How Mongla’s women are bearing the brunt of rising salinity

"Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink." 

English poet and theologian Samuel Taylor Coleridge, in his seminal poem 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner', precisely encapsulates the agony of being surrounded by water, yet dying of thirst. 

You have something before you in plenty, but you cannot have it — the sheer thought is tormenting. The aforementioned line from the poem is what women in Mongla go through on a regular basis as if it was penned taking their afflictions into account. 

During a recent visit to the Chila union under Mongla upazila, a number of women opened up to us, revealing harrowing details of how salinity is taking a toll on women's mental and physical wellbeing.  

It was not the heat that struck me first. It was the air; the saltiness that hit the skin and dried out my throat. We had just crossed the Pasur River by boat, as there's still no bridge connecting the remote areas of Mongla. 

The journey to Chila union took around 45 minutes on a bumpy auto-van, bouncing along a dilapidated herringbone road. At one point, we collided with a tree. No one even flinched. Accidents are nothing new here — just another sign of systemic neglect. 

But these bumps and bruises fall short of the wounds inflicted by saline water on this region's women. In this southern corner of Bangladesh, salinity levels in drinking water sources have reached alarming levels. 

A UNDP survey under the 'Gender-responsive Coastal Adaptation (GCA)' project revealed that 73% of people across five coastal upazilas, including Mongla, are compelled to drink saline water. Whereas it is normal for an individual to consume five grams of salt a day, people living in the coastal upazilas are exposed to more than 16 grams.  

The Soil Resource Development Institute (SRDI) estimates that 53% of land in Bangladesh's coastal districts is now affected by salinity. The implications are devastating: crop cultivation is getting affected, and fish populations dwindling, leaving knock-on impacts on the livelihoods of the locals. 

Komla Sarker, a local activist who now survives through fishing, said, "Climate change is the biggest problem here. We used to be self-sufficient. Those who had no land used to lease and cultivate crops. But now, even saltwater-resistant paddy isn't surviving. Due to salinity, fishes have become scarce too. With farming opportunities gone, and fishing no longer reliable, we're trapped."

Amidst this intolerable situation, it is the women of Mongla who are getting the short end of the stick. 

Liza Majhi, a widowed fisherwoman, shared her struggle. 

"I fish to feed my family. But I've had a urinary tract infection for months now. This infection has been caused by salty water. It's not just me. Pregnant women suffer. Miscarriages are common here. Newborns are often severely malnourished," she shared.

Next door, her neighbour — five months pregnant — also suffers from a urinary tract infection.

"She is having a hard time; there's no escape from it. We need water for everything — for drinking, cooking, and bathing. But here, it harms more than it helps," she added.

But for 67-year-old Maria Majhi, the impact is deeply personal.

"My eldest son left the area and went to Chattogram in search of work. Fishing wasn't bringing in anything. But then he remarried and started a new life there. Now I am raising his child. If salinity hadn't destroyed our livelihoods, he wouldn't have left, leaving us behind." 

This sense of abandonment happens again and again. As economic hardship deepens, many husbands have left Mongla, some in search of better prospects while others to simply start over. For women there, this means not just loss of income but loss of support, stability and social protection.

With the situation exacerbating day by day, women in the region are at a loss as putting food on the table is getting tougher.   

According to government records, Mongla upazila alone has over 7,000 shrimp farms. 

"The water in the farms is extremely salty. In the monsoon, when that water overflows, it raises salinity across the area. Even saltwater-resistant paddy didn't survive when the government provided seeds. We can't grow anything in our backyards anymore," lamented Shompa Halder.

With traditional crops no longer viable and fish populations declining due to altered ecosystems, families are being forced to make impossible choices. Migration is becoming the only way out, even if it means abandoning ancestral homes, elderly parents, and familiar communities.

Apart from this, water — the essential lifeline — is posing the biggest threat to women's health and wellbeing in the coastal districts. 

Reboti Das, another fisherwoman, said, "I still suffer from skin diseases, especially around my belly and back. Dark spots have grown. My hair falls like threads. It's because we have no choice but to bathe in this water." 

Rina Mondol shared the same sentiment. She said, "We use water for everything — cooking, washing, and bathing. But here, we're forced to use saline water. It worsens reproductive issues, particularly for those who are already unwell. Many of us drink less just to avoid problems, but that invites more complications." 

These are not isolated stories; rather, they are representative of a much broader pattern. According to field health workers, urinary tract infections, reproductive disorders, and skin conditions are rising in Mongla, disproportionately affecting women due to their greater reliance on water for household activities.

Hosne Ara, field facilitator of Badabon Sangho, a women's rights organisation working in the area, said, "Salinity is the biggest problem here. Cross-sections of people, especially the women, are suffering terribly only because of salinity."  

But Badabon Sangho isn't just bearing witness to this growing menace. They're acting. So far, they've distributed over 250 freshwater tanks among families across Mongla. These tanks, often the only source of safe drinking water in the entire communities, have been playing instrumental and lifesaving roles.  

Women like Rina Mondol credit these tanks with reducing waterborne illnesses, especially among children.  

"During the dry season, it was unbearable. Once, my son suffered from bacillary dysentery after drinking pond water, and we tried to purify it using alum. Badabon Sangho's tanks saved us from that struggle," Rina said. 

In addition to tanks, Badabon Sangho runs awareness programmes, distributes sanitary products, and promotes human rights education among marginalised groups, including the Dalits, indigenous communities, widows, single mothers, and religious minorities.

They also provide hygienic toilets, organise health camps and meditation sessions, and advocate for women's rights in a region where those rights often go unnoticed. 

"We're trying to empower them, and give them a better life," said Hosne Ara.

Despite these efforts, sustainable solutions remain a pipedream. 

Professor Dilip Kumar Dutta, a faculty of the Department of Environmental Science of Khulna University, believes that the crisis is both natural and man-made.

"Salinity in coastal areas is expected. But with rapid climate changes and poor water management, the situation is getting out of control. People think this only affects remote areas, but the reality is that even urban areas such as Khulna, Jashore, and Bagerhat are facing severe freshwater scarcity. It's going to turn into a huge crisis soon," he opined. 

He believes the answer lies in nature-based solutions. "We need to preserve freshwater, use water from less-affected areas, and return to indigenous practices like creating large community lakes. As a nation, we have to be frugal when it comes to water. That's the only way forward."

But what do the authorities have to say about this crisis?

Subrata Deb Nath, the Duty Officer of Mongla Police Station, said, "It's unfortunate. We also buy bottled water to survive — the situation is that bad. The poor fishing communities cannot afford that luxury. We've seen that awareness campaigns are being run with attractive slogans, but no real change happens. Governments come and go, but the sufferings of these coastal people remain the same."

These women living in the coastal region are not just victims of climate change or failed policies. They are survivors, holding families together with calloused hands.  

But the question remains: How long will they be able to hold up?