‘We just want life to begin again’

This hillside, part of the Dawna Range on the Thai-Burma border, houses almost 40,000 refugees who have fled a conflict that has desolated their country for nearly six decades.

Mae La camp was formed in 1984 when the Karen National Union (KNU) base at the Thai village of Mae La fell. Originally there were 1100 people but, over the ensuing 30 years, it has doubled in size and doubled again and kept doubling until it is as now: a complete village made completely of temporary materials.

Read more: Burma's forgotten Ghost People

Again and again you hear the same story. Of families forced to flee from the Burmese Army. Of nights spent hiding in forests and paddy fields while villages were burned to the ground. Of fathers taken to be worked to death as slaves for the army, of sons who joined the resistance movement.

But these are the memories of those who knew their homeland first hand.

Marjoy Htoo, 19, and Loyal Moo, 20, were born in Mae La camp. They know about the world outside but to see it, to experience it, is a matter for hope and the future. Neither Marjoy nor Loyal has a birth certificate and so neither has access to a passport. They belong neither to Burma nor to Thailand.

In the west, young entrepreneurs give fashionable TED talks about being global citizens; these young people are citizens of nowhere.

Marjoy and Loyal, students at the camp's Bible School, are relatively fortunate. Their parents work: her dad in the camp's medical centre, his dad is a teacher. Other young people take drugs to pass the time, they drink. Suicide rates in Mae La are on the rise.

Read more: Burma's forgotten Ghost People

Imagine being unofficially and indefinitely imprisoned for no crime, for pure accident of birth. It is both important to keep busy and also nigh-on impossible.

The thumbnail on Loyal's right hand is long and tapered: he plays guitar. Marjoy is also musical, playing piano when she can. They help their mothers with the weaving, a means to make a little extra money on the side. And both are dedicated to their studies.

We sit down to talk near the camp's Bible School. It has been paid for by overseas donations and is a sanctuary for young people keen to learn. As the weather lifts and the sun shines, singing from the church school mingles with the low pedal buzz of strange insects that flit by our ears. Sun out, warmth, the music and lush greenery, children swimming naked in a river downhill: it is disarmingly picturesque.

Loyal's t shirt bears an American Standard logo, he sports a directional haircut. Over his shoulder, a young man walks past wearing a baseball cap and low, low slung trousers showing bright yellow boxer shorts. No matter the environment, fashion finds a way.

I ask them if fashion is important to them, if they have a sense of western trends. Many of the young men in the camp have on-trend hair dos, I even spy a man bun. Where do they get their news from, where do they get a sense of the outside world?

"Facebook," they both reply. When they can get an internet connection, "Sometimes we access social media," says Loyal. "I use it for the news, information from around the world. I like America’s Got Talent, so I can learn English. Sometimes I look at the BBC."

Read more: Burma's forgotten Ghost People

Although there is internet in the camp, access is sporadic and expensive and far from accessible for everyone. There are a few television sets. Loyal and Marjoy are mostly dedicated to their books.

Like others I speak to, they talk of the benefits of being in the camp. That is, there is a school here. In Burma they would struggle to be educated: Loyal's mother only studied until grade two at school while his father worked until grade 10. Now, thanks to education in the camps, his father is a teacher.

Both young people have been supported by Dr Wado, who was 13 when he arrived in Mae La in 1988. A teacher in the Bible School, Christian charities paid for him to study for a Masters degree in India and a doctorate in the Philippines. He is now married to a woman who resettled in Texas, but returned to be with him, and they have a baby son. Dr Wado has a passport.

Despite these opportunities, he stays. He feels it is his duty, from God, to share his knowledge with the young people who make up around 50 per cent of the camp's population.

Read more: Burma's forgotten Ghost People

When young people have been targeted by the Thai authorities, he has protested against their treatment. He counsels those who are in the camp's detention centre or drug rehabilitation centre. Dr Wado tells me that he has set up a cafe, thanks to the donation of an espresso machine, and, during a surreal hour, I show a group of young people how to steam milk for cappuccinos while we chat about religious theology. Education at his school has become so renowned that boarding pupils come from across Thailand and Burma to study.

"Two or three weeks ago we were grounded, we couldn’t go out," Dr Wado said. "The section gate was closed, because some students went out stealing.

"I didn’t know anything, but they worked together with some people outside to bring things in. So we were grounded really badly.

"I went to the gate a few times to ask them to arrest me. I said ‘I’m the head of the school’. They said I hadn’t done anything wrong, so couldn’t arrest me.

"I stayed quiet for more than 10 days before taking action, I didn’t say anything, I prayed and fasted, but in the end I had to do something, so I went to the gate.

"‘So why do you lock the gate if we haven’t done anything wrong, you’ve already punished the people responsible?’ "The next day, there was an accident and a child was injured and needed hospital attention, but they wouldn’t allow it. So I went and sat by the gate. Later the Thai authority called and then they opened the gate. These are some of things we have to deal with.

"This is why the young people need me here. They have certain expectations, and especially when you have a doctorate, somehow people will expect you to stand up."

Read more: Burma's forgotten Ghost People

Dr Wado's dream is to build a football stadium for his young people in Burma.

He said: "Next year, we will go places and rebuild. We have to go places and see. I mean, if the political situation continues in this direction, I’m really excited about it.

"I see myself building a really beautiful football stadium, for the students. But I will be too old to play.

"But we are already hoping to provide more opportunities for the students, here or inside, it doesn’t matter, but it’s our dream, we’re talking about it."

After decades of military rule, a new era of democracy has been dawning for Burma since the elections of 2011. Aung San Suu Kyi is in charge, though key institutions remain under the army’s control and others are run by some of the people the former junta imprisoned.

Despite the Karen National Union (KNU) signing last year’s Nationwide Ceasefire Agreement (NCA), there are still skirmishes and refugees are afraid to return because they know the fighting continues. Pressure, though, is rising inside Thailand to repatriate the 100,000 refugees in the country's nine border camps.

Read more: Burma's forgotten Ghost People

The pressure gives an entirely different backdrop to the lives of the young people who have never known anything but these camps as home. A conglomerate of charities, The Border Consortium, has moved its focus from humanitarian work towards preparedness and development for refugee-led return.

"In the future," says Loyal, "We’d like to help the community, not only Karen people like us, other ethnic groups too. For example, if one day there is peace in Burma, we can help the people there.

"I would like to teach people inside Burma, if there’s peace. Maybe one day I can go around the world. But now I want to go to Burma to teach people there."

Moving to Burma is something both young people think about. When asked about resettlement in the US or Australia, they return to Burma, where they would like to help their fellow Karen.

Loyal adds: "Sometimes our parents attend section training for people about preparedness. They learn about livelihoods for the future and maybe to prepare for the journey back.

"But maybe when it’s time to go back, my parents may have passed away, so I have to prepare myself too.

"It’s difficult to predict when it’ll be the right time to go back, especially as my parents are getting old. Everything is here for us now, like education. That’s why we want to learn now, because it’s available now.

"At the moment, we can’t go outside easily. Because we live in camps, it’s difficult for us to leave. We’re not free."

Read more: Burma's forgotten Ghost People

KATHAI Mae holds her 11-month-old son Laybeinoo on her lap. He snuggles against her bump: Kathai is already six months along with her second child.

These two are the least of her worries. Her mother and father are dead, leaving her the head of a household of seven younger siblings. The smallest is just five and not all the children are registered in the camp, meaning the 23-year-old must make the rations of three people last between nine.

Her life is gruelling but Kathai is positive. Her family are Muslim and faced persecution in Burma. Her father could not find work and the family was impoverished. She, her mother and a couple of the younger siblings crossed the border to Mae La and then the rest of the family followed. She married in the camp, a small but happy wedding thanks to the Mosque that has been built in the Muslim section.

Kathai insists, "It is good here." Even with malnutrition and malaria, violence and extreme weather, Kathai feels it is a step up from conditions in Burma.

I ask her what her fears are. "That what happened to my mother, happens to me," she says.

Her parents had spent the evening arguing and when the children went upstairs to bed their voices were still raised. Kathai woke at 5am to the sounds of her mother's screams. Her father had stabbed her and run off. She bled to death on the dirt floor of the hut, on the space where Kathai and I are speaking. Her father was found nearby a short time later having stabbed himself. He died in the camp's medical centre where care is basic and not equipped for such trauma.

When I ask if Kathai is angry with her father, her face remains static but tears flood her eyes. She misses him, she misses her mother more.

She speaks against a background of chickens flapping, motorcycles wheezing and a child's grumbles. There is the creak of an NGO truck's suspension and the hubbub of a hundred packed voices.

Kathai is gently spoken and looks mainly at the floor, her gold earrings flicker against her throat as she talks.

Read more: Burma's forgotten Ghost People

Like many of the women, Kathai has a home-made mask on her face. It is made with ground Thanaka, lemon juice and water. Some women you ask say it is a sunscreen, others say it whitens the skin. She is a young woman, taking care of her appearance, taking care of her family but in circumstances that are unimaginable.

Her mother ran a fruit stall and now Kathai has taken it over. A man in the town of Mae Sot brings leftover produce for her to sell.

The Border Consortium (TBC), of which Christian Aid is a part, feeds the residents of the camps. They receive rations of rice, fish paste, charcoal for cooking with, and peanut oil. Rice rations have dropped from 10-12kg to as low as 9kg.

Entrepreneurship is essential for survival and a cash economy has developed. There is even a main street with a hardware store, mobile phone shop and restaurant. As with all capitalism, some have and many have not. If you can make a little cash on the side, you can have chickens or goats, buy fruit and meat.

For Kathai, neighbours help out and there are both the Muslim Women's Group and the Karen Women's Group, which support domestic abuse victims. They have helped the family apply to TBC.

"We’re hoping that the other five siblings will get rations from TBC now, we’re going through the process of applying," she said. "Five of my siblings don’t get rations because when we first came here, only three of us came so we applied, and the others were too late to apply for the rations.

"The women's groups, they support and encourage, and they help us with a few more temporary rations since our parents died."

Near to her home is the former resettlement centre, which was used coach people for a new life in America before the resettlement programmes closed in 2014. A poster of a blonde and blue-eyed family - mom, dad, one girl, one boy - with dazzling white dentistry shows what could be. A bamboo hut on stilts with a plastic front houses a mock-kitchen and mock-bathroom with practice washing machine and western toilet.

Read more: Burma's forgotten Ghost People

Kathai's husband is registered with UN High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) and has the right to resettle in the US. Kathai, however, will not go unless all her siblings can go too.

"If I’m the one who went to the US, the rest of the siblings would be in big trouble as I’m the only one who is earning money for the family at the moment," she says.

"My husband and I hope to resettle in the USA, but I’m unregistered with UNHCR. But my husband is registered.

"I could possibly go, but my siblings can’t, so who will look after them? So I can’t go unless we could all go together. If only myself, no.

"Everyone needs to stay together as a family. Because my mother has gone and I’m the oldest, I’m the head of the family and must keep us together."

Instead, Kathai is focused on the day-to-day. From persecution, Muslims are accepted in the camp. The children are receiving an education. They have stopped running.

Her future is tomorrow and perhaps the next day. She thinks about what she wants for Laybeinoo, who has become bored by the adult chatter and is sucking the lens of the photographer's camera.

"I’m hoping he’ll be a smart guy with a good education, and obedient."

UMPIEM Mai camp sits two hours away, up winding mountain roads that close in bad weather. Mae La might benefit from its proximity to the town of Mae Sot but Umpiem Mai is remote.

Formed from the former Huai Kolok and Mawker camps in 1999, Umpiem Mai was designed to be more secure from the repeated attacks from the Burmese Army that were terrifying its residents. In March 1998, Huai Kolok camp was 80 per cent burnt to the ground and four people were killed. Many of the camp's 11,500 residents remember the fire and feel glad to be safe in their new mountainous home.

Read more: Burma's forgotten Ghost People

Umpiem Mai is steep, its residents used to climbing up and down to their homes. As part of TBC's resettlement programme there are allotments featuring mangoes in lieu of runner beans. The gold of a Buddhist temple glints on the hill, despite a drizzling fog.

If you climb up, and then up again, you will find a gaggle of lads having a kick about. Football, the universal language, has found a home here and the boys climb up to play it on this flat expanse. The camp has a tournament, as does Mae La. A system of government has sprung up in the camps with each split into sections. Each section has a section leader and a board of directors - and each section plays the others at football.

Ehkley Htoom's favourite team is Real Madrid, but he follows the Netherlands. He didn't know former resident of the camp, Kler Her, who is now signed for Sheffield United but that young man is a local legend and the boys all take an interest in how he's getting on in the UK, using him as a role model for his fellow Karen.

Ehkley, 24, was taken by the Burmese Army from his village and forced to carry for them. The army would take young men as slaves and work them until they dropped dead.

We tend to think and fret about the refugees on our doorsteps. France has dismantled the Jungle in Calais; in Greece, far-right groups have bombed the camps housing Syrian refugees. We worry about what is in front of us. The UN estimates that between 1996 and 2006, around one million people were displaced inside Burma. Now, there are 100,000 people in the Thai camps waiting to find out what will become of themselves.

Ehkley is being as proactive as possible. He works for TBC and has undertaken training in construction so he has skills to call on, if he needs them. Section and zone leaders have resettlement training and then come back and share these skills with the rest of the camp.

Ehkley stays away from the young people who drink and take drugs, although he chews bitternut, a chewing tobacco popular in Asia. His job with TBC earns him 1300 baht - £29 - a month, which he likes to spend on milk, tea and snacks. Like Loyal and Marjoy, he says that if he was to return to Burma, the only thing he would like to take is his education.

And what does he want from his new life? "A place where I’m free to travel, to have an education, to go to hospital if I need to."

Christian Aid is urging people to support its Christmas Appeal this festive season, so that it can continue to provide critical support to some of the millions of people worldwide who have been forced to leave their homes through fear and uncertainty in the worst global displacement crisis of our time.

Read more: Burma's forgotten Ghost People

Just £5 could give an essential set of clothes to a person fleeing violence, £11 could supply a week’s worth of hygiene essentials to a family of five in Serbia, and £50 could provide seeds and tools to help a family forced out of their home in the DRC to grow food to feed themselves.

For information, or to donate to the Christmas Appeal, visit www.christianaid.org.uk/Christmas