Ghagra: Where dreams rise from dust for Bangladesh women's football
The hostel built for the young girls is now in a dilapidated condition — as if silently revealing how the everyday lives and dreams of these school-going girls are weighed down by hardships
When Chandra Dewan mentioned that the Bangladesh Army has built a hostel for the girls who play football at her school, my immediate reaction was — wow, these girls are getting some impressive facilities here.
However, that impression didn't last long as Chandra kept speaking.
Chandra is the headteacher at Ghagra High School located in Kawkhali upazila of Rangamati. The school is often called the cradle of women's footballers, having produced talented players like Rupna, Rituparna, Anuching, Monika, and Anai.
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Many of its girls play in various age-based national teams. Every day, their successors — Masaing U Marma, Subharti Chakma, Macrao Marma, Namanita Chakma, and Jayata Chakma — sweat it out on this field.
Currently, about 30 girls practise football at Ghagra High School. Their eyes carry the dream of making it to the national teams one day.
Right behind the school building stands their hostel, built by the Bangladesh Army in 2017 as a gift in recognition of the school's national success in football. Under a tin roof, two rooms and a kitchen were constructed with concrete. Eight years ago, this setup was adequate, as there weren't many players. But now, with the growing number of players, those two rooms have become suffocatingly crowded.
"We have to cram in 13 to 14 girls per room. We never imagined that someone from our school would play at the international level. Now we bring girls from all surrounding areas to train. They all have to live in these two rooms," Chandra said.
Her words made me eager to see the hostel. But as I reached the location, the mental image I had built began to crumble. Nothing matched. Perhaps the damp monsoon weather was a blessing in disguise, as it revealed the true condition of the place.
There was a one-storey, faded yellow building with a blue tin roof. Around it, muddy water had pooled; broken bricks, polythene, and pieces of wood lay scattered. On the front bench, some old planks were piled up, and underneath it, stagnant, dirty water had gathered. Moss stains marked the walls, with mud splatters along the bottom edges. The iron-grilled windows looked battered — one panel had broken off, another hung open. Shoes were drying on the grills.
To the right, clothes were strung up on a line tied to bamboo poles. The entire scene spoke of poor drainage, filth, and inadequate infrastructure — as if silently revealing how the everyday lives and dreams of these school-going girls are weighed down by hardships.
Stepping inside, I got another shock. Two medium-sized rooms, walls stained with watermarks, dust gathered in corners. Clothes, mats, old beds stacked with bags, books, baskets, and cooking utensils lay scattered on the floor. The ceiling fans were so grimy one could barely look at them. Clothes dangled overhead, plates and pots were stored haphazardly.
It was clear that this disorganised life had become normal here. The lockers meant for the girls had all broken. Their joints had rotted away from dampness. Now they lay strewn outside in the yard.
Deepa Chakma, one of the players, pleaded, "We used to keep our personal things in these lockers. Now there's no place for that. Privacy matters too. If someone could kindly arrange new lockers, it would really help us."
Days pass here with scarce space and scant belongings. Yet within this chaos and scarcity lies an unbreakable resolve to conquer dreams.
Noticing the wall stains, I wondered what hidden struggle lay beneath. Chandra led me to the back, where a hilly canal flows directly behind the building. During the monsoon it overflows, sometimes reaching waist-deep inside the hostel. The wall stains are silent witnesses to this.
"When it rains, I can't sleep—I worry if water has come in," Chandra admitted. "We asked the Rangamati Development Authority for a 220‑foot retaining wall. They built up to 120 feet, but the remaining 100 feet was necessary to stop the water."
I realised later that this incomplete boundary wall was the very one I had passed on the way.
Back inside, I met some of the girls. My eyes fell on the floor, where several pairs of boots lay scattered. I picked up a pair — completely soaked, soles almost coming off. The spikes were covered in mud, the sides torn, the back worn out. Other boots lay strewn around. I thought perhaps these were thrown away after being worn out. But no, to my utter surprise, the girls said that those were their regular playing boots!
I went to the kitchen. Smriti Chakma, another player, told me that they cook for themselves. Sometimes rice and other essentials arrive as aid from the administration or elsewhere. When those run out, they simply wait for the next donation.
The kitchen itself was half-dark, built with wood and tin, with a primitive clay stove and a few pots and pans scattered around. The floor was strewn with wood scraps, old boards, and marks of stagnant water. The tin roof had tiny holes letting in faint streaks of light.
The entire sight looked like a scene from a poor family's daily life. Seeing all this, I didn't bother checking out their bathroom or toilets. Chandra herself suggested, "Better not see those!"
Hearing about the girls' success at national and international level, one might think Ghagra High School is blessed with some magic. That these little footballers are nurtured with endless facilities. But if you haven't seen with your own eyes, it's hard to believe the kind of environment these girls from the hills come from to represent Bangladesh on the world stage.
If they can rise from here, imagine what they could achieve if they were nurtured in a better environment.
Chandra herself suggested a way out. In the 2017 floods, one of the school buildings was destroyed. Chandra believes that the building can be renovated. "If it could be rebuilt, classrooms could be made on the ground floor and rooms for the girls on the upper floor. The girls would get a better environment, and we'd also have more classrooms. We currently have only six, which is far too few," she said.
She showed me the collapsed building — old, partially destroyed, a large crack along one side, moss covering the roof, tiny plants sprouting out. It bore signs of years of neglect. On its front wall hung a signboard in Bengali: "Ghagra Multipurpose High School". Around it grew grass, bushes, puddles — all adding to its abandoned aura. Beside it ran a narrow water drain.
Chandra had another regret about the school. She explained with an example.
"When the girls of Koloshindur in Mymensingh did well at national level, their school was nationalised. Our girls have beaten Koloshindur to become champions. They've been champions repeatedly. Now, in Chattogram divisional level and even nationally, Ghagra High School is synonymous with champions. Yet our school hasn't been nationalised. It's disappointing."
In Bangladesh, social barriers and conservative mindsets often keep girls away from football. But it's remarkable to see how ethnic minority girls have always had strong participation in women's football. In South Asia's champion women's team, half of the eleven players were from these communities.
For over a decade, girls from the three hill districts have been playing football regularly. Their participation in the national team is clearly visible. Yet these hill girls have had to battle poverty and deal with taunts, judgements, and mental abuse from many in society. Despite all the odds, nothing could stop them as these young footballers have brought home trophies for the nation.
