The Bamboo Cradle of the Babies: A Rohingya Tradition of Love and Craftsmanship

Story and photos by Hafizur Rahman

Freshly crafted bamboo baskets, stacked neatly outside a shelter. These baskets serve many roles in Rohingya life — from carrying firewood and vegetables to forming the base for handmade baby cradles.

In the heart of the Rohingya refugee camps in Bangladesh, a quiet tradition endures: bamboo cradles gently swinging beneath bamboo roofs. While modern baby gear like strollers and walkers may be out of reach for displaced families, the bamboo cradle remains a cherished and sustainable solution — one woven from memory, skill, and love.

These cradles are not just practical. They are symbols of resilience, environmental harmony, and deep cultural heritage. Lightweight yet strong, they sway softly to calm a crying baby. Their open weave allows air to circulate — keeping infants cool even in the hot, crowded camps.

“If the baby sleeps on the ground, they cry,” says one Rohingya mother. “But in the cradle, they calm down. It feels like it hugs them.”

One of the guardians of this tradition is Abul Hashim, 35, a Rohingya craftsman who fled Myanmar in 2017. In his homeland, he made threshing baskets, winnows, and bamboo cradles. In the camp, he continues the work — crafting for both survival and remembrance.

“This craft makes me happy,” Abul shares. “When I make these tools, I remember our culture. I want the next generation to know it too. All I need is bamboo — and time.”

Since 2018, Anamul Hoque, 37, has been selling bamboo cradles in his small camp shop.

“This is the favorite cradle of Rohingya mothers,” he says. “They’re lighter than wooden ones and easy to use. I buy from local craftsmen and sell each cradle for 150 taka. I usually sell five or six every day.”

Others, like Ali Akbar, 58, bring cradles directly to families, walking block to block. For him, selling bamboo goods is more than business — it’s a way of keeping cultural knowledge alive.

“These skills are passed down. When I sell a cradle, I’m also sharing part of our identity.”

Once a cradle is bought, fathers or mothers hang it from the shelter’s bamboo ceiling beams using string and two iron hooks. Gently swinging, it becomes a peaceful resting place where infants sleep safely — rocked by the rhythms of tradition, even in the instability of camp life.

The same bamboo used for cradles is woven into everyday life. Rohingya families use baskets to carry food, store dry goods, fetch firewood, or even build fences and makeshift walls.

During the genocide, a Rohingya youth carried his elderly parents to safety — 200 kilometers — using a pair of bamboo baskets.

These baskets are testaments to the community’s creativity and survival. With limited resources, the Rohingya people continue to build, carry, and care — using nature, hands, and history.

The bamboo cradle holds more than just a child — it holds memory, care, and culture. It represents the strength of Rohingya mothers, the skill of refugee artisans, and the spirit of a people who continue to create beauty and comfort, even in the face of displacement.

In a world where so much has been lost, these cradles give something back: comfort, dignity, and a deep sense of home.