By Muzliza Mustafa for Twentytwo13
Hafsar Tameesuddin’s life began in a small village between Myanmar’s Rakhine and Chin states. Her family had deep roots there, spanning generations.
But like her father and grandfather, she held no official documents identifying her as a citizen – a consequence of Myanmar’s 1982 Citizenship Law.
The law rendered the Rohingya stateless, labelling them as foreigners and revoking previously issued identification papers.
“I remember we had to apply for a travel pass just to leave our village,” she said in an exclusive interview with Twentytwo13.
“It was an offence to travel without it because we were not recognised as citizens.”
She recalled a chilling incident in which villagers were shot for crossing district lines to collect roofing leaves.
“No one was ever safe from the atrocities,” she said.
“Women and girls would disappear overnight. Some people I knew were murdered.”
Denied rights
The Rohingya – a Muslim minority in Buddhist-majority Myanmar – have long faced systemic discrimination.
Human rights groups have described their situation as apartheid-like, with severe restrictions on movement, education, healthcare, and employment.
The situation worsened in 2017 when a violent military crackdown forced more than 655,000 Rohingya to flee to Bangladesh.
While many ended up in crowded camps in Cox’s Bazar, others, like Hafsar, risked dangerous overland and maritime routes in search of safety and dignity.
“Back in Myanmar, we could go to school and sit for exams, but we never received certificates to prove we completed our studies,” she said.
“We weren’t even allowed to attend graduation ceremonies.”
Employment was equally out of reach.
“No one wanted to hire Rohingya. It was against the law.”
Her family survived on the earnings from her mother’s small sundry shop – though that too was precarious.
“If the authorities came and seized our goods, there was nothing we could do. They had the power to act as they pleased.”
Escaping Myanmar
Even as a child, Hafsar – the third of five siblings – dreamed of life beyond her village. In her mid-20s, she made the bold decision to flee.
“I knew I had to leave if I wanted to survive and build a better life for myself and my family,” she said.
With her savings, a few clothes, and her English books, she escaped to Yangon. She spent months shifting between homes, sleeping in alleys, and dodging arrest while waiting for a chance to cross into Thailand.
She eventually made it to Mae Sot, but after two more years of hardship, she took another risk.
Trafficked to Malaysia
In 2010, with 2,500 MYR ($589 USD) borrowed from a cousin abroad, Hafsar paid a trafficker to smuggle her into Malaysia.
“The journey was rough,” she said.
“We travelled by train and small boat. In some parts, we had to walk through jungle before finally reaching Kuala Lumpur.”
Life in Malaysia brought new challenges. With no legal status, she struggled to find work.
“I even offered to work for half the salary of locals, but still, no one wanted to hire me.”
She eventually found a job cleaning a wet market and wholesale market. The pay was minimal. She set aside some for rent and food and sent the rest home. She shared a house with other Rohingyas, paying 250 MYR ($59 USD) monthly for rent.
Malaysia is not a signatory to the 1951 UN Refugee Convention or its 1967 Protocol. Refugees and asylum seekers are considered undocumented migrants and face limits on employment, education, and access to healthcare. However, they are allowed to remain temporarily until resettlement elsewhere.
According to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), as of May, 200,260 refugees and asylum seekers were registered in Malaysia.
Of these, 179,670 were from Myanmar – mostly Rohingya, followed by Chins and other ethnic groups from conflict zones. The rest came from 50 countries fleeing war and persecution.
Although life in Malaysia was difficult, Hafsar said it was still better than in Myanmar.
“It was safer. At least here, I could survive.”
After nine years, things changed when a local non-governmental organization (NGO) discovered her language skills. Besides Rohingya and Burmese, she spoke English and Malay. They offered her a job as a translator.
That opened new doors. She later worked with several NGOs and eventually joined the UNHCR, helping with translation and community outreach, especially for Rohingya women and children.
She received a small honourarium – more than what she earned as a cleaner, but still modest.
Life under threat
In 2016, her work drew hostility from within the community. Her support for Rohingya women who had survived sexual and gender-based violence put her life at risk.
“I was living in fear,” she said.
“They were tracking me down. It wasn’t safe anymore.”
It took two years before a third country offered resettlement, and another year for the process to be completed.
In 2019, Hafsar moved to New Zealand. She enrolled at university, earned a degree in social work, and is now pursuing a master’s degree in public policy.
Her family has since joined her. She continues her advocacy work and now serves as co-secretary general of the Asia Pacific Refugee Rights Network (APRRN) – a coalition of more than 270 civil society organisations and individuals across 28 countries championing refugee rights.
Malaysia brings hope
Despite everything, Malaysia still holds a special place in her heart.
“I use the challenges I faced in Malaysia to motivate myself. It was home for nine years. In many ways, it reminds me of Myanmar. But here, I got to work with my community.
“Although some didn’t welcome our presence, there were many kind Malaysians who treated us with compassion.”
Asked what she missed most about Malaysia, Hafsar smiled.
“The weather and the food. I love nasi lemak, nasi ayam and teh tarik.”
Now with the freedom to travel, Hafsar hopes to explore parts of Malaysia she never got to see.
“There’s still so much to discover,” she said.
Twentytwo13 is an independent Malaysian news website, bringing you insights on issues that matter to the people.
