Sherpur flash flood: The unseen struggles of Indigenous and Bangalee families

In the blink of an eye, everything was destroyed—no warning, no time for preparation. For the first time, Indigenous and Bangalee communities in northern Bangladesh experienced a horrific flash flood earlier this week. Hundreds of villages in Nalitabari, Jhenaigati, Sreebordi, Haluaghat, Dhobaura, Durgapur, and Komlakanda were inundated due to incessant heavy rains and a surge of hilly tide from Meghalaya, as reported by news outlets. Clay houses, livestock, pond fish, and crops were swept away by the sudden surge. My own village was severely affected as well, with some claiming this flood was the worst since the infamous flood of 1988. Although water receded in many areas as quickly as it came, it left a devastating trail of destruction for Indigenous and Bangalee families alike.

On the day of the incident, we had no clue what was happening. My grandparents, who belong to the Mandi community, live in Sherpur District, while we live in Dhaka, so phone calls are our primary way of staying connected. That morning, my grandparents assured my mother that everything was fine—just some rain and slight inundation around the house. But as the day wore on, scattered reports of rising water began surfacing on social media. By afternoon, no one was answering the phone. Tension mounted. News of heavy rainfall in Sherpur and river water flowing above the danger mark began spreading, and we were barely able to reach neighbours. By then, knee-deep water had entered their homes, and they were searching for high ground.

Clay houses, livestock, pond fish, and crops were swept away by the sudden surge. PHOTO: COURTESY

My grandparents, both in their 70s, faced the worst of it. Before they could react, water surged into their home, destroying vital documents, stored crops, clothing, and household items. In the cold, heavy rain, with no dry clothes to wear, they were left shivering. My grandmother fell several times while trying to find shelter through the flash flood, terrified and crying. After hours of wading through murky water, they finally found refuge in a neighbour's house where the flood was less intense. We didn't hear about their ordeal until two days later.

The story of my family is not unique. Many families, Indigenous and Bangalee alike, faced similar horrors. This flood was unprecedented for the northern part of the Mymensingh division, home to Indigenous groups like the Mandi, Hajong, Koch, Banai, and Dalu. Though the floodwaters didn't linger in most places, they left behind uncertainty for lakhs of people. Water and food shortages quickly became critical issues. The collapse of roads, along with disruptions to internet, mobile networks, and electricity, hampered relief efforts.

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We must reduce our vulnerability to flood

Amidst this crisis, youth from both Indigenous and Bangalee communities stepped up. They worked together to help their affected neighbours. Indigenous youth, especially from the Mandi community, provided real-time updates on the flood through Facebook, as mainstream media coverage was lacking. Volunteer groups from Dhaka rushed in to extend their support as well. The collaborative efforts between Indigenous and Bangalee youth were exceptional, but those on the ground expressed frustration with the slow response from the government compared to the more recent flash flood in southern Bangladesh.

Wangala, the largest festival of the Mandi community, is slated to be celebrated within September to December along with the celebration of Christmas, but such flooding will surely have a negative impact on the overall celebration. Same goes for the Hindu communities who are celebrating Durga Puja. 

This flood, which came without warning, exposed the state's lack of preparedness for such natural disasters. Had warnings been issued, damages could have been minimised. The government and experts are still assessing the extent of the destruction, but for families living on low incomes—Indigenous and Bangalee alike—each has suffered losses worth at least one lakh. Who will take responsibility for this? Who will compensate them? Moreover, if such flash floods due to heavy rain become a regular occurrence, how will families cope with the continuous damage? Who will rebuild their homes every year, especially when it's already a struggle to raise funds for recovery efforts this time?
 

This is a moment for reflection and urgent action. The state must take responsibility for ensuring better preparedness, investing in early warning systems, and rebuilding the devastated communities. The burden of recovery should not rest solely on the shoulders of those who have lost everything. It's time for the government to act before these disasters become an unbearable norm.

Mathews Chiran is a development practitioner from the Indigenous Mandi community.

Views expressed in this article are the author's own.

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