Every weekend, I join Women Across Borders club in my university to pay a visit to a shelter. This shelter is a temporary home for kids or teenagers who have been abused, forced to work as prostitution or beggar, or subject of domestic violence. Some are orphans and some of them come from very poor families. They live in the shelter under security protection, and keep up with their education there. However, the NGO that manages this shelter says it is either costly or insecure to take the children for entertainment outside of the shelter. therefore, we try to visit them every weekend and provide some educational or art workshop for them, or simply perform different activities to entrain them.

Last week, we thought them how to make a handy-craft pencil boxes out of color papers (the ones you see in the picture). The final product seems to be something very complex and at the same time very good-looking. But we thought the kids how to do it step by step. I didn’t know how to speak their language (Bangla), but I think it was not an obstacle at all. I communicated through passion in my eyes, smile on my lips, and movement of my hands, and they responded by innocent excitement in their faces. They really enjoyed the process, connecting colorful pieces of paper together and build something completely new out of it. In fact, they didn’t believe by following some simple steps they could create something extraordinary-looking. They were surprised by their own ability, and proudly showed their handy-crafts to others. Their feeling of self-confidence was at its highest level, I guess. And I was happy I could stimulate such a precious feeling inside someone else.

This what education should do: increase children’s self-confidence and self-esteem so that they are encouraged to move further. Next weekend, we are going to teach them games that promote corporation, teamwork, and healthy competition among them. I am very excited.

“My mother, Asha, was born sometime in the early 1940s, along with her identical twin sister, Halimo. My grandmother gave birth to them alone, under a tree. They were her third and fourth children; she was about eighteen, leading her goats and sheep to pasture when she felt the pains. She lay down and bore forth: then she cut the umbilical cords with her knife. A few hours later, she gathered together the goats and sheep and managed to bring the herd home safely before dark, carrying her newborn twins. Nobody was impressed by the exploit: she was only bringing home two more girls.”

This piece was an excerpt from the book Infidel written by Ayaan Hirsi Ali. This part of the story relates a narrative of a nomad woman (the grandmother) living in the deserts of Somalia.
This story dates back to 1940s, more than 60 years ago. Yet it’s this phenomenon has not joined the history. I have heard similar stories about Afghan women too, women who have given birth to girls and were treated like a piece of jerk, rubbish, a useless creature who has brought into the world another miserable creature. In Afghanistan the misery doesn’t seem to end there. Some women are even killed for the “crime” of giving birth to baby girls. Recently, an Afghan mother was killed for this very reason in Kunduz province.

I wish to see the day when the birth of no girl on earth would be a shame, a burden, a misery anymore but a reason to be proud, to feel safe, to feel honored

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/in-pictures-16979784

Check this link and watch the best pictures of 2011 selected by
World Press, But please do not just watch. Ponder a bit at some of them. Maria
lies there with her wretched body, with so many untold stories on each bruise.
She still poses in front of camera with a probably little dignity left to her.
A little further, the young Senegali model, clad in red, regardless of her
“surrounding”, poses with full pride. But I am shocked at the
carless, sad, confident, innocent… I event can’t read the feelings in the gaze
of those little two angels who are standing beside men who are the age of their
fathers. Forced to grow up, pushed to leave their happy, free childhood world
(if they ever had one), their right to fall in love when they grow, no matter
under what name, destiny, custom, religion, poverty, has been violated. I
wonder if they ever blame anybody for that, if their mothers are happy for
their daughters, I wonder if… Then i see the mother who is standing on the remaining
of her shattered life, but seems the happiest person in the world holding her
daughter’s graduation certificate. This picture, to me, doesn’t present ruins
of houses after tsunami, but portraits hope, love, and life. there is another
photo that not only catches my eyes, but make my heart crumple with pain. This
time its the story of human being told by animals. I can hear the hornless
rhino telling his/her friend, lover, mate, or maybe parent about the endless
cruelty and selfishness of the two-legged walkers. I want to tell her/him that
there is no surprise in what this two-legged creature, human being, does to
animals. They have no sympathy for each others as well. Just this poem by Human
Sharifi, addressing the mankind comes to my mind. “Earth is so suitable
for you,/ even if there was no gravity,/ you still kept descending.”

This all was to say art is the miracle of human beings to portrait
both beauty and ugliness of human life, to help us be better human beings.

Today on Universal Children Day, I joined a fund-raising event organized by Jaago foundation and Volunteers for Bangladesh. We had a great time raising awareness about educating underprivileged children and collecting fund for them. We gave roses to those who donated money. This year the event was held in 10 districts of Bangladesh at the same day. However, despite the fact that Jaago representatives had permission from the mayor of Chittagong and the other 9 cities, we were stopped by Bangladeshi authorities, being accused of an unauthorized fund-raising activity. All around the world people start raising fund for different social causes, but here in Bangladesh the corrupted government cannot bear it. We took the issue to the press to put more pressure on the government, the representative started negotiating for a long time, but finally we all had to leave our stations and go back home.

 I witnessed how enthusiastically Bangladeshi youth (beside some foreign volunteers) were working in union for a sacred cause, rebuilding the nation through education, from the begging of the day.  Hundreds of young girls and boys, all clad in yellow T-shirts, approached all individuals and businesses with great respect and explained about the program patiently. Everybody forgot how hot it was to walk hours under the sun. All had big smiles on their face, even when they came back with empty hands. It didn’t matter that I was not a Bangladeshi, what connected our souls and hands together was our passion for a positive change.

 But we were stopped…

Hi All. I am glad I am here among you guys again and intend to continue blogging regularly!!!

Today, my heart beat faster than normal once again. It was around 9:pm on 29th October. I got tired of studying and opened Facebook page to check my messages. Suddenly a link to BBC grabbed my attention, not only because it was another news about suicide attacks in Afghanistan, but because my family are living nearby the area in which the attack had taken place. As I read the news many scary ideas were flying in my mind. What if my brothers or sister were passing Darulaman Street during the incident… It found it harder to breath. I called them. no response. I dialed again. Beep. Beep Beep… I could hear my heart beating faster and faster. I tried to stay calm and focus on dialing. I tried different numbers and finally got a response. It was my brother. He was alive. Safe and sound. I also heard a traditional, rhythmic Afghani music in the background. He explained that they were at a wedding party… This is the life in Afghanistan! In one corner of the city a suicide bomber kills 17 people at the blink of an eye and wedding music fills the air in another corner. The next day, people talk about the attack, but the day after it becomes very second hand news. People have other things to worry about. The winter is coming. They should buy wood for burning and heating their houses. They need food. Empty stomachs do not care about security. They have no other way to stop this situation. The suicide bombers are ready to sacrifice their life. They don’t listen to anybody. There aren’t a few of them. It is also said they are supported and trained by strong sources of power from neighboring countries. In such a condition, is there really a solution to end the war and suicide attacks? Will the peace pigeon find its way back to my country? Now my head is about to blow. I am tired of thinking.

But at least after talking to my brother I can breathe normally and come back to my studies. But I can’t stop thinking about the families who have lost their loved ones today, both Afghan and American. It could be me…