When we lived in Rakhine, I wanted to be a doctor, because there were no doctors in my village. I wanted to help those who were suffering from painful diseases.
One year, I completed my primary level of education, so my father enrolled me at a new school. 98% of students were Rakhine nationals in that school. The school was about two miles from my house.
I was so happy and excited to be admitted into middle school.The night before my first day at my new school, I could hardly sleep. I was thinking and imagining how things would be; new friends, new classmates… the new life I was about to start the next day. As usual, I woke at 5 am the next morning.
I brushed my teeth, applied thanakha to my face, dressed in my new uniform, and ate breakfast with my family.
My grandfather and grandmother, and my parents–all were giving me their best wishes and encouraging me. I was so excited. I went to school early to take my seat.
There is a rule of seating in the classes; all the girls sat at the front, and the boys sit behind them.
When I entered the class, no one spoke to me; they started staring at me. I chose a seat at the front of the class, where the girls were supposed to sit. Rakhine girls came into the class but maintained a distance from me. Everyone was staring at me. I heard them say “k***r ma” (pejorative term often used for women from Muslim /Hindu backgrounds)
The teacher arrived at 10 a.m. sharp. When she saw me, she came closer to me and asked, “what’s your name? Where are you from?”
I told her my name and the name of my village.
“Oh, you are k***r ma,” she replied.
“Why are you sitting here? Who told you to sit here?” she asked.
“I chose this seat and sat down because I saw other girls sitting here. I’m sorry if I made any mistake,” I replied. She replied angrily:
“It’s okay for them to sit here because they are all Rakhine girls and they are citizens of this country.
But you can’t sit here.
You are a Bengali k***r, and this seat is not for k***rs.
Got it?” I couldn’t speak.
“Go and sit in the last desk of the class,” the teacher ordered.
I quietly stood and went to the last desk.
Since that day, I stopped going to school and my parents didn’t force me to attend. I couldn’t pay attention to the lessons that day.
That day, the only lesson I learned was discrimination: the illness of the heart.
“That day, the only lesson I learned was discrimination: the illness of the heart…
I am a Rohingya girl and also a student. This is my story.”
Story and illustration shared by a Rohingya sister
(aged 15)
#WithTheRohingya #WhatsHappeningInMyanmar








