now i'm over on the banglades side of the border and we've met up with a man called abdul majeed.age to build a home in a new bamboo and plastic sheeting community that's sprung up just behind these rice fields. abdul majeed took me up to his new home, where a village is being hacked out of the muddy hillside. so many rohingyas have arrived over the past two weeks that there is no room in the existing camps. these people are paying a local farmer for their tiny plots of land. abdul majeed shares this patch of ground with his wife and five children, their only shelter flapping sheets of plastic that blow off during the monsoon storms. i showed him what i had filmed of his village being torched. he recognised the madrasah, and a tea shop in the marketplace. he had been reluctant to leave, he said, but they had been shot at by the burmese army for more than an hour. translation: even if they gave us a sackful of money, we wouldn't choose to stay here. if they didn't shoot us in myanmar and there was peace, we would go back right away. we are not happy here. we are not here for the fo