I was awakened by a cacophony of sounds from outside the bedroom window that overlooked a school compound in Muzaffarabad City, and it was with some difficulty that I was able to register what was being said. A loud angry voice was shouting obscenities amidst the pathetic wailing of a child. As I pulled the curtains apart, I beheld an unbelievable scene, for the school compound was occupied by a class of ten to twelve year olds squatting on the cold ground, swaying forwards and backwards trying to memorize their day’s lesson. What scared me was the sight of the teacher – a corpulent hulk of a man with closely cropped hair, reclining on a chair with his feet propped up on a pupil, who was contorted into the classic ‘murgha’ position. Another student stood behind the teacher vigorously massaging his bullet shaped head. Not one to ignore such things quietly, I stuck my head out and directed a string of colorful language at the man, who removed his feet from the back of the wailing child and glared at me with murder in his eyes. Something about me must have intimated the brute, because he barked an order to the class, who ran into a nearby structure, followed by the lumbering moron. On my return to the Federal Capital, I found it difficult to forget what I had seen, so I decided to do a bit of peeping inside Government schools in and around the twin cities. What I saw was enough to curse those concerned with education and damn them all to burn in hell. It was during these trips that I also stumbled across some signs of hope that told me, “All is not lost”.
Driving through a small village on the outskirts of Islamabad, I saw a group of prim looking children entering a neat looking building. Curiosity made me enter the courtyard and confront a sight for sore eyes. This was a primary school funded and run by an organization sustained by philanthropist Pakistanis living in the USA. I was cordially received by a smartly turned out middle aged individual, who said that he would be more than happy to conduct me on a tour of the facility. I found well organized class rooms and clean furniture, but what impressed me was the passionate and professional manner in which the mixed gender lot of teachers were taking classes. A visit to the office of this NGO in Islamabad was enough to show that the set up was apolitical and imbibed with the passion to do something for Pakistan.
During my research, I came across a unique couple, who had returned after spending four decades in the UK. They now lived in rural Islamabad and spent their time and money in not only educating village girls, but teaching them how to be good homemakers. As I was taking my leave they said, “We are what we are, because of Pakistan. Now that our children do not want to return, we have decided to make it alone and repay the debt owed to the land of our birth”.
Last Sunday, I saw a young boy assisting my gardener at work. My ‘mali’, who possesses a sterling character and an equally sterling sense of loyalty, told me that the boy used to collect trash from stinking piles of rubbish, but had often expressed a desire to attend school. In a remarkable act of civic responsibility and goodness of heart, he told the child to stop picking garbage, enrolled him in the village school and began training him as a gardener during the afternoons. I listened and felt humbled, for here was a giant of a man, barely able to manage his own dependents, but who had gone ahead and done something far greater than anything delivered by our puny self-serving corrupt politicians and public servants. It would be in the fitness of things therefore to dedicate this week’s piece to these beacons of hope, for no matter what their social status, they are truly what Pakistan is all about.