This is the time of year when we think about home.

Christmas is for families, friends and sharing time with loved ones.  But for the refugees living in Mae La camp on the Thai-Burma border, home has a very different meaning.

I travelled to the border camps with charity Christian Aid, part of a network of humanitarian and development agencies that make up The Border Consortium (TBC).

TBC helps run nine camps housing 100,000 Burmese people who have fled a civil war that has ravaged their country for nearly six decades.

The camps were first built in 1984 and there are families who have lived there for three decades.  Mae La, the first camp we visit, is around an hour’s drive from the town of Mae Sot.

The camp, home to 40,000 refugees benefits from being relatively close to town: although it is officially not supposed to happen, market goods make their way in.

I am surprised to see a row of shops – including a barber’s and a mobile phone shop.  But these small luxuries are rare. People live in huts, often with dirt floors.  A system of self-government has developed: the camp is split in to Zones and the Zones split into Sections with refugees appointed as leaders. Football is incredibly popular and the camps have twice yearly tournaments between Zones.    

Mae La houses 40,000 refugees and, as with any town of its size, amenities have sprung up – churches, mosques, temples, a school.  There are drugs and alcohol in the camps and so there is a treatment centre.

As in the outside world, there are gender issues and domestic violence – so the Karen Women’s Organisation (KWO) has set up a refuge. It is led by chairwoman Koh Lohwah, who came to the camp in 2007 with her husband and two daughters, now aged 10 and 13.

The Karen people are a minority group targeted by the Burmese army. As with so many of the other refugees I speak to, Koh tells of her time in Burma as a constant struggle to flee the army.

Civilians would be forced to become slave porters, walking before the troops as human shields against bullets and landmines. They would be starved and worked to death.  Koh said: “We had to move a lot, run to the paddy fields, the forests, to avoid the army. Sometimes every day. Since I was 18 years old.”

The 49-year-old became involved with the KWO, which provides refuge and education to women experiencing domestic abuse or who have been raped. It gives healthcare, counselling, support for widows and grandparents raising their grandchildren. They also work to discourage girls from marrying too young.  For Koh, Burma is still home. Last year, the Karen National Union (KNU) signed the Nationwide Ceasefire Agreement (NCA), but skirmishes continue. While residents of the camp have hope, they are still fearful to return.

Koh added: “I don’t have a home inside Burma any more. When I think of home, I feel disappointed because I had to leave.”

Two hours’ drive from Mae La is Umpiem Mai camp, which sits in the hills. It is home to 11,500 people, including former KNU soldier Tai Kyaw.

The camp is his home but his world is a small tent. The 67-year-old stood on a landmine, irreparably damaging his leg.  The women of the camp come to feed him his meals – rice, chicken and fish, although he would love some sardines – and help him to a drop toilet in the corner of his hut.

Tai is paralysed down one side following a stroke. With his good arm he shows off his military tattoos, which cover his arm in bones and spiders. He said: “During the fighting I lost four friends and I had to dig their graves and bury them.”

When Tai became unable to fight his superior officer said he should come to the camp.

Tai never married or had children and does not know if his parents are still alive. He says he would never manage without the support of TBC for food, soap, shampoo, candles and a blanket.  Before his stroke nine years ago, he grew yellow beans and used the profits to buy gold jewellery. That all has been sold on now for food.

“When I was young,” he says, “the leaders encouraged me, saying if I could join the army, you could get peace. I hoped that we would get peace, that’s why I joined the KNU. When I look at my tattoos, they remind me and I’m angry with the Burmese army. It keeps the rage alive.”