Afrina Momotaj

When dusk falls over the countryside, a hush settles on the trees. Once, that silence would be broken by the soft “whoo-whoo” of a spotted owlet or the eerie call of a barn owl gliding above rice paddies. Now, the night feels strangely silent.

Once, the rooftops, orchards, and gardens of Bangladesh stirred with the restless energy of squirrels.

“September 21, 1945, that was the night I died.”

Once a staple of every morning in cities across Bangladesh, the unmistakable caw of the crow is now becoming a rare sound.

As the climate crisis worsens, its effects in Bangladesh are becoming increasingly visible and destructive.