Topic: Girls' educational opportunities
On a Tuesday, as I woke up from a morning of sleeping in later than I usually do, I smelled the comforting scent of my mother’s cooking. I walked into the kitchen, to see her waiting for me with a basket of dirty laundry.
“Asali, can you go clean those for me? Food will be ready for you once you have finished,” my mother told me without looking up from her cooking.
“Yes, Mother.” I carried the clothing outside and started the day’s work.
My life consists of housework, and only housework. I do the chores, and cook the food, and help out my mother, Badeea. My mother always wished that I could have the life that she was unable to have: get a proper education, a nice job, a right to live the life I want to. But that was unable to happen, and there is nothing that I can do about this, and she blames herself for that. I was once enrolled in primary school, but I had to leave because my family could not afford it, due to the lack of education my mother had. But my story is not that different from many girls who live in my country, because there are 34 million other girls, just like me, not getting the right to live the life they long for. I got used to it, though. I knew this was what my life would be like, and there was nothing I could do about it. I mean, that’s just the way things are around here.
***
My best friend Farhia and I live similar lives. She also does not attend school, and spends most of her days taking care of housework, like all girls are expected to do.. But her family wants it that way. They believe that her role as a female is to clean, get married, and have children, whereas my family would do just about anything to give me the life that I want. Sometimes Farhia and I stay up late at night and fantasize about what our future lives will be like; I want to be a licensed nurse and help people, and she wants to be a writer, and leave this country. It’s nice to think about our lives being like that, but we both know those things will never be a possibility for us.
***
“Wake up, wake up! You have to get there on time,” my little brother, Hashim, said to me as he woke me up.
“Hashim, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t have to get up this early. It’s only 7 a.m.”
“Did Mom and Dad not tell you? You are going to school!”
I could not believe what he had just told me. Don’t get me wrong, I had dreamt of the day that I could have a real life. But I never thought this could actually happen. As I dug through my drawer of clothing to find my school uniform from many years ago, tears of joy started to stream down my face. The only thing that could make this moment better was if Farhia could be doing this with me, but even though I had prayed that she could get everything that she wants in life, I knew that would not be a possibility for her. It pained me to admit it, but there would be no way; she is forced to live the life that her parents want her to have, the life everyone in this country expects you to have.
***
As we took the trail to the all-girls school, I saw Farhia outside of her house, hanging up clothing to dry. When she looked up and saw me, in my school uniform, it was clear to me that she was at a loss for words.
“So you are going to school now?” Farhia said in a voice that clearly showed her fake excitement.
“Yeah, but I wish you could be going with me.”
“Asali, we both know that will never happen. But promise me one thing. Achieve everything that you have ever wanted. It will be hard, but do it for me.”
For the second time this morning I was crying, and not tears of joy this time. I felt guilty. I am one of the lucky ones: I get to go to school, I get to live a real life, unlike Farhia and my mother, and many other girls. But I will keep my promise, no matter how hard it will be, and not only will I be doing this for myself, I’ll be doing this for Farhia.
***
Fifteen years later...
I kept my promise to Farhia: I achieved everything that I have ever wanted. I’m a licensed nurse, I have a seven-year-old daughter named Gulnar, and I help people. The blessings that I was given were not given to Fariah. We are still friends, but it pains me being around her because it is so clear how miserable she is with her life. She had always dreamt of becoming a writer, and getting out of this country, and she can’t have any of that, just because she is a girl. And the worst part is I know that if she were given the chance to go to school, she would have been so happy.
On Saturday night, I walk into my daughter’s room later than I usually do, and I see the comforting sight of her doing her math homework.
“Mother, can you help me with my math homework? You can go back to what you were doing once I have finished.”
“Yes, honey.” I pick up the pencil, and help her with tonight’s work.
