Empowering Change: How Women Farmers in Bandarban are Resiliently Navigating the Climate Crisis

At 62, Monoboti Tanchangya navigates steep hills with surprising ease. Barefoot and steady, she climbs the familiar trail to her jhum fields, which are vital for her family’s survival. Yet, despite her agility, there’s something she’s never experienced.

“Believe it or not, I’ve never been to Debotakhum,” she says with a chuckle, gesturing to the lush green landscape below—a striking view from her hillside home in Jamachandra Para, a small village not marked on Google Maps.

Living just half an hour from one of Bandarban’s tourist spots, Monoboti’s life has been quiet and steeped in tradition. Now a grandmother of four, she dreams of peaceful twilight years filled with celebration. Instead, she finds herself working harder than ever. This year, the weather has taken a toll on her crops.

“I planted cucumbers, but the rain came too late and then too much,” she explains. Sorrow touches her voice as she recalls losing her entire harvest.

Climate change complicates her work. Hla Shing Nue, from the Bolipara Nari Kalyan Samiti, explains that unpredictable weather patterns are altering traditional farming. “Women farmers are particularly affected,” she shares. “They bear the brunt of climate change, even though they contribute the least to it.”

Stories like Monoboti’s highlight a troubling reality. According to recent research, a survey of 400 households in the Chittagong Hill Tracts revealed worsening food insecurity due to erratic weather. Women, often tasked with gathering water and managing household supplies, face unique struggles.

Dr. Md Nadiruzzaman, a climate researcher, emphasizes that environmental changes are increasingly affecting resources that women rely on for farming and daily living. A troubling trend shows that, unlike a decade ago when seasons were predictable, farmers now find their efforts can be wiped out in days.

Selina Rani Tanchangya, another local farmer, voices a common frustration. “When disasters strike, we lose not just our crops but our hope,” she says. Access to land complicates matters. Many women farm on plots they don’t own, leaving them to shoulder the full financial burden when things go wrong.

Nue highlights that legal barriers prevent women from owning land, as customary practices still dominate in the region. Often, even if a woman cultivates a plot, the official documents are in a male relative’s name.

In Jamachandra Para, education remains a significant hurdle. Banasree Misra Neogi from the Manusher Jonno Foundation notes that many adult women have not finished school. Language barriers and a lack of resources in indigenous languages hinder young girls from pursuing education.

With little formal schooling, most women struggle to understand weather updates or access online resources for farming help. “Sometimes they come to us with ideas that don’t suit our needs,” Mayapuri Tanchangya says, pointing out that support often misses the mark.

Even a short trip to Bandarban is a challenge. The road is long, and language barriers can make communication tough. This isolation compounds their struggles.

Despite these challenges, women like Monoboti and Selina continue their daily grind of unpaid work—farming, fetching water, cooking, and caring for their families. “Our work never stops, even when the men are idle,” Selina succinctly states.

The lack of recognition for their efforts contributes to their sense of invisibility. They rarely have a voice in local governance, which affects decision-making. “Maybe things would change with women in local leadership,” Mayapuri reflects. But cultural barriers often prevent women from stepping into these roles.

Neogi explains that while some progress has been made recently in fostering women’s representation in local councils, there’s a long way to go.

Structural reforms are essential, according to Nue. “Indigenous women should become decision-makers,” she argues. Empowering them in local committees and planning processes is crucial.

Hope still flickers among these women. They dream of a future where they gain access to resources and support that reflect their needs. Exiting our conversation, Monoboti holds our hands and smiles. “Maybe next time, I’ll finally go to Debotakhum with you,” she says. That glimmer of hope drives her, and many others, to keep pushing forward even when faced with daunting odds.



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