Hope in the hills: How women farmers in Bandarban are weathering the climate crisis

At 62, Monoboti Tanchangya climbs the steep hills with the ease and rhythm of someone half her age. Barefoot and steady, she moves upward along the slippery, winding path she has followed her entire life, tending to the jhum fields that sustain her family.

But more surprising than the way she climbs is what she has never seen.

"Believe it or not, I've never been to Debotakhum," she says with a mischievous chuckle, her weathered hand gripping ours as she points toward the horizon from the hilltop—a sea of endless green, dotted with fruit trees and ripening crops.

It is a striking revelation, considering she lives in Jamachandra Para of Alekhyong Union in Rowangchhari. This is a village you will not find on Google Maps, but it is just a half-hour's drive from Debotakhum, one of Bandarban's most popular tourist destinations. 

Yet for Monoboti, life has always unfolded quietly on the other side of the spectacle.

Now a grandmother of four, she had hoped these last few years of life would be her well-earned twilight—time for song, dance, and celebration. Instead, she finds herself working harder than ever in the fields. This year has been particularly unforgiving, especially for her efforts at farming in the lowlands.

"I grew cucumbers on a plot," she says. "Because there wasn't enough rain, I used extra fertiliser. And then, just a few days later, it rained too much. All the cucumbers were ruined, right there in the field." A faint, sorrowful smile lingers on her face.

Now she is afraid similar things may happen with her jhum cultivation as well. 

According to Hla Shing Nue, executive director of Bandarban-based Bolipara Nari Kalyan Samiti (BNKS), "Unpredictable rainfall, prolonged droughts, flash floods, and shifting seasons are disrupting the traditional jhum cycles and reducing crop yields. Soil erosion and loss of biodiversity have further affected their food security."

Sumona Tanchangya, a field facilitator at Gram Unnayon Sangathon (GRAUS) working with the Community-based Resilience, Women's Empowerment and Action (CREA) project under Manusher Jonno Foundation (MJF), funded by the Swedish Embassy, sees stories like Monoboti's play out again and again.

"These women are among the hardest hit by climate change," Sumona says. "Even though they've contributed the least to it, they bear its heaviest burdens. And still, they persist."

"Maybe things would be different if we had women in local leadership. Men cannot always express what women go through. But sadly, no woman is bold enough to take up that role yet."

Mayapuri Tanchangya

Climate researcher Dr Md Nadiruzzaman's studies provide rare, data-driven insights into how climate change and environmental degradation intersect in the Chittagong Hill Tracts region, including Bandarban. 

His 2019 survey of 400 households revealed that erratic rainfall and dry spells were worsening food and water insecurity, with women bearing the brunt due to their roles in securing daily essentials—walking long distances to fetch water, gathering firewood, and managing household food supplies. 

Photo: Shaharin Amin Shupty

A more recent 2025 study expands on this, showing that deforestation and unplanned development have amplified climate risks like landslides and water scarcity. Women farmers, deeply reliant on access to natural resources for both farming and domestic survival, are among the most affected, caught between ecological collapse and inadequate structural support.

Even a decade ago, the situation was not as severe. Monoboti and others in her village could predict the seasons. They read the skies, felt the winds, and adjusted their traditional farming techniques accordingly.

But now, the seasons no longer follow any pattern. Rain arrives without warning. Droughts stretch longer than expected. A whole season's labour can be undone in a matter of days.

"When that happens, we don't just lose crops, we lose hope," says Selina Rani Tanchangya, another farmer from the village.

Selina's frustration deepens when she talks about land. "It would be a little easier if the land were ours. But it isn't. We farm on plots that belong to others. So when the crops are destroyed, we bear the full brunt of the loss."

Nue explains that access to land and secure tenure remain a critical issue, as in many parts of CHT, land is still administered through customary practices, which often do not formally recognise women's ownership rights. 

"Even when women work the land, legal documents are usually in the name of male household heads," she says. 

"Furthermore, indigenous women face systemic barriers in accessing agricultural inputs, training, credit, extension services, and decision-making forums—often due to language barriers, mobility restrictions, or lack of gender-sensitive policies. As a result, their agency and potential as producers and land stewards are underutilised," Nue further adds. 

Selina chips in, "We are still farming with the same tools our grandmothers used. The times have changed, but we haven't."

Why not?

Education is one of the biggest barriers. Among all the adult women farmers we met in Jamachandra Para, not one had completed formal schooling. 

According to Banasree Misra Neogi, director of the Rights and Governance Programme at Manusher Jonno Foundation (MJF), the physical distance of schools makes it extremely difficult for young girls from indigenous communities in the Chittagong Hill Tracts to continue their education.

"Then there is a lack of educational resources in their own language, which further diminishes their already limited chances of getting an education," Neogi added.

As a result, in villages like Jamachandra Para, some women may be able to sign their names, but most cannot read a weather update on a mobile screen—let alone navigate an online training module.

And even when help comes, be it through NGO grants, loans or government-provided Krishi Cards and agricultural support schemes, it often misses the mark.

"They give us money, and sometimes training," says Mayapuri Tanchangya. "But they rarely ask what we think we need. They come with their own ideas, and we just sit and listen."

Mayapuri believes the women could benefit more from training and tools if they had easier access to the main town of Bandarban. 

"But that's beyond our reach," she says with a faint smile. "Even going to the nearest market in Rowangchhari takes up an entire portion of the day."

As a result, most women in this village have never set foot in Bandarban Sadar Upazila—even though it's only 22 kilometres away. Just like Monoboti, most of these women have never been to Debotakhum either. 

Even those who have gone to the town once or twice could not communicate properly due to the language barrier. But by now, it evokes no more surprise. 

Behind these struggles is another hardship that often goes unnoticed: the endless unpaid work these women do every single day.

Though this region is often praised for its gender equality, the reality tells a different story. Women rise before sunrise and work tirelessly throughout the day—tending fields, fetching water, cooking, and caring for their families—all without pay or recognition.

Selina sums it up plainly: "Sometimes the men don't have work and sit idle, but we never get that luxury. Our work is never done, even if it doesn't bring any money home."

Photo: Shaharin Amin Shupty

And during climate shocks, this burden just gets heavier. "Women now have to walk farther to collect water and fuelwood, manage household food shortages, and cope with new health risks, all while continuing unpaid care work," Nue says.

The sense of invisibility of being unheard and underrepresented echoes far beyond the domestic spheres or fields. It seeps into the spaces of local governance, where women's voices are missing and their perspectives are ignored.

"Maybe things would be different if we had women in local leadership," Mayapuri reflects. "Men cannot always express what women go through. But sadly, no woman is bold enough to take up that role yet."

Neogi explains that two parallel systems of local governance operate in the hills: the traditional Karbari system and the formal administrative structure of the state. While mandated representation of women is being enforced elsewhere in the country, indigenous communities in the CHT have yet to see such inclusion.

"There's also a lack of capable women in these remote rural areas who can step into leadership roles," Neogi notes. "Those who have the ability often leave their villages for better opportunities in Chattogram or Dhaka and never return."

As a result, the disempowerment of women in these communities continues. However, Neogi points out that following the regime change on 5 August last year, some progress has been made, with women now beginning to gain representation in the Hill District Councils—a trend she hopes will continue.

Meanwhile, Nue says, a policy and legal reform, climate-resilient support and access to gender-sensitive resources are essential to alleviate these women from their present circumstances.  

She adds, "Indigenous women must be recognised not only as beneficiaries but as decision-makers. Supporting their leadership in local committees, farmer groups, and planning processes is essential."

The women of Jamachandra Para village are also optimistic. They know their current situation is far from ideal, but they hold on to the belief that things will one day improve—that they will gain access to what has long remained elusive.

As we prepare to leave, Monoboti clasps our hands again and says, "Please come again. Maybe next time, I'll finally go to Debotakhum with you."
Perhaps it is this hope that fuels women like her to keep going, even as they near the final stretch of the race.

This story has been prepared as part of a fellowship granted by Manusher Jonno Foundation (MJF), titled 'Journalist Fellowship: Women in Agriculture & Climate Resilience for CREA Project'.