These Rohingya women were raped and had to watch their children being murdered – listen to their stories

The guilt of coming home to my own three- and five-year-old left me unable to sleep at night. Why should their lives be of more value to the world than those of the Rohingya children, brutally slaughtered and left without a dignified burial?

It has been two years since the wave of violence in Myanmar which saw Rohingya refugees fleeing over the border into Bangladesh. Two years ago there were regular images on our television screens of women and young children making treacherous river crossings; now there is barely ever a mention of their ongoing plight.

This is a protracted crisis, there is no denying it. While the acute phase may have abated, the Rohingya are not yet safe. They face a potential move to Bhasan Char – an island in the Bengal Bay, cut off from the mainland during monsoon season – or repatriation to Myanmar, where they would likely be forced to live in detention centres. It is our duty to ensure the Rohingya are not forgotten by the world.

The stories I heard on my two medical visits to their refugee camps have stayed with me.

Humaira, whose young son was murdered when the army stormed her village, told me how she wanted to kill herself but was kept alive by her desire to locate her son's body and bury him. She still lives with the pain of not being able to find his body and bury her son. Subara, meanwhile, told me of the day the Myanmar military snatched her baby from her arms and knifed him to death in front of her eyes. The guilt of coming home to my own three-year-old and five-year-old, safe in their London home, left me unable to sleep at night. Why should their lives be of more value to the world than those of the Rohingya children, brutally slaughtered and left without a dignified burial?

Women and families that I met are still coming to terms with raising children who are the product of rape, wondering if they would be identifiable as such, as they grow up. I was relieved to see some change in the camps one year on. The growth in psycho-social support on offer from organisations is much needed, and new mother and baby safe spaces have been created to allow for breastfeeding in privacy.

A new Unicef report found that many Rohingya children remain traumatised, and 97 per cent of 15- to 18-year-olds are without education, leaving a huge proportion of Rohingya youngsters vulnerable to trafficking, child labour and early forced marriage. The charity is also providing training to Bangladeshi law enforcement officers working on the border. These officers often have to deal with important protection issues, such as child trafficking, and must ensure that they are using child-friendly methods to support those involved. Rohingya children deserve to feel safe.

But this work, and that carried out by other NGOs, is not enough alone. Older children in these camps, who are deprived of opportunities to learn or make a living, are at real risk of becoming a lost generation. Women told me they were fearful for their teenage daughters in the camps. Khaleda Begum, 18, worried about her 11-year-old sister, told me that life had been good in Myanmar but now they have no future.

What really stayed with me is that spirit in these refugee camps is one of resilience, which is quite remarkable given the horrors that the Rohingya people have endured. The overwhelming message from women and adolescents torn from their homes was that they were hopeful for justice, that visits like mine would lead to their stories being heard.

So it's up to politicians like me, and the international community, to not let the world just move on from the crisis they are no longer seeing on their TV screens. We have to find ways to help rebuild lives, create opportunities for Rohingya children and lay the foundations for justice.

Hope and justice should not be reserved for those in the world who can make their voices heard by themselves. Humanity must have no borders.