By Zeenat Perween
Bint Badr
Education in my childhood was never evenly distributed. It moved selectively, favouring some doors while ignoring others without a glance. I grew up as Nili in a town shaped by these divisions. It was a small town, where quality education was a privilege available only to a few. During my childhood, there were only a handful of good English-medium schools, but most people preferred government institutions. Only the wealthy could afford to send their children to private schools. Unlike my brother, who was admitted to an English-medium school, I was enrolled in Madarsa-tul-Banat, a madrasa for girls. However, calling it a madrasa would be misleading; it was more a place of ignorance than of learning. The children there remained uneducated, and the environment was far from academic. Maulvis would come, sleep, beat the students, and leave. That Madrasa was under a committee that compensated its teachers with little more than a pittance. We played even in the classrooms. The condition was truly pitiful.
Despite my circumstances, I longed for the structured education my brother received. His books, water bottle, and school bag became symbols of a world I wished to be a part of. Somehow, I managed to complete my education at the madrasa and later passed my 12th grade. Determined to bridge the gap in my learning, I joined an English language coaching centre – “Dream English Classes.” That was when I realised that I was full of potential – all I needed was someone to nurture the talent within me. I worked tirelessly because I did not even know the basics of the English language properly. However, my teachers recognised my efforts and encouraged me. Their appreciation fuelled my motivation, and within just a few months, I made remarkable progress.
My dedication paid off when the same coaching centre offered me a teaching position. It was a language institute with students of all ages, from children to adults. To my surprise, I quickly became a popular teacher, even among old-aged students. I understood their struggles with language learning because I had faced the same obstacles myself. My ability to identify and address their difficulties made me their first choice. Even housewives joined my classes, and I encouraged them, assuring them that learning from scratch was possible.
Deep in my heart, I nurtured a dream – to help the girls of my Madrasa. I wanted to introduce them to the world beyond their confined classrooms, to teach them language skills, and to bring them closer to the reality of their worth. I wished to show them how precious they were in the eyes of their Creator. I longed to tell them that Allah had dedicated an entire chapter of the Qur’an named Surah An-Nisa, to women, emphasising their importance, dignity, and strength. I wanted them to realise that they were not weak, but the strongest force in society. Change does not rest in the hands of men alone; women too have the power to transform the world.
I was convinced that my former Madrasa would accept me because I was one of them. However, despite all my efforts, I was never allowed to teach there. The administration’s refusal shattered my dreams, and I came to understand that their resistance stemmed from insecurity. Yet, my resolve remained unshaken. If one door is closed, another one is open somewhere. My journey had taught me that knowledge was a gift, and I was committed to sharing it, no matter the obstacles.
With a burning desire to create change, my friends and I decided to do something meaningful; we planned to organise a book-fair. It was an ambitious idea, but we were determined. My friend’s father supported us greatly, and we began searching for a suitable venue. Ironically, we chose the same Madrasa that had denied me the chance to teach. It was large, spacious, and had several buildings in the same campus, making it the perfect location. However, the only space allotted to us was an abandoned building within the Madrasa, a place everyone called “Bhoot Ghar” – the haunted house. No one dared to step inside because it was dark, eerie, and believed to be haunted.
But our excitement overpowered our fear. With relentless energy, we cleaned every corner, removing years of dust and neglect. We decorated the space with plants, lights, and colourful displays, transforming “Bhoot Ghar” into a beautiful exhibition hall. When people saw the transformation, they were astonished. The once-feared building became a bustling hub of imagination and intellect.
We meticulously organised every section of the fair, dedicating each corner to a specific genre of books. But we didn’t stop there. To make the event more engaging, we set up stalls featuring handmade items, which turned out to be a highlight of the exhibition.
When I saw the handmade items that those women had brought, I was completely astonished at their incredible talent. Their craftsmanship was breath-taking, a testament to their hidden potential. What amazed me even more was that, despite their demanding household responsibilities, they had not compromised on their duties. They had balanced everything so gracefully, proving that passion and perseverance can thrive even in the busiest lives.
To ensure smooth coordination, we assigned volunteers different-coloured hijabs based on their designated section. This simple yet effective idea was widely appreciated, as visitors could easily identify whom to approach for assistance. At the entrance, we placed a bright and cheerful girl as the receptionist – someone who could make people laugh and feel at ease. We knew that the women visiting the fair had not received permission easily. They had fought silent battles just to step out of their homes. I understood their struggles, and I wanted to ensure that their visit was not just about books but also about experiencing joy and freedom. From teenagers to elderly women, the fair welcomed all. Seeing them explore, smile, and engage with the world of books filled my heart with indescribable happiness. It was a success beyond our imagination – our first real step toward doing something for society, especially for women who had long been suppressed under the weight of traditions and expectations.
That book fair was more than just an event; it was a symbol of change. The same place once shrouded in fear and neglect had turned into a beacon of knowledge and hope. In that moment, I realised that transformation begins when courage replaces fear and action replaces complaint. The “haunted house” that no one dared to enter had become a reflection of my own journey – from ignorance to enlightenment, from silence to voice.
I may not have been allowed to teach in my madrasa, but life has taught me a greater lesson: no one can stop a person who decides to illuminate his or her own path – and then light the way for others. The fair was not the end of my dream; it was the beginning of a lifelong mission – to awaken potential, to uplift others, and to remind every girl that she, too, carries within her the power to turn her darkness into light.
The book fair also taught me something priceless: while my dream began alone, it flourished only when others joined me. I had struggled for quite a bit trying to create change by myself, but it was when I worked with my friends that everything finally came to life. Each of them brought their own strength, their own spark, and together we transformed an abandoned “Bhoot Ghar” into a place of light and learning. That experience showed me that teamwork is not just helpful; it is powerful. Alone, I could only dream, but with my team, I was able to build something real, something beautiful, something unforgettable.
