Two Steps Forward: How Sofaida Finds Hope in a Cox’s Bazar Learning Center

Morning light and a small doorway: Sofaida returns to class

When the sun slides over the rows of shelters in Cox’s Bazar, Sofaida threads her way toward a low building that looks ordinary at first glance. Inside, a chalkboard hangs on the wall, a handful of benches line the room, and a small group of girls waits, notebooks in hand. The trip from her family’s shelter takes only minutes, but the routine matters in a place made of pauses and loss.

Sofaida comes to class to learn the basics she missed as a child. The lessons are short and practical—reading, basic math, and life skills that make day-to-day life easier. For her, the center is more than a place to study. It is a modest pocket of safety, a place where she can speak without being judged and where teachers try to make each lesson useful the next day, not just for exams.

Why community learning centers matter inside the camps

The Rohingya crisis created one of the world’s largest refugee settlements. Families arrived quickly and in fear. Camps in Cox’s Bazar became crowded, and formal schooling was never designed to absorb the number of children and teens who needed it. Many adolescents lost years of learning, and most daily routines were upended by displacement.

In this context, community learning centers fill a basic but urgent gap. They are small, flexible sites where teachers can offer catch-up lessons, language practice, and simple life-skills training. Classes are often tailored to what families allow and to when students can attend. That makes them a practical answer in a setting where standard schooling is slow to expand and where social rules and security concerns shape every family decision.

Sofaida’s steps: life before the center, and what has changed

Before she found the center, Sofaida’s days were a loop of chores and silence. Her parents fled violence in Myanmar and arrived in Bangladesh with little but each other. School was not an option at the time; the family focused on finding shelter, food, and a fragile sense of safety. As a result, Sofaida missed years of basic lessons other teenagers take for granted.

Now, her mornings include a simple routine. She practices writing letters and sums. She learns how to explain an illness to a community health worker and how to talk about her feelings with a teacher trained to listen. These skills do not promise a degree or a job right away, but they do offer confidence and small independence.

Sofaida says she feels quieter fear and more steady hope. She dreams of teaching younger children someday. That wish is practical and immediate: teaching would let her earn something, be respected in the community, and keep learning as part of her daily life. For Sofaida, the center turned a stalled adolescence into a pathway with steps she can actually take.

What the program looks like and what it has delivered

The program running these centers is supported by Education Cannot Wait and implemented locally by Save the Children. It focuses on adolescence, offering remedial learning for those who fell behind, life-skills sessions, psychosocial support, and occasional vocational activities. Timetables are flexible so students can attend around chores, and gender-sensitive measures try to make spaces safe and acceptable for girls.

At each site, teachers use simple tools—visual aids, story-based lessons, and role-play—to rebuild basic literacy and numeracy. Staff also work on social routines: punctuality, group discussion, and communicating with parents. Those small routines help young people feel more normal and less isolated.

The results are practical rather than dramatic. Attendance rises when the centers open and when classes match what families expect. Learners report better basic reading and counting skills, and teachers note improved focus and fewer signs of acute distress. For many adolescents, the centers are a bridge: not a substitute for a full formal education, but a route back toward it when opportunities grow or people move on.

Hard limits: funding, security, and social barriers

No program like this can fix the bigger political and resource limits of the camps. Funding is patchy and often short-term. That makes planning hard: programs expand for a season and then shrink, leaving teachers and students uncertain. Security constraints and dense living conditions also limit how many safe spaces can exist without creating crowding or friction with local hosts.

Social barriers are real, too. Families worry about safety and social standing; some parents restrict girls’ movements or prioritize household tasks. That means even when centers are nearby, many adolescents—especially girls—attend only irregularly. Finally, the learning offered is usually basic and cannot replace a full, certified education pathway. The centers help, but they are not the same as being enrolled in a formal school with recognized diplomas.

What comes next, and how readers can pay attention

Sofaida’s classroom is a quiet example of a larger effort. Partners including Education Cannot Wait and Save the Children support a network of small centers that aim to reach adolescents across the camps. The next steps are steady: more trained teachers, longer funding cycles, and programs that link catch-up learning to accredited paths when those become available.

If the path ahead looks uncertain, it is because the crisis itself is unresolved. For now, the centers offer something clear and human—a routine, an adult who listens, and a few skills that keep young people moving forward. For Sofaida, two steps a day toward her classroom add up. For the community, those small steps build a fragile but necessary trust in the idea that education can come back, even after so much has been taken away.

Sources

• prnewswire.com