KARACHI, Oct 29: Siddique is in Class V. His teachers believe he is the best student of their school because he has exceptional writing skills. Will Siddique’s talent translate into something worthwhile from which he and society both may benefit? Looking at his school does not provide with an encouraging answer.
It is not hard to believe that Pakistan is one of those unfortunate countries where the right to education is not given the importance it deserves. Our priorities lie somewhere else, discussing which will be an exercise in futility. What further saddens one is the fact that great potential in our younger generation remains untapped only because a decent education eludes them. In many cases, children do not even go to school at all. And of those who do, a vast majority acquires education in abysmal conditions.
A chance visit to Malir’s Fatmi Government Primary School for Girls and Boys laid bare some heart-wrenching facts. Situated in a thickly populated area behind a small flower market not far from the Malir police station, the school shows how a government-run institution fares in this country. During half time [or recess] anyone can enter the school premises because the entrance to the institution is open not just for teachers and students but also for all kinds of visitors. They can step out of the school, move about wherever they want and get back when classes resume.
On the left of the entrance gate another small opening reveals how things have been functioning here. A small space with a creaky door has broken furniture in it. It looks like a dumping spot. The children usually hang around in the smallish ground, which basically is the place where classes are conducted under a couple of giant trees. The wooden benches in the tree shade are rickety. Crossing the ground leads to two rooms demarcated by cement bricks where the remaining classes are held.
The children who are enroled in this school belong to all ethnic groups that reside in Karachi and share one trait: they are not well-off. Anyone can tell. Their uniforms are soiled. Some come to school barefoot, some wear flip-flops, and some slippers. During mid-break the boys, who don’t feel obliged to tuck in their shirts, pick up a big piece of wood and use it as a cricket bat. They play cricket with their own rules in front of the teachers, going berserk with drives, pulls, full tosses and bouncers. And the teachers don’t mind.
The teachers, one male and six female, in the company of the headmistress Azra Ishaq, enjoy their tea around a table under one sheltering tree. “We have 55 boys and 50 girls. School starts at 7.45am and 12.15 is home time,” says Azra Ishaq. The number of students has increased and it is now 107, she jogs her memory after going through a register.
To be honest, it is a miracle to run a school like this. Why can’t there be decent furniture and proper doors, at least, in a government school? “Things get stolen from here. Somebody yanked the doors to the school and took it away. Even the sheets which we spread on daris get stolen. What can you do when heroine addicts roam around the premises? No one gives a hoot about us, we’ve complained about it on many an occasion,” laments the headmistress.
The class V student, Siddique, according to his teachers, writes very well and can be a writer if he concentrates on his talent. Class III student Tooba is fond of Urdu as a subject. Both look bright and full of dreams.
A couple of boys like to dance to Indian film songs. All have dreams, big dreams. You can tell. It’s a sign of being ambitious. But will they always remain dreamers? And what about the drug addicts who loiter around the school?