Floods, Erosion, and the Fight to Survive in Climate-Stricken Kurigram, Bangladesh

Photo and story by Harunur Rashid Sagar

Kurigram in northern Bangladesh lies at the center of one of the world’s most dynamic river systems shaped by the Brahmaputra, Dharla, and Teesta rivers, as well as the larger Bengal Delta. This delta, created through centuries of silt and sand deposition from the Ganga-Padma, Brahmaputra-Jamuna, and Meghna basins, continuously forms and erases char lands that millions depend on for settlement and cultivation (Rahman and Rahman 2015, Sarker et al. 2003). These shifting river islands expose them to some of the country’s most severe hazards (Islam et al. 2011, Alam et al. 2018).

An estimated 6.5 to 12 million people live on char lands in Bangladesh, which cover 5 to 6 percent of national territory. Each year, nearly 10,000 hectares of land are lost to riverbank erosion, leaving more than a million people homeless or displaced (Rahman and Rahman 2015, Islam and Rashid 2011), although some studies report a modest net coastal accretion of roughly 2,000 hectares per year in Bangladesh. Yet this gain is largely driven by sediment deposition in the Meghna estuary. It is concentrated in coastal zones and does not offset the rapid inland riverbank losses seen in floodplain districts like Kurigram, which is one of the worst affected districts. Flooding arrives earlier, lasts longer, and returns more frequently. Erosion now removes entire villages within days, erasing homes, croplands, schools, and community structures.

Families now get used to rebuilding or moving ‘mobile homes’, sometimes multiple times a year. Livelihoods change adjusting with the situation as fields fall into the river. The district reveals a widening crisis shaped by climate change, where the boundaries between land and water shift constantly, and life must shift with them.

During the recent monsoon season, the school built by Friendship Bangladesh at Char YouthNet (Jatrapur) became the only elevated ground where dozens of families converged for safety. Most of the flood photographs used in this essay were taken in July 2024, yet community members repeatedly emphasized that these scenes were not exceptional events but part of a recurring pattern that returns almost every year with increasing intensity. Similar situations unfolded across other chars, where lone schools, raised earthen mounds, or half-built government structures turned into spontaneous shelters as families arrived by boat, carrying their livestock, bundles of clothing, and metal boxes containing their last savings. 

As one teacher at that school explained, “This school ground is slightly elevated. There is no other shelter in my area. Each house of my area is under water and about 20 to 25 families have taken the shelter of my school grounds. They along with their cows, calves, ducks, chickens, goats and sheep have taken shelter here. And it turned out that, if the flood water continues to rise at this rate, and our school ground is submerged, then these families will have no place to take shelter,” said Md. Rezaul Karim. He added that long-term government-supported shelter centers and emergency essentials remain critical for survival during such disasters.

In many places, boats moved between submerged homes and temporary shelters throughout the day, as people tried to retrieve whatever belongings remained above water. Rooms filled with rising floodwater could be seen across villages, and countless homes were cut off completely, forcing people to wait for hours before an accessible route appeared. 

One resident described his troubles: “During flood it’s very tough to eat and drink. Knee-deep flood water always goes inside the house and it’s very challenging to maintain proper care for the children. The way water level is rising, I had to shift them to boat from bedstead. Now we are staying on the boat and eating very little,” said Md. Rafiqul Islam.

In most char lands, floodwater entered homes within hours, leaving families with only the height of their bedsteads to protect small children and necessary belongings. Community people described the same struggle to keep food dry, to find a place to cook, or to access safe drinking water once the handpumps disappeared beneath murky floodwater. 

This situation was reflected in the words of health worker Mst. Shahina Akter, who explained that “People suffer a lot due to floods. People worry about cows, goats and poultry during flood. When they will cook and eat, they have no clue. If you get sick, there is no place to get treatment here. There is no place for expectant mothers to deliver during flood. Women face more challenges to maintain menstrual hygiene. Many people take shelter in the Friendship School. There is no other shelter center in this area. There is even no place like that at many chars for shelter.” Her voice captured the depth of vulnerability that becomes even more severe when animals, livelihoods, and human health all hang in the balance.

Shops at the chars also submerge, creating shortages of food, medicine, and basic supplies. Villages turned into islands with no visible paths to safety. Even town centers in Kurigram Sadar are not spared, as water rose quickly along key roads, cutting off transport and communication. Across multiple locations, the same pattern emerged. 

Floods arrived earlier, stayed longer, and returned more frequently than in previous years. Research on Kurigram confirms what residents repeatedly explained: that intensified monsoon rainfall and unpredictable upstream flow patterns are closely linked to climate change. These changes have increased the probability of widespread flooding and deepened the vulnerabilities of river-dependent communities (Islam and Parvin 2019; Hossain et al. 2021; Reza 2025).

Yet the water that enters homes is only part of the destruction. The deeper and more permanent loss comes from riverbank erosion, which is now occurring at a rate previously unseen across large sections of the district. During this photo essay journey, different erosion sites were visited mostly in Kurigram Sadar, Chilmari, Phulbari, and Ulipur. The conditions across these locations were almost identical: large cracks opening suddenly in the earth, rivers carving out massive chunks of land within days, and families watching their last pieces of homestead disappear.

Entire settlements have been lost in the span of months. Community clinic, flood shelters, madrasa (religious institution), Eid prayer field, playground, land office, mosques and markets that existed two years earlier have now been consumed by the river. In several villages, only the remains of brick foundations were visible under the water’s surface. Many primary schools stood dangerously close to the edge, its future already compromised by rapid land loss. Along one eroding stretch, a line of homes stood only steps away from collapse, their owners preparing for the inevitable. Some of these homes were already taken by the river even before this essay was completed.

Among the many families met during these visits, the story of Kohinur Begum echoed the experience of countless others across the district. She and her husband, a day labourer, have already lost three homes in seven months and move from one place to another. 

Her words captured the exhaustion that has become common across the chars: “Every house is rebuilt with whatever we can gather, but the river keeps returning. Now we are temporarily staying on another person’s land. With five daughters and a small boy, there is no answer to where we will go next.” Her situation is repeated in hundreds of households across Kurigram, where women carry the weight of rebuilding while ensuring water, food, and safety for children.

Farmers across multiple chars described similar uncertainty as paddyland vanished ahead of harvest season. One such farmer, Abdul Khalek, had already lost his home eight months earlier. Now the river had reached the last fragment of his paddy plot (Figures 15 to 17). His crop was harvested prematurely. His voice carried the same grief heard throughout the district: “The land has fed us for years. Now it is being taken before the crops can ripen.” His grief was not just for the land but for the future it once represented.

Further along the river, houses were being dismantled systematically as families tried to salvage whatever they could before erosion made retrieval impossible. This pattern of displacement has become a defining feature of life in Kurigram. Families move not once or twice but multiple times within the same year. Every relocation means losing established social networks, farmland, livestock, and any sense of permanence.

The story of Afzal Hossain and Jobed Ali mirrors that of many across the district. Eleven years earlier, they had crossed the river to escape severe erosion in their old village. Now the river had reached them again. “The river pushed us here, and now it is pushing us again. There is no direction left,” they said, standing beside a crack in the earth that had widened overnight. Their uncertainty reflects a larger crisis in Kurigram: no part of the district feels secure enough to promise stability.

Across erosion zones, bamboo stacks, sandbags, and geo-textile bags were placed along the banks in efforts to delay collapse. These protections, though essential, often last only a short time against the powerful currents. People gathered daily along the banks to monitor the progression of cracks, knowing that their homes, trees, and memories could disappear at any moment. Such scenes repeated themselves in char after char, and each visit revealed a deeper understanding of the emotional weight carried by those living on such unstable land.

Children in Kurigram experience childhoods shaped by movement. They learn how to prepare for evacuation, how to climb onto boats quickly, and how to sleep on high beds when water begins entering their rooms. They grow up surrounded by geo-bags and sand walls, fragile defences meant to withstand the unpredictable force of the river. One mother in Chilmari described the situation with quiet resignation: “Our children are growing up surrounded by protections that were only meant to be temporary.”

Despite the scale of hardship, life continues with remarkable determination. Families salvage crops before erosion reaches them, rebuild homes on new patches of land, and gather mud or bamboo to repair structures damaged by water. Women continue cooking for their households even when kitchens are partially submerged. Men continue cultivating and fishing in risky currents to provide food. Community members come together to rescue those stranded during sudden surges of water. These actions reflect resilience, but they also reveal the burden of survival in a region pushed to the extreme by climate change.

Research on Kurigram shows that more than half of households in highly exposed chars face displacement every one to three years (Hossain et al. 2021). Landlessness increases sharply with each cycle, and many families fall into debt traps and poverty that becomes nearly impossible to escape. Women face heightened risks in terms of health, safety, and workload during displacement. Access to healthcare becomes extremely limited during flooding, and the absence of dedicated shelter centers means pregnant women often lack safe spaces for delivery.

This photo essay reflects not only the losses witnessed across these twenty char lands but also the broader challenge facing Kurigram. The district stands as a frontline witness to the accelerating impacts of global climate change. Research has repeatedly shown that intensifying floods, unpredictable river flows, and rapid erosion are all connected to changing climate systems (Islam and Parvin 2021; Reza 2025). Kurigram offers a stark reminder that those who contribute least to global emissions often bear the greatest burden of its consequences.

Across the char lands of Kurigram, people repeatedly voiced the need for safe shelter, reliable drinking water, and secure embankments as the most urgent demands for survival. Residents emphasized that permanent multipurpose shelters must be built on high, reinforced ground, since the existing schoolyards cannot protect large populations when floods intensify. Many called for accessible rescue boats, emergency dry food stockpiles, and mobile medical teams that can reach isolated villages during peak flooding. Locals also stressed that drinking water systems should be elevated above flood levels and that early warning messages should be made clearer and more frequent. 

Echoing these community concerns, Rakibul Islam Tanim, a young climate activist from YouthNet Global who has worked closely with char families for years, explained that meaningful protection will require both structural and social interventions. He highlighted the need for climate-resilient housing, riverbank reinforcement through sustainable embankment technologies, and relocation plans for the most vulnerable erosion-prone settlements. In his view, long-term adaptation in Kurigram depends on strengthening local governance, ensuring equitable access to relief, expanding livelihood training beyond agriculture, and creating youth-led community emergency response groups. 

Kurigram stands at the frontline of Bangladesh’s climate crisis, where rising floods and relentless erosion repeatedly erase homes, croplands, and entire communities. Yet families continue rebuilding on shifting ground, carrying lives shaped by uncertainty. Their struggle reveals how those contributing least to climate change bear its heaviest cost. Protecting Kurigram now demands urgent, sustained action through stronger shelters, safer embankments, and climate adaptation efforts that reach every char before more ground is lost.