Life of a child in a refugee camp

I once read a story in school about two refugee kids from Bangladesh who were rehabilitated in India.

They had a family back there, a house and people who knew them and loved them. They went to school, studied and dreamt of becoming something. In unknown land they were rag pickers and sometimes worked in bangle factories to earn extra pennies, with lost identities, no-one knew them and all their dreams were shattered. They wanted to go school but could not enroll themselves because they had no money. Eventually they landed in child labour and then started their exploitation.

This is actually what happens in most of the refugee camps.  There is a life long struggle for freedom, education, basic amenities and more over self identity. There is a question in self existence.

For a child a refugee camp is nothing less than a hell with hellish living conditions, where basic medical facilities are hard to find, rain pours in through the filmsy roof of the tent drenching everyone down other huddled together.