Nilima Jahan

Getting tested and vaccinated for Covid-19 was no less than a trauma for Tanisha Yasmin Chaity, a young transwoman and a development worker based in Cox’s Bazar.

Chaity’s biological sex is male, and she was registered with the birth name Mamun Mollah in her national identity card, long before the government recognised the third gender in 2013. She now identifies herself as a woman, which creates problems everywhere.

For example, last month, after registering for the Covid-19 vaccine at Teknaf Upazila Complex, she went to get her first dose and stood in the female queue after submitting her card. She felt anxious that something untoward was going to happen, as other women in the queue looked uncomfortable in her presence.

“At one point, I heard the staff calling ‘Mamun Mollah’, and I went to him to receive my card. But the staffer was very astonished with my female appearance and made me wait for a long time, considering it a special case,” said Chaity.

Chaity, an educated transgender youth, who works with more than 500 gender diverse populations of Cox’s Bazar, as a mental health and psycho-social counsellor, tried to convince the staff that she is a transwoman, who identifies herself as female.

“But I found the staffer was unaware of the word transgender and asked me what it was. Later, I told him that I belong to the hijra community, and a high-risk group for Covid-19, as I mingle with a large number of gender diverse people regularly,” said Chaity.

“After that, he asked me whether I have the permission to get vaccinated. Other people in the queue were taunting me as if I was not a human being and did not have the right to get vaccinated,” she recalled.

“After yelling at him, when I finally went to the women to take the vaccine, the scene was repeated. Once again, I felt like an alien. At one point, I had to bring the first person, who explained the whole thing to her and only then was I finally able to get my first dose,” she said.

But according to Chaity, if an educated transwoman like her had to go through such a humiliating situation, the ordinary hijras -- who are mostly uneducated and unaware of their rights, and make a living by extorting money from commuters or shopkeepers, performing Badhaai (a custom of conferring blessings on a newborn by singing and dancing) or engaging in sex work or other casual jobs -- will not opt for the vaccine, considering the humiliation and hassle.

Chaity’s fear was real, because of the 100 transgender people of Teknaf upazila she works with, only one of them was vaccinated so far, while another just registered for the jab.

It is difficult to know exactly how many trans people have been vaccinated so far in Bangladesh, as the