Displaced for the second time, rupturing their relationship with yet another land
Across the world's most climate-exposed regions, millions of refugees who once fled war and persecution now face a second uprooting — this time at the hands of floods, fires, and heat. Camps built as temporary shelters have become multigenerational homes, yet their fragile infrastructure offers little protection against the intensifying climate shocks that increasingly render them uninhabitable. The cruelty is structural: those who contributed least to the warming of the planet are absorbing its most devastating consequences, caught between deteriorating camps and the trauma of displacement without end.
- Refugee camps designed for months are now decades-old settlements, their flimsy structures wholly unprepared for the floods, fires, and heat waves striking with growing ferocity.
- In 2024 alone, flooding in Chad killed 341 people and uprooted 1.5 million, while Dadaab's 400,000 residents — many born in the camp — were forced to flee rising waters within the only home they had ever known.
- Cox's Bazar burns repeatedly as deforested hillsides collapse and cooking fires spread through densely packed shelters, displacing tens of thousands in a camp already holding over a million Rohingya refugees.
- The UN projects that by 2050 nearly all refugee settlements will face hazardous heat levels, with Africa's most crowded camps enduring nearly 200 days of dangerous heat each year.
- Humanitarian planners and aid organizations are confronting an impossible architecture: camps cannot be easily relocated, upgraded, or dissolved, leaving millions trapped between uninhabitable conditions and the psychological devastation of yet another forced uprooting.
Dadaab refugee camp in Kenya has sheltered more than 400,000 people for over thirty years. Many were born there, their lives shaped entirely within its boundaries, after their families fled Somalia's civil war in 1991 expecting temporary refuge. In 2024, extreme flooding forced 20,000 of them to flee again — abandoning the only home they had ever known to escape water that had swallowed their shelter whole.
This is what researchers call double displacement, and Dadaab is far from alone. Roughly 22 percent of the world's refugees live in camps, many of them situated in regions now on the front lines of climate change. The camps were conceived as short-term solutions — wooden frames, plastic sheeting, minimal sanitation — but decades of protracted displacement have turned temporary infrastructure into a permanent liability. These structures were never built to withstand the climate shocks now arriving with increasing force.
The pattern is global. In Chad, catastrophic 2024 flooding killed 341 people and displaced 1.5 million, including over a million refugees from Sudan and neighboring countries. In Bangladesh, Cox's Bazar hosts more than a million Rohingya refugees across 34 camps in a cyclone-prone region where deforestation has stripped hillsides bare, accelerating erosion and fire risk. A single blaze in 2021 displaced 45,000 people; another recently destroyed 400 homes. In Jordan's Za'atari camp, 65,000 Syrian refugees endure a desert environment where water scarcity and heat are worsening year by year.
The United Nations projects that by 2050, nearly all current refugee settlements will face unprecedented hazardous heat stress, with Africa's most crowded camps enduring close to 200 dangerous heat days annually. Each new displacement compounds the psychological and social harm already carried by people who have lost everything once before — severing the fragile sense of stability that refugees work so hard to rebuild.
The deepest injustice is structural. Refugees, who bear almost no responsibility for the fossil fuel emissions driving climate change, are absorbing its most punishing consequences — forced to choose between surviving in increasingly hostile environments or being uprooted yet again from another place they had come to call home.
Dadaab refugee camp in Kenya has been home to more than 400,000 people for over three decades. Many were born there, their entire lives contained within its boundaries. They came fleeing Somalia's civil war in 1991, expecting temporary shelter. Instead, they built lives—raised children, planted gardens, established routines in a place that was never meant to be permanent. Then in 2024, extreme flooding forced 20,000 of them to abandon their homes again, climbing to higher ground to escape water that had turned their refuge into a disaster zone.
This is what researchers call double displacement: being uprooted not once, but twice. For Dadaab's residents, it meant losing the only home many had ever known, after already losing everything to conflict decades earlier. But Dadaab is not alone. Across the globe, refugee camps built in regions vulnerable to climate shocks are becoming sites of repeated catastrophe. About 22 percent of the world's refugee population—millions of people—lives in camps, and many of those camps sit directly in the path of intensifying climate hazards. As the planet warms, these settlements face a crisis their designers never anticipated: they are becoming uninhabitable.
The problem begins with how camps are conceived. They are built as temporary solutions to humanitarian emergencies, designed to house people for months or a few years while permanent resettlement is arranged. The structures reflect this impermanence: wooden frames, plastic sheeting, dense layouts with minimal protective infrastructure. Water and sanitation systems are basic. Housing provides little insulation from extreme heat or heavy rain. When camps endure for decades—as many do—this temporary infrastructure becomes a liability. It cannot withstand the climate shocks now striking with increasing frequency and intensity.
Somalia itself illustrates the compounding pressures. The country ranks among the world's most vulnerable to climate change. One year, floods destroy crops. The next, drought leaves soil barren. Somalis flee not only civil war and political persecution but also environmental collapse. They cross into Kenya seeking safety, only to find themselves in a camp that faces its own climate hazards. When monsoons intensify or droughts spread, Dadaab's residents—already displaced once—face displacement again.
The pattern repeats across continents. In Chad, severe rainfall in July 2024 killed 341 people and destroyed over 164,000 homes, affecting 1.5 million people including more than one million refugees who had fled conflict in Sudan, the Central African Republic, and Cameroon. In Bangladesh, Cox's Bazar hosts approximately 34 camps sheltering more than one million Rohingya refugees who fled Myanmar. The region is cyclone-prone and increasingly battered by intense storms. Mass deforestation to build the camps stripped hillsides bare, accelerating erosion and leaving residents exposed to landslides and monsoon floods. Fires—sparked by refugees burning firewood for cooking—have repeatedly ravaged the settlements. In 2021, a single fire displaced 45,000 people. Last month, another destroyed 400 homes, affecting 2,000 residents. In Za'atari camp in Jordan, which houses around 65,000 Syrian refugees, 62 percent of residents are considered highly vulnerable to climate impacts. The camp sits in a desert region where water shortages and heat waves intensify as the climate warms.
The United Nations projects that by 2050, nearly all current refugee settlements will face unprecedented levels of hazardous heat stress. The 15 hottest camps in the world, all located in Africa, are expected to experience nearly 200 days or more of dangerous heat annually. This is not a future threat alone—it is already unfolding. Repeated displacement from one's home, whether temporary or prolonged, carries severe psychological and social consequences. Each uprooting ruptures the relationship between a person and the land, fragmenting the fragile sense of stability that refugees have managed to build.
The cruelty of the situation lies in its structure. Refugees fleeing conflict and persecution desire a safe place to call home. Camps were meant to provide that, at least temporarily. Instead, many have become multigenerational settlements where children and grandchildren were born and raised, only to face the prospect of being forced out again—not by war or persecution, but by heat, water, and storms. Marginalized communities, despite contributing little to the burning of fossil fuels that drives climate change, face its most devastating effects. Refugees, already among the world's most vulnerable populations, now face a choice between living in increasingly inhospitable environments that threaten their survival, or being displaced yet again, severing ties with another land they had come to call home.
Notable Quotes
Refugees fleeing conflict and persecution desire a safe place to call home, but camps designed as temporary shelters increasingly become sites of repeated displacement as climate disasters intensify.— USCRI analysis
By 2050, the hottest 15 refugee camps in the world, all in Africa, are projected to face nearly 200 days or more of hazardous heat stress per year.— UN projections cited in USCRI report
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does it matter that these camps were designed as temporary? Couldn't they just be rebuilt better?
Because temporary design becomes permanent abandonment. A camp meant to last five years doesn't get the infrastructure—the drainage systems, the reinforced housing, the water reserves—that would let it survive a monsoon or a heat wave. By the time anyone realizes people will live there for decades, the damage is already done.
So the camps themselves are making things worse?
Yes. Deforestation for shelter construction in Cox's Bazar stripped the hills, which means more landslides when it rains. Dense layouts mean fires spread faster. Poor sanitation means disease follows floods. The camp's design doesn't just reflect vulnerability—it deepens it.
How many people are we talking about?
Over 22 percent of the world's refugees live in camps. That's millions of people. In 2024 alone, flooding in Chad affected 1.5 million people, including more than a million refugees. A single fire in Cox's Bazar displaced 45,000 in 2021.
What happens to someone displaced twice?
The psychological weight is immense. Displacement ruptures your relationship with place. Do it twice, and you're not just losing a home—you're losing the idea that you can ever have one. Many of these people have already fled war or persecution. Now they're being pushed out by weather.
Is there a way out of this?
Not easily. The UN projects that nearly all current refugee camps will face hazardous heat by 2050. Refugees are left with two impossible choices: stay in a place becoming uninhabitable, or be uprooted again. There's no third option built into the system.