We do not have a piece of land beneath our feet.
Each year, the rivers and storms of Bangladesh quietly erase entire communities from the map, sending hundreds of thousands of people toward Dhaka with nothing but what they can carry. In the slums of Kalyanpur and beyond, the displaced discover that survival in the city is its own form of loss — land gone, livelihoods gone, dignity strained to its limits. This is not merely a story of migration; it is a story of a nation absorbing the human cost of a crisis it did little to create, while the world watches projections climb toward nineteen point nine million displaced by 2050.
- Between 400,000 and 500,000 climate-displaced Bangladeshis pour into Dhaka's slums every year, driven by cyclones and rivers that have swallowed their homes whole.
- Families of five or six compress their lives into 15x15 ft tin rooms with barely enough water, electricity, or sanitation to sustain them — a humanitarian emergency hidden in plain sight.
- Ninety-three percent of arrivals have lost their livelihoods entirely, and only one in ten finds formal work, leaving the rest to survive on the precarious edges of an already overburdened city.
- Despite the hardship, 86% of displaced residents say they would return home if offered safe housing and stable work — a statistic that reframes this not as a migration story, but as a failure of protection.
- Experts and advocates are pressing for planned coastal townships, targeted skills training, and Green Climate Fund financing before the projected displacement of nearly 20 million Bangladeshis by 2050 becomes irreversible.
Sathi Begum packed everything she owned and prepared to leave Dhalchar Island as the river crept closer each year. At twenty-five, she was joining a vast, quiet exodus — one of hundreds of thousands of Bangladeshis pushed from coastal districts by cyclones, tidal surges, and relentless erosion, all converging on a capital city that was never built to receive them.
The names behind the numbers tell the story plainly. Mosharraf Hossain Gazi fled Satkhira with five family members after losing everything. Mujibur Rahman watched Cyclone Aila kill twelve relatives before moving to Dhaka. Iskander Ali abandoned Khulna after disasters took his home, eventually dying in Kalyanpur slum after two decades of struggle. His wife Sahida reflected afterward: they had come in search of life and found, instead, their last destination.
Kalyanpur began in 1998 with five houses. It now shelters around thirty thousand people. The conditions are severe — tin walls that trap heat, scarce water, unreliable electricity, narrow lanes crowded with makeshift structures and accumulated hardship. A joint study found that roughly half of Dhaka's slum residents arrived after climate disasters stripped them of homes and livelihoods in vulnerable coastal districts. Ninety-three percent lost their livelihoods entirely. Yet eighty-six percent said they would return home if given safe housing and sustainable work. The crisis is not one of unwillingness — it is one of having no viable path back.
Formal employment reaches only ten percent of climate-displaced migrants. The rest survive through informal labor, day work, and whatever the margins of the city will offer. Abdul Quader, seventy-two, captured the indignity with quiet precision: citizens and voters of Bangladesh, with no land beneath their feet. Aklima Begum asked why the government's constitutional promise of rehabilitation remained unfulfilled.
The World Bank projects that without serious climate action, Bangladesh could see 19.9 million people displaced by 2050 — part of a global figure of 216 million across six regions. In 2020 alone, 4.4 million Bangladeshis were displaced, placing the country second in the world for that period. Experts are calling for planned coastal townships, capacity training for displaced populations, and international financing through mechanisms like the Green Climate Fund. Without intervention at that scale, the resignation settling over places like Kalyanpur — the quiet acceptance that there is nowhere else to go — may become the defining condition of millions more lives.
Sathi Begum stood in her home on Dhalchar Island with everything she owned packed and ready to move. The river was coming closer each year, eating away at the land where she had been born and raised. At twenty-five, she was about to become one of hundreds of thousands of Bangladeshis forced from their homes by the climate crisis—people with nowhere to go and no idea what comes next.
The story of displacement in Bangladesh is not new, but it is accelerating. Over the past two decades, cyclones, tidal surges, rising seas, and relentless river erosion have pushed families out of the coastal districts—Bhola, Satkhira, Khulna, Patuakhali, Lakshmipur—and toward the capital. Mosharraf Hossain Gazi lost everything in Satkhira and fled with five family members. Mujibur Rahman watched Cyclone Aila kill twelve of his relatives in 2009 before moving to the city. Iskander Ali, seventy-two years old, abandoned Khulna after natural disasters took his home. These are not isolated cases. Between four hundred thousand and five hundred thousand climate-displaced people arrive in Dhaka's slums each year, according to researchers. They come because they have no other choice.
Kalyanpur slum, established in 1998 with just five houses, now shelters around thirty thousand people. A typical room measures fifteen feet by fifteen feet. Five or six family members live in that space. The tin walls become unbearably hot. Water is scarce. Electricity is unreliable. Gas is in short supply. Cooking, bathing, and washing happen in severely limited facilities. The lanes between structures are narrow, lined with makeshift shops, piles of rubbish, and dense crowds. For many, this is the end of their journey—the place where they stop running and try to survive.
The people who live here once owned something. They farmed land. They raised cattle. They ran small businesses. They had homes. Now rivers flow where those homes stood. A joint study by the Bangladesh Women Workers Center and Change Initiative found that about half of Dhaka's slum residents arrived after losing their homes and livelihoods in climate-vulnerable districts. Ninety-three percent have lost their livelihoods entirely. Fifty-two percent have lost their homes. Yet eighty-six percent said they would return to their home districts if they were guaranteed safe housing and sustainable employment. The problem is not that they want to leave Bangladesh. It is that they have been forced to abandon everything and given no way back.
Work in the city is scarce and precarious. Only ten percent of climate-displaced migrants secure formal employment. The rest survive in the margins—day labor, informal work, whatever keeps them alive. This creates pressure on an already overcrowded city. Dhaka ranks among the least liveable cities in the world according to the Global Liveability Index. For climate-displaced families, the risks multiply. Fires sweep through slums. Eviction drives threaten residents repeatedly. Abdul Quader, seventy-two, living in Kalyanpur, put it plainly: "We are citizens of this country. We are voters of this country. And we do not have a piece of land beneath our feet." Aklima Begum, fifty-three, asked why the government would not honor its constitutional promise of rehabilitation.
The scale of what is coming is staggering. The World Bank warns that two hundred sixteen million people could be internally displaced across six regions of the world by 2050 without serious climate action. South Asia alone faces forty million displaced people. Bangladesh is projected to lose nineteen point nine million people to displacement. In 2020 alone, the Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre reported that four point four million Bangladeshis were displaced, almost entirely due to natural disasters. During the first six months of that year, Bangladesh ranked second globally in displacement, with two point five million people forced from their homes.
Experts call for planned coastal townships in major cities, capacity-based training tailored to displaced populations, and funding from domestic and international sources including the Green Climate Fund. Without this, the crisis will only deepen. Iskander Ali arrived at Kalyanpur twenty years ago after losing everything to river erosion in Khulna. He died in the slum after a lifetime of struggle. His wife, Sahida Begum, reflected on their life there: "We came here in search of life and livelihood after losing everything to river erosion. This slum is no longer habitable. Even so, this may be our last destination." That resignation—the acceptance that there is nowhere else to go—is perhaps the most devastating consequence of all.
Citas Notables
We came here in search of life and livelihood after losing everything to river erosion. This slum is no longer habitable. Even so, this may be our last destination.— Sahida Begum, widow of Iskander Ali, reflecting on twenty years in Kalyanpur slum
For the welfare and rehabilitation of people displaced by climate change, compact townships should be established in coastal cities in a planned manner.— M. Zakir Hossain Khan, Executive Director of Change Initiative
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does this story matter now, in 2026? Hasn't Bangladesh always dealt with flooding and cyclones?
The difference is scale and permanence. These aren't temporary disasters anymore. The land itself is disappearing. People aren't waiting for the next storm—they're leaving because the ground beneath them is eroding away. And there's nowhere for them to go except the slums.
But why Dhaka specifically? Why not other cities?
Dhaka is the economic center. It's where jobs exist, even if they're precarious. When you've lost everything, you go where there's any chance of survival. The slums are terrible, but they're accessible. You can arrive with nothing and find a room.
The study says 86% would return home if conditions were right. That's a powerful number. What does that tell us?
It tells us this isn't about people wanting to abandon their roots or become urban workers. They're displaced against their will. If the government created safe housing and sustainable livelihoods in coastal areas, most of these people would go back. The problem isn't migration—it's that there's no alternative.
Only 10% find formal employment. What happens to the other 90%?
They survive in the informal economy. Day labor, street vending, domestic work, whatever pays enough to eat. It's unstable and exploitative. And it keeps them trapped in the slums, vulnerable to fires, evictions, disease.
The World Bank projection of 19.9 million displaced Bangladeshis by 2050—is that realistic?
It's conservative, if anything. It assumes some climate action happens. If nothing changes, the number could be much higher. And that's just Bangladesh. The regional crisis in South Asia will be enormous.
What would actually solve this?
The experts quoted in the story are clear: planned townships in coastal cities with training and jobs, funded by both domestic and international sources. But that requires political will and resources that don't exist yet. Right now, the displaced are just being pushed into slums and left to fend for themselves.