children, not parents; it’s incredibly rare to find elderly people who come to terms with leaving their roots behind, whatever the circumstances. 

If you choose to flee alone, if you’re unable to bring your family with you to your host country, your days are never the same again. You live through loneliness, nostalgia with every minute passed, missing the smells, the smiles. What comes next is more dreadful, a constant quest to find the right opportunity, with the least humiliation possible and everything that comes with it. Now how do you go about living? That all depends on your chance of finding a well-paid job, otherwise you’ll end up in a shared apartment with people who have become refugees for the same reasons you have.

What now? You miss your roots? Your only way to connect with them is to text and call. I have known Filippinos who haven’t visited their families in years!

Have a look around when you’re on your commute to work and you can see, be it early morning or late at night. Across Europe, African people gather under a tree with no place to sleep, spending their nights in parks; Egyptians, Syrians, Algerians all share the same destiny, scattered around the world. 

What about your work: remotely located and harsh conditions, with overbearing managers… how much more can you take? Would you respect yourself in that moment and have the courage to change jobs or even return back to your home country?

Sadly speaking, this is the life of every refugee, day-dreaming of the moment they might be reunited with their homeland; this is the life of every human who has lost their existence in their own country.

Community conversation: World Refugee Day

Listening to refugees' voices - World Refugee Day LinkedIn Live announcement

On June 20, 2022 we marked World Refugee Day with an online panel discussion. We invited a number of experts to speak about their experiences of forced migration. This year’s theme was whoever, wherever, whenever. It’s a message of inclusivity, reminding people that all refugees deserve our solidarity and support whatever their nationality, religion, or language. 

You can watch the recording here.

What barriers do refugees, migrants and displaced people face?

Ahmed Ali Saleh hosted the event. Ahmed has spent 3 years working as a National Capacity Building Officer in Nigeria, and is currently a Program Manager for CLEAR Global. He explained how CLEAR Global is committed to helping all refugees overcome communication barriers. Whether fleeing Myanmar, Venezuela, Nigeria, Ukraine, or somewhere else, we work to connect people with the aid and services they need. Our solutions bridge the language and communication gaps too many people face.

 “In the course of implementing training programs, I’ve had the opportunity to travel to Borno’s border communities. The state borders three different countries, and this gave me the chance to witness firsthand people with refugee status who cannot speak the language of the country that is hosting them. Equally, the communities hosting them do not speak their language. That is quite challenging. You can see the enthusiasm when we speak their language – they know you understand them very, very well.”

Ahmed Ali Saleh

Joining us, we had Mira Hamour, a Syrian-Canadian documentary filmmaker and producer of Syria’s Tent Cities. Mira spoke about the experience of documenting the Syrian refugee crisis, visiting camps in Jordan and Lebanon as well as closer to home in Toronto and Ontario. She has lived and worked with relocated refugees in host communities.

 “I saw very closely how language and lack of education can be a barrier for these children.”

Mira Hamour

Next on the panel was Chris Akili Lungu, a TWB Community member and social worker and monitoring and evaluation associate working with Soccer Without Borders, an NGO supporting young people. Chris himself fled the Democratic Republic of Congo a few years ago. His story is familiar in our community:

“Through organizations like TWB and Soccer Without Borders, I am glad to be able to help refugees who find themselves in similar situations to me.”

Chris Akili Lungu

And finally, Katya Seriekh is a talent attraction manager working with the International Committee of the Red Cross, based in Brussels. The organization works with professionals including interpreters and translators to make sure migrants and refugees get the protection they need. 

“Language is very important. The words spoken are not everything. It’s very important to establish a connection and establish a relationship of trust. That’s why it’s very important to speak the languages of the people we’re supporting.”

Katya Seriekh

Our participants discussed the challenges facing displaced people, what they’re doing to help, and how you can get involved. Bringing together speakers from across our team, our community and our partners, this LinkedIn Live is an opportunity to learn from each other and understand how we can build a stronger movement together. 

Watch the recording below.

Amplify refugee voices

The TWB Community and our parent organization CLEAR Global will continue to share the stories of refugees, migrants, and forcibly displaced people. This is why we do what we do – we build communities, research communication and develop language technology solutions because we believe that every person has the right to get vital information and be heard, whatever language they speak. Our community members are making information accessible to more people in more languages. Everyone should have a say in their lives and know how to find safety and get help. We exist to listen and connect with people everywhere; thank you for taking the time to read about the experiences of some of our community members. Watch this space for more community voices.

You can help us amplify the voices of refugees: 

Join our community.

Read more community stories.

Contribute your own story on the TWB blog.

Written by Danielle Moore, Communications Officer at TWB/CLEAR Global

Guest writers: Lilav Mohamad Alarashi and Christina Hakim, TWB Community members and translators

The global response to displacement and language barriers – three reasons for hope

United Nations (UN) member states will soon have a critical opportunity to make systematic improvements to how the world assists and protects refugees and migrants. Three promising developments — on language data, multilingual information provision, and translation and interpreting support — show momentum is building towards ensuring all migrants, including those facing language barriers, can access assistance and protection, and claim their rights.

This fall, the 193 members of the UN will adopt the Global Compacts for Migration and on Refugees. Many remain understandably skeptical that these two compacts will ultimately lead to the kind of change demanded by the global displacement crisis.

However, there are cautious signs that the process is headed in the right direction. The Global Compacts identify the need to uphold the right to information, a goal in itself and a vital means for allowing all migrants to claim their rights.  

In September 2016, the New York Declaration on Refugees and Migrants was adopted to improve planning for and response to large movements of refugees and migrants. The declaration triggered over a year of negotiations and consultations between governments, international organizations, and civil society (see TWB’s main recommendations here).

The final draft focused on migrants, entitled the Global Compact on Safe, Orderly and Regular Migration (GCM), includes commitments to ensure that migrants get information in a language they understand. This will help them know their rights and obligations, access appropriate support and counselling services, and realize full social inclusion. Unfortunately, similar commitments are not made in the final draft focused on refugees, entitled the Global Compact on Refugees (GCR). However, information in the right language is needed to support other GCR commitments to ensure free and informed consent, protection, participation and empowerment of refugees.

The current lack of language services has severe consequences

At the same time, since the adoption of the New York Declaration, the total number of people displaced from their homes due to conflict, disaster, poverty or hunger has continued to grow. Reports continue to highlight the risks when refugees and migrants lack information and support in a language they understand. They make high-risk choices, including dropping out of the formal reception system. The lack of interpreting and translation support compounds situations of distress. Without access to language support, they are often unable to access medical, educational and other services, or denied appropriate care in violation of their rights.

Ensuring people have access to information they need and are able to communicate in a language they understand should be a priority for well-planned and managed migration policies and refugee responses.

There are three promising developments – if taken forward effectively

With that in mind, there are some reasons to be hopeful. Three key developments emerged from the Global Compacts process so far. If taken forward effectively, these can make a real, positive difference in people’s capacity to receive information and communicate their needs in the right language.

First, both compacts emphasize the importance of collecting and using better data, calling for a comprehensive data set on migration. Language data — information on the languages people speak and understand, and on their communication needs (channels and formats) — should be included in this initiative. This data gap can be filled through existing processes such as needs assessments and registration. For example, the IOM Displacement Tracking Matrix has been collecting language data in northeast Nigeria as a basis for improved communication strategies with internally displaced people. The language-related questions they are asking can easily be adapted and included in other data efforts, including the newly established UNHCR-World Bank Group Joint Data Center. This would ensure a strong evidence base for all communications with refugees and migrants.

Second, policies about providing multilingual information for refugees and migrants appear to be gaining traction in practice, which reflects commitments in the Compacts. Since 2016, many governments and humanitarian organizations have developed websites and other materials to facilitate access to information in several languages and for different audiences, including children. The GCM echoes this with a strong commitment to people’s right to information at all stages of migration. In practice, the implementation of both Compacts must result in careful consideration of language barriers. This will help reduce the incidence of irregular migration and enable people to make informed decisions about their journeys and claim protection when needed.

Third, there is a growing recognition of the need for national institutions and service providers to give translation and interpreting support for those who need it. This recognition is seen both in the Compacts and in practice. Often humanitarian organizations fill in the gaps in language services, not without challenges. But some countries, such as Greece and Turkey, have stepped up their efforts to provide language support in hospitals, schools and other social services. This has allowed existing national structures to extend essential services to cater to the needs of migrants and refugees. Implementing the Global Compacts is an opportunity to solidify commitments to reduce the language barriers to effective access to services for all migrants.

The Global Compacts for Migration and on Refugees are not going to fix the global displacement crisis by remaining on paper. Resources — including language resources — will have to be mobilized to achieve the aims of the Global Compacts. Effective communication with affected people must be the default position of migration policies and refugee responses.

Language should not be a barrier for refugees and migrants to realize their rights, and make free and informed choices about their future.

Written by Mia Marzotto, TWB's Senior Advocacy Officer. 

 

Hefazot transforms to nirapotta; janela becomes kirkiri

One year into the Rohingya refugee response, a language evolves with its people.

Language is fluid. It is subject to environment, culture, and the whims of communities. It’s been one year since more than 700,000 Rohingya fled over the border from Myanmar into Bangladesh. And it is here in these cramped refugee camps that a language is shifting and evolving right in front of us.

The early days

In the early days of the response, the language challenges for the refugee community were immense. First responders struggled to communicate where and how to access lifesaving services, and to document individual accounts of trauma. The community struggled to explain its essential needs (According to one report, more than 60% of refugees said they could not communicate with aid workers), and dozens of untrained interpreters emerged overnight to fill the need for linguistic middlemen. Many of these amateur interpreters spoke the local Chittagonian; while somewhat similar, there are very distinct differences in the languages that create confusion, misinformation and miscommunication. Rohingya speakers estimate that there is around a 70% similarity between Chittagonian and Rohingya (Rohingya Zuban report). That might sound pretty good – but keep in mind that there is more than 80 percent similarity between Spanish and Italian, and no one would ever hire an Italian interpreter for a Spanish refugee!

“Only a few of our men knew Bangla or English. The locals were helping, but even they couldn’t fully understand us. We couldn’t explain to them why we were fleeing, what was being done to us across the river.”  

Woman in her mid-30s, living in Nayapara, an informal camp in the region.

For example, early in the response, the phrase ‘violence against women’ was frequently misinterpreted as ‘violent women’. Certain kinship terms, like husband (beda / zamai / shwami) and daughter (zer-fua / maya-fua / mela-fua), led to some families being separated when shelters were assigned. Then there was gaa lamani — in Rohingya it means diarrhea, but in Chittagonian, it literally translates as ‘body falling down.’ This certainly led to some confusing sessions with health workers.

Signs directing the community to health centers, food distribution sites and other essential services were written mostly in English (although less than 5 percent of the population is literate in English). The main avenue to complain or give feedback was the complaints box – a concept that not only requires a level of literacy, but is also culturally alien to the community.

Help desk sign

A new way forward

A year on, many organizations are creating innovative ways to communicate. For example, many are working with the community to develop image-based signage.The challenges in developing images that represent such seemingly simple concepts as ‘caution’ or ‘hospital’ give an insight into the complexities of communicating symbols amongst different languages and cultures.

“A white hand means clean hand. If you want to stay ‘stop’ or ‘caution’, use red. A red hand will stand out. It will tell us to stop.”

Middle-aged man, testing shelter signage

More than a million Rohingya refugees now live in camps spread across the southernmost tip of Bangladesh. Here, older refugee communities that arrived over the last 30 years live side by side with new arrivals and the host community. Throw into the language ecosystem the institutionalized jargon spoken by English speaking aid workers and you have a fascinating interplay of language and culture.

Language is influenced by its surroundings. For example, the Rohingya dialect spoken by the older arrivals now differs from the Rohingya spoken by the newer arrivals. Decades of living amongst a Bangladeshi host community has seen their mother tongue adopt a number of Bangla words. For example, a newly arrived refugee might use the word hefazot, to refer to ‘security’ or ‘safety’ while the more established refugee community now borrows from Bangla nirapotta. Older refugees might use the word janela (actually borrowed from the former Portuguese colonizers) meaning window, while newer refugees use kirkiri.

“When I go to the clinic, the doctor can’t understand when I explain what’s wrong using Rohingya language. The health interpreter sometimes teaches me the word for my condition in Bangla. This is helping me communicate better with the doctor.”

Woman, 54

When speaking to a newly arrived Rohingya refugee, you will notice the influence of Burmese, Arabic, and Farsi in their terminology. Serama (from siyama in Burmese, meaning ‘female teacher’), serang (‘to make a list’) and atwarta (‘documents’) show the Burmese and Rakhine influence on the language. While mosiboth (‘danger’) and izzot (‘honor’) come from Arabic, aramiyoth (‘health’), moroth (‘male’), and rong (‘color’) are Farsi words either borrowed directly or via Urdu.

“Sometimes it’s even difficult for us to understand the new Rohingyas, especially if they come from fuk-kool” (literally, ‘the east side’ of the mountain range). “Their accent is distinct, and they use words that many other Rohingyas don’t use. Maybe they use more Rakhine words.” 

Salim, Rohingya interpreter from Teknaf.

In the last year it has become clear that humanitarian responders are giving more than aid to the community. New English words are creeping into Rohingya dialogue every day.  For example, the Rohingya word for ‘toilet’, tatti is now commonly replaced by the word lettin (fromlatrine’) and modotgoroya, the word for ‘aid worker’, has become bolontiyar (fromvolunteer’) in everyday Rohingya vocabulary. While the registered Rohingya community uses the Bangla word shoronati, the newer arrivals have replaced the Burmese dokasi with the English word ‘refugee’ (pronounced rifuzi). Interestingly, even English words that they picked up while in Myanmar are now being replaced with “newer” English words, like the word for intravenous saline (deep from ‘drip’ in Myanmar; selain from ‘saline’ in Bangladesh).

“Most of us now say ‘hosfital’ for medical centers, but the older women still prefer to ‘dattahana.’”

Young woman, focus group discussion

The camp is full of different languages; Burmese rhymes compete with Arabic hymns and Hindi pop songs. The community is eager to learn new languages. Burmese is regularly cited as the most desirable language to learn, closely followed by English and Bangla (in that order). And while the teaching of Bangla is officially banned by the government, some Rohingya men – particularly the youth – study informally at night among themselves and with the older, registered Rohingya refugees.

This is what makes our work here so fascinating. It’s riveting watching language twist and turn to fit into its new environment like you would squeeze into a pair of new jeans. That’s why resources like our glossary, resources, and the training we provide to field workers in this response is so crucial. This ensures important information is delivered in the right language and that as their language needs shift and evolve, we are able to move with them. Over the next year we’re sure to see more change, as more children have access to learning centers that teach English and Burmese, and interactions between the community and aid workers from around the world increase. Listen carefully; language matters.

This blog post is based on dozens of conversations and focus groups held by TWB with the community over the last year.

Written by Irene Scott, TWB Program Director, Bangladesh, and AK Rahim, TWB Sociolinguistic Researcher.

Report from the Field

Our Board Chair visits Bangladesh, sees progress and challenges first hand

I recently visited Bangladesh with Ellie Kemp, our Head of Crisis Response, to see first hand the work of Translators without Borders (TWB) around the Rohingya crisis. Our trip included a visit to the “megacamp” at Kutupalong, the biggest refugee camp in the world, and meetings with our partner humanitarian response teams based in Cox’s Bazar. We also spent a few days in Dhaka meeting with donors and partner organizations.  

The crisis is an incredibly challenging one. One year ago this month, the Myanmar army escalated a long-standing campaign of persecution against the largely Muslim Rohingya to what the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights has characterized as ethnic cleansing. Thousands were killed in Myanmar, and over 700,000 fled over the Naf river to Bangladesh; at the peak, 20,000 refugees arrived per day. The Myanmar government refuses to recognize the Rohingya as citizens, claiming they are Bangladeshi migrants. The Bangladeshi government, although generously offering them sanctuary, is facing its own political challenges and does not recognize them as refugees either.

The Rohingya people therefore are denied the right to work and not allowed to register as residents, and cannot build more permanent homes than the bamboo and tarpaulin shelters they have been in for the last 12 months. Formal schooling is not allowed in the camps;  people in camps are even officially forbidden from owning mobile phones. On top of this the humanitarian response has been suffering from poor coordination due to unclear division of responsibilities. Unfortunately these challenges have been acutely felt in the way the responding organizations have communicated with the communities they are trying to help.

This response was supposed to be different.

There has been increasing awareness over the last few years of the need to improve programs for communicating with communities (CwC) and to build these programs into every response. This was one of the first major responses since the World Humanitarian Summit “Grand Bargain” signed two years ago in Istanbul, where the humanitarian community committed itself to doing this better. Unfortunately it has not quite played out that way. Too often, key roles in CwC are left vacant or not given the resources they need. Key initiatives, such as refugee registration (a sensitive topic for a systematically persecuted population), have been handled without proper planning of how to communicate. And while some major donors, such as the UK’s DFID and the EU’s ECHO now recognize the problem with inadequate funding for CwC, the funding provision still remains far below the need. Our task on advocacy around the need for mainstreaming CwC continues…

Andrew B,
Andrew Bredenkamp at Kutupalong camp, Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh.

From a linguistic perspective the situation is complex too. Rohingya is not a written language, and the thousands of Rohingya in the camps who have received an education were taught in Burmese. Rohingya is related to Chittagonian, the local language spoken in Cox’s Bazar and more distantly Bangla, the national language of Bangladesh. Unfortunately this has sometimes led to responders assuming that Chittagonian and Rohingya are basically the same language. We heard the statement repeatedly that “Chittagonian and Rohingya are 70 percent the same, so we’re using Chittagonian speakers”. Bearing in mind Spanish and Italian are 80 percent similar and that no one would consider using Italian to communicate with a Spanish community, this highlights the need for continued awareness about language issues among responders.

This is not an academic discussion.

The words for “help,” “pain,” “pregnant,” and “menstruation,” even the phrase for the common cold, are all unrecognizably different in Rohingya and Chittagonian. There seem even to be differences between language used by male and female Rohingya speakers.    

Despite these difficulties TWB and our consortium partners, BBC Media Action and Internews, have been able to make a huge difference. Here are some of the highlights:

  • We have been providing language services across the response into both Bangla and Rohingya.
  • We have been providing training for staff and volunteers working for the response organizations, focusing on the differences between Chittagonian and Rohingya and developing glossaries around key topics for critical sectors, such as water, sanitation and hygiene (WASH), health, and protection, including work around gender-based violence.
  • We have been supporting the listening programs of our partner Internews and the content programs of BBC Media Action, helping to make the response more accountable to the refugees and host communities.
  • We have been continuing to advocate for all aspects of the response to take into account the need to communicate with the Rohingya community and the local host population.

Enormous credit has to go to the team, led by Ben Noble, our Country Director, and Irene Scott, Program Director. I have to also mention the amazing efforts of AK Rahim, our South Asian linguistic expert. AK is an amazing source of knowledge about the languages and cultures of the region and how they interact. He has been our secret weapon in winning the trust of the host Chittagonian population as well as the Rohingya community, and has led the research that enables us to provide practical advice for humanitarians on communicating more effectively with both.

We heard time and again from our humanitarian partners that our work was indispensable and extremely effective.

Our donor meetings were extremely encouraging, not just in terms of the desire to support our work in Cox’s Bazar, but also more strategically. There was explicit confirmation at the highest level that “the humanitarian community is still not doing enough on CwC.”

Overall another great testimony to the importance of our mission. There is a lot we can learn about this response for others we are and will be involved in. The need remains immense.

Donate to the Rohingya refugee response

Written by Andrew Bredenkamp, Chairman of Translators without Borders Board of Directors.

Bangladesh Program Update

Bridging language gaps empowers people to communicate in Cox’s Bazar refugee camps

Kutupalong makeshift camp, Cox's Bazar, Bangladesh.
Kutupalong makeshift camp, Cox’s Bazar.

Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh, once famed for its beautiful 120km long beach, is now home to one of the largest refugee populations in the world. Between 900,000 and one million Rohingya women, men and children, depending on the estimates, now live in the area. Since August 2017, more than 670,000 Rohingya have fled across the border from Myanmar and settled in camps in and around Cox’s Bazar.

Translators without Borders (TWB) first came to Cox’s Bazar in October to assess the communication and information needs of the affected population.

Our team rapidly discovered that language was making communication between the affected communities, humanitarian organizations, and the host population extremely difficult. As reported by our partner organization Internews, more than 70 percent of the refugee population identified themselves as being totally illiterate in any language and more than 60 percent said they were unable to speak to humanitarian providers.

In Cox’s Bazar, Rohingya is often the only language spoken by those most in need. It is an oral language, with no commonly accepted written script.

One of the major communication problems in this humanitarian crisis is the lack of a common language. The humanitarian workers mostly speak English, local NGOs and government officials speak Bengali, many interpreters speak Chittagonian, and the refugees speak Rohingya.

The reality

Take a moment to imagine this in the context of a refugee camp. Signs are erected to identify health facilities and safe spaces for women in a language they do not understand. Information can become distorted as it is passed from person to person and humanitarian organizations rely on untrained interpreters to communicate life-saving information as part of their support to the refugees. As summarized by TWB’s sociologist,

Three interpreters (Hassan, Rafique, and Abdullah) in Kutupalong makeshift camp near Cox's Bazar, Bangladesh. Photo: Eric DeLuca / Translators without Borders
Three interpreters (Hassan, Rafique, and Abdullah) in Kutupalong makeshift camp near Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh. 

“There’s just a lot of crucial information lost in this crisis.”

One of the most urgent needs is to find ways for the refugee population to fully express their needs to humanitarian responders.

With thorough research and community interaction, we are developing a professional training program and tools to help interpreters and humanitarian organizations understand some of the cultural and linguistic specificities of the refugee population.

Shades of meaning

TWB is developing a freely downloadable glossary of key humanitarian terms. This translates technical terminology in English into simple and clear Bengali, Rohingya, Chittagonian, and Burmese terms. The aim is to cover concepts relevant to a range of sectors, making the glossary useful across the humanitarian response.

‘We really deliberated on the meanings and context of the translations,’ says TWB’s sociolinguist. ‘Words can have shades of meaning, so the social and cultural context is important.’

Working as a consortium with Internews and BBC Media Action, TWB is contributing to a regular newsletter distributed to all humanitarian organizations in Cox’s Bazar. This newsletter, entitled What Matters? The Humanitarian Feedback Bulletin, specifically addresses communication and language issues. The first newsletter, distributed in February this year, highlighted the important differences in weather terms between Chittagonian, Bengali, and Rohingya. This is vital when distinguishing between a warning for strong winds or a cyclone, for instance. 

Ultimately, bridging these gaps is empowering people to communicate. When people can communicate they can assert their rights and humanitarians can deliver life-saving information.

With the cyclone and monsoon season starting soon, the need for simple and actionable information, in plain and clear language that the refugees can understand, is becoming even more acute. The United Nations has estimated that more than 100,000 refugees could be in grave danger when the rains begin in April. These are likely to cause major flooding and landslides in the steep hills and unstable terrain where the camps are located and contribute to the spread of disease.

‘This is where translating key Water, Sanitation and Hygiene (WASH) messages are critical,’ says our sociolinguist. ‘Community workers need to be able to explain the differences in severe weather systems between here and Myanmar, what services are there to help in a disaster, even how to help prevent the spread of disease. These are not messages you can afford to miscommunicate.’

Follow the progress of our work in Cox’s Bazar and consider a donation to support our work around the globe.

Written by TWB’s Program Director for Bangladesh

The Silver Lining – Education brings hope during a refugee crisis

There is a lot of despair and pain radiating from the refugee camps in and around the Cox’s Bazar district of Bangladesh. Physical pain from disease and injury, coupled with a lack of food, are constant issues for the Rohingya refugees in the camps. The mental anguish is much greater. Loss of family to violence, loss of homes and crops, and an ongoing feeling of degradation and violation of rights – this anguish lives with every refugee, every day.

And yet, while walking through camps, meeting with responders and activists throughout Cox’s Bazar, there was also a thin yet constant thread of hope. Would it be possible, now that the refugees are relatively safe, in camps run by Bangladesh and the international community, to truly educate hundreds of thousands of Rohingya children, giving them a future they could not have previously imagined?

Educating an illiterate population

The new influx of more than 600,000 refugees to Bangladesh includes a large number of school-age children. According to Save the Children over 60 percent of the new refugees are children. These numbers could increase as even more refugees are expected to cross the border by the end of the year. UNICEF estimates that more than 450,000 Rohingya children aged 4-18 years old are in need of education services. That includes those who have been in the camps for longer periods [source: Reliefweb].

Evidence indicates that a very large number of the children, as well as the adults, are illiterate. In fact, in a rapid survey conducted by the TWB team in October with Rohingya refugees, 73 percent of respondents self-reported to be illiterate. This illiteracy is limiting the children’s ability to be further educated and to demand their human rights.

Evidence also indicates that when education is made available, literacy rates increase. In fact, in the study TWB completed last month, it was clear that refugees who have been in Bangladesh longer show higher levels of literacy than those who had more recently-arrived.  While not easy to obtain, education is more readily available in the established camps than it was in Myanmar where twin restrictions against movement between villages and education above primary level severely limited access to education. When our team tested populations who have been in Cox’s Bazar since prior to August 2017, comprehension rates improved across the board.

Now, with hundreds of thousands of children together in the refugee camps in Bangladesh, is this an opportunity to offer them education and a future?

Unfortunately, though, the language of instruction will be unfamiliar to the Rohingya children. Currently, a number of organizations are looking to set up learning centers in the camps. The goal is to give the refugee children at least two hours of education a day, beginning in January. Yet the official curriculum that the government of Bangladesh has approved does not include mother tongue education, and the teachers who are being hired will teach in Bangla and Burmese, two languages that the children do not read or speak.

Why mother tongue education matters

A wealth of experience and evidence over the last 50 years has proven that children learn better when they are taught in their mother tongue language. We also know that countries do better when their children are educated well. Evidence from a project that Save the Children has implemented in Thailand focusing on mother tongue education for Rohingya children, shows that learning a second language, English or Thai, is difficult when children do not understand the language of instruction. This undermines children’s ability to participate and invest in their education, despite their motivation [source: Save the Children].

But the issues with mother tongue education for the Rohingya children are deeper, because their mother tongue, Rohingya Zuban, is largely oral. The illiterate community speaks it fluently but does not generally have a means for written communication, through their mother tongue. Interesting work is already being done to establish a written form of Rohingya Zuban. A script was developed decades ago, and has been taught within the established camps and throughout areas of Bangladesh and Malaysia. The teaching is generally ‘under the radar’ of even informal education centers, and the materials used are handwritten, as unicoding of the language, is not complete. But even so, there is a major desire among the children and adults in the established camps to learn the written form; estimates put the number who have learned some of it at 10,000. Even more encouraging is the excitement generated among the students when they do have the opportunity to learn it – there is a true sense of the empowerment and identity that learning to read their own language gives them.

This initial mother tongue education work is unknown to most international agencies setting up learning centers, and its potential is unexplored. TWB is working with these agencies, as well as local organizations, international organizations specializing in mother tongue education and hopefully, the Bangladesh government, to include mother tongue tools in the curriculum. Teaching aids in Rohingya Zuban, mobile and online tools in unicoded Rohingya Zuban, and printed Rohingya Zuban early readers would all make a difference.


Now, back home and separated from the daily grind of the response by miles and time, I have reflected on that seed of hope that is education, and started to figure out how TWB can contribute to its growth. I believe TWB can make the greatest impact, by including mother tongue teaching and learning aids into the education programs being developed for Rohingya children.

The Rohingya refugee crisis offers the potential to educate hundreds of thousands of illiterate children, eager to learn, in their mother tongue. I hope we can make it happen.

Please follow this link to support TWB’s response to the Rohingya refugee crisis

Rebecca PetrasBy Rebecca Petras, Deputy Director and Head of Innovation at Translators without Borders.

When crisis hits – communication is key

Deployed for the first time in 2015 to respond to the refugee crisis in Greece, the Translators without Borders Arabic Rapid Response Team (RRT) counts over 80 volunteers. From their homes around the world, equipped with an internet connection and a Skype account, the will to help others and language skills, these volunteers bring vital information to thousands of refugees and migrants in Greece, in a language they understand.

‘If people cannot understand each other, there will be a barrier that not only makes it difficult to communicate but also makes it difficult to trust each other’

Muhannad Al-Bayk, a graduate of and now teacher at the University of Aleppo, joined the Arabic RRT in early 2017. Since then, he has been lending his valuable translation skills to TWB partners such as RefuComm, Internews, and the British Red Cross, while juggling his studies and teaching responsibilities.

Having volunteered over 50 translation hours as part of TWB’s response to the refugee crisis in Greece, we were keen to catch up with Muhannad to find out why he decided to join TWB and what motivates him to be involved in this response. Muhannad starts by telling us, ‘I wanted to find a way to give to others who hadn’t been as lucky in life as I have. While researching how to help, I stumbled upon TWB which seemed like a perfect match for my skill set.’

Muhannad’s tasks as an Arabic RRT translator are varied. In addition to translating and editing files using TWB’s translation platform Kató, he also helps develop glossaries, format documents, and other technical tasks. His translation content has also been quite diverse – from translating articles for “News that Moves,” an online information source for refugees and migrants in Greece, to flyers to direct people affected by the Grenfell fires in London, to a helpline. Muhannad believes that these projects are truly helpful ‘because they are timely for the target audience. Being able to read about things as they happen helps people understand what is going on and makes them feel less lost and more involved in their situation.’

‘Working as a volunteer has been an invaluable experience. I’m constantly tackling new issues and learning new things. Meeting a lovely new group of professional people is a bonus. It also taught me to be more committed to timelines, since RRT work relies on fast turnaround times.’

Why language matters in a crisis

The dedicated volunteer wraps up our interview telling us, ‘It is hard to put one’s life in the hands of someone you do not even understand. Therefore, language is key during times of crisis. [Language] connects hearts and minds, it is the primary means of communication’.


Click here to read the stories of other TWB Rapid Response translators.

By Angela Eldering, TWB Volunteer