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Poring over a different chapter
A buzzing sound of recitation pours out from a small room. Inside, a few children are reading a Bangla poem, trying to get the hang of it. Outside, a signboard reading Non-formal Education for Street Children is hung on the wall. A small room at a slum at Paribagh houses the school for 'the children of the dark'.
Sitting beside a small blackboard with an amateur drawing on it, students take lessons from their teacher. The lady teacher, on a Tk 800 monthly payroll, teaches 30 students in each shift. The school has two shifts, one in the morning and the other in the evening. Each shift runs for two hours.
As many as 4,815 schools sponsored by different nongovernment organisations (NGOs) are spread across the divisional headquarters of Dhaka, Chittagong, Rajshahi and Khulna.
ACLAB, an NGO, runs 15 such schools located at the different
parts of the city. The curriculum of the school covers Bangla, English, mathematics and social science. The students attend a drawing class once a week.
They have no dress code unlike other schools. Their ragged look and pale faces say it all -many of their dreams have died.
But, they are starting to dream afresh.
Swapna, who is in the evening shift, spends early hours of the day in a house working as a domestic help. With her little earnings, she can help out her father to run their sevenmember family.
Over the past few months in school, she has learnt multiplication, a bit of history of the nation's freedom struggle, poems in Bangla and a touch of English language. Her preferred lesson? Swapna starts reciting a very popular Bangla rhyme
Aiey aiey chand mama
Tip diey ja
Chander kapaley chand
Tip diey ja…
She went on until the rhyme ended.
Majibar, Asma, Nipu, Shariful and others also have their preferred lessons. When they express themselves or talk about their academic goal, they ooze confidence. And why not? Some of them are already making a living for themselves. For instance, Asma sells flowers on the street under the scorching sun.
Majibar's father, who sells pickles and ice cream, is now lying sick in a shanty at a corner of Shahbagh. Majibar used to help his father during the rush hour. But the scenario now is different. Earlier, his father would fetch the ice cream from the factory at Central Road.
Now Majibar is compelled to take the responsibility of bringing the supply of ice creams. After the day's work, he attends his school. He barely misses the roll call in the class.
Their stories have almost a similar start, but the end may not be so.
They have been thrown on a rough road and they will settle for it. But they don't want to live rough. Not even for a change.