The elders in my village say they have never seen this kind of damage in their lifetime, and neither have I.
My ancestors migrated here 200 years ago. On some days I wonder why they brought us here to this remote haor region. On other days, I thank them, for we have never been short of rice and fish, until today.
I harvest once a year and catch fish when the water comes in, but this year the fish is dying too. I do not have enough money to start a business because the water took everything. Every family in this village sold the livestock they owned. I sold off the two cows I had.
My son dropped out of school as I could not pay his tuition fees, and left village without even telling me. He called to tell me that he is in Dhaka, and found a job at an electronic repairing shop. He is living alone in a big city and it scares me. He needs to continue his education. I told him to come back. I promised him that I will find a way.
But what can I really do, other than praying that this misery ends soon? We could not cook today because we did not have any firewood. My village would have celebrated Nobanno Utshob, the harvest celebration, at this time of the year, but the waters have turned the festive season into days of uncertainty.
– Story as narrated by Phool Miah, a farmer.