KUTUBDIA, 3 November 2009 (IRIN) - The fisherman, his wife, three sons, two daughters, a sister-in-law, a dog and a goat and I eye each other dubiously. The family of eight is not certain whether I will be able to sleep in their mud hut, which is slightly bigger than a large sports utility vehicle. The animals seem to agree.

Brajhari Das, the fisherman, quickly makes up his mind. "Kono samsaya nahin [There is no problem]," he says in Bangla.

Just then, the heavens open. The monsoon rains - two months late - begin to pound the tin roof, deafening us. Brajhari shouts to make himself heard above the din, "Space is not a problem, but can you manage on the mud floor?"

The rain drips in. His daughters, Priyanka, 12, and Priyushi, 8, giggle as I try to dodge the leaks, but their father has weightier problems on his mind - the hut is less than 500m from the sea, which is creeping closer "day by day".

Brajhari and his family live in a village on Kutubdia, an island off Bangladesh's southeastern coast in the Bay of Bengal. Stronger and higher tides, cyclones and storm surges are eating away all the islands; Kutubdia, which once covered 250 sq km, has been reduced to about 25 sq km within a century, but the islanders are convinced the sea level is also rising.

Brajhari, who heads the local fishermen's association, is 41 but looks in his late 50s. "It is a hard life as a fisherman - it is a dangerous profession," he says wearily, running his fingers through his greying hair. His face his tired but his eyes sparkle when he talks about his children, or the fish he caught that day.

Rupen, his 14-year-old son, speaks a bit of English. "My father goes out to the sea every six hours; he has an hour-long break in between and then he is back on the sea. We worry all the time if he will come back or not." Most days, after spending almost the entire day at sea, he makes a little over a dollar.

A few years ago, Brajhari disappeared while at sea. A rescue team from the village found him months later in the custody of the coastguard in neighbouring India, after he had drifted west into the Indian side of the Bay of Bengal.

Last month Brajhari bought his own boat with money carefully saved over many years. "He is now independent - earlier, he had to beg people in the village to take him along to the sea," Rupen said proudly.

The boat cost him 50,000 taka (US$723) - in the village of a 1,000 fishermen, only 20 own boats. Brajhari, who understands some of the conversation, beams.

Besides their "lifelong struggle with the sea", as Brajhari's wife, Purumi, put it, the islanders also have to beware of sudden climatic events, like cyclones.

Their village, East Aliabardail, was hit by Cyclone Aila in May 2009 and part of their hut was destroyed. Aila killed at least 190 people in Bangladesh but no lives were lost in the village because disaster officials evacuated most residents in time. Outside, the waves crash in the rain.

Cyclones, and the coastline creeping steadily inland, have forced the family to relocate and build new homes five times in the past three decades. "Because of all these cyclones we have left all our [dinner] plates and other belongings at my parents' house, which is a permanent structure further inside the island," said Purumi as she served food on the only two plates in their home.

"It would be good if the officials would fortify the island's coastline; we will have a better chance at survival in this drowning land," said Brajhari.

A woven cane mat suspended on two wooden poles divides the hut into two rooms, one with a table for each of the children to study and eat at, and some plastic chairs; there is no other furniture.

All their clothes hang on a rope along a wall of the hut. Their most precious belongings - photographs of long-lost friends and the children's school certificates - are locked in a small wooden box on a shelf.

The family eats when Brajhari brings home his catch; most of the money he earns each day is spent on rice. "We love our rice - our family needs at least six kilograms every day," he said, heaping it onto his plate. There are some curried shrimps and a fried hard boiled egg to go with the rice.

The family have their meal after Brajhari and I have eaten. Priyanka and Priyushi help their mother clean up. After dinner the children finish their homework beneath the solar lamp provided to five houses in the village by the UN Development Programme (UNDP).

"I got the UNDP to open a school for our village," Brajhari commented. "I don't want our children to go into this profession [fishing] - I want them educated and out of here. There is no future here on this island."

His eldest son is a tailor in Dubai, but has been not yet been able to send money home, another is a hairdresser in town, and then there is Rupen, who "wants to be someone famous - pray for me". The youngest son is in primary school. Priyanka and Priyushi giggle and cover their faces shyly. "I think they might become doctors or teachers," says Purumi, trying to answer for them.

The rains stop suddenly. We realize we are all a bit tired from being forced to have a rather loud conversation and woven cane mats are spread out on the mud floor for the night.

I get to sleep near the entrance between the dog, the goat and Purumi's sister. None of the animals stir in the night, but I am awakened around midnight, when Brajhari has to go to sea. He creeps back into the hut around 5 a.m., throwing his wet clothes outside. Purumi is up and sweeps the muddy entrance.

The village is surrounded by slushy clay soil. My feet sink into it as I go out to brush my teeth, clutching my bottle of mineral water. The villagers head for the hand-pump. A plastic sheet tied around four poles serves as the neighbourhood toilet; the women rush to get there before the men get up.

It is another day. Brajhari has to go out to sea again. After a quick bath under the village hand-pump, he and Purumi prepare for their morning prayers. They fill two brass containers with water, cover the water with flower petals and place the urns on a raised mud platform in a corner of their home. They squat in front of the platform and pray.

"We worship the sea and the River Ganges," said Brajhari. "Their water is our life - we seek their blessings and ask them to be kind to us every day."

jk/he

© IRIN. All rights reserved. More humanitarian news and analysis: http://www.IRINnews.org

IRIN news