Razia and Maria hurried through the office building, concerned, adjusting their head scarves on the way. They had just been told that nine men had arrived at the gate of the all-female dormitory.
More than two years ago, four dozen young women had arrived at the dormitory. They gathered in the dorm basement, dressed colourfully in their best clothes. Their eyes were bright, yet tinged with apprehension, even fear.
The women had come from various parts of Central Asia, mostly remote farming communities. Some had never met anyone from outside their tribal community, let alone ventured outside their own village.
Razia had travelled the dusty roads to the women’s villages and spoken with the elders. She tried to convince fathers to allow their unwed daughters to come to the dormitory in the city for two years and study to become teachers. Some needed more convincing than others.
Even when their fathers agreed, the extended family and wider community would often speak ill of the decision. A girl was expected to remain under her father’s roof until she married. This was how her honour, which reflects upon the whole extended family, could be guaranteed for prospective husbands. For some, the thought of the young women being separated from their families to live in the city was appalling.
“Their eyes were bright, yet tinged with apprehension, even fear.”
The women arrived from different villages, different tribes, different religious sects and had already endured all of this pressure and stigma. Yet they were ready to study to become teachers, so that girls in their villages might have greater access to high school education.
In keeping with the strict gender segregation in more conservative areas of the country, many feel it is inappropriate for girls who have reached puberty to be taught by men. As a result, many girls cease their education after sixth grade.
However, having female high school teachers would allow girls to continue their education into high school. Not only would this improve the financial situation of the girl and her family, it would also have a flow-on effect in her community, such as reducing child and maternal death rates, raising literacy levels and increasing connections with the world.
Razia remembered how hard the teacher trainers had worked with the young women, often staying in the dormitory overnight, the smell of dinner still lingering in the air, in order to help them with their studies. She remembered an American who taught them English and the way they fumbled with computers for the first time.
She remembered Maria instructing the women in teaching practices, as they swapped their desks for the maroon-carpeted floor, which was always more comfortable for them. They learned a form of teaching so different from their own schooling: principles of acceptance and loving all your students, not just the best and brightest.
There was the sound of quiet grief as the teacher trainers mentored the young women, giving them a chance to share the struggles they had experienced throughout their lives. There were evenings fraught with strife and conflict, talking with the prospective teachers on how best to deal with such situations.
“Female teachers would allow girls to continue their education into high school.”
Tears had sprung in Razia’s eyes when the women graduated in their robes. They all cheered and threw their graduation hats in the air. After working so hard and sacrificing so much, they celebrated in the bright lights of the hotel hall, with loud music and plenty of cake.
For many, they were the first in their families to have graduated a higher qualification.
There were great sobbing cries and hugs as the women returned to their families and villages. Before arriving at the dormitory, they had been taught to avoid and fear others – but after living with each other for two years, they left as life-long friends.
The offices, classrooms and dormitory all seemed so empty after the graduates returned to their villages, with only the echoes of their laughter against the walls. There were still two years left in the project, where trainers would travel to the villages and support the new teachers to implement all they had learned in their classroom practice.
There had always been opposition from some to girls’ education, believing that girls don’t need an education as their role is confined to the home. And now nine men had arrived at the offices.
“Our girls are transforming the schools in which they teach.”
Maria, as project manager, tentatively greeted the men. We made our way to the basement where the young women had first gathered. Colourful learning posters still hung on the wall, a reminder of days gone by.
We settled at table and one of the men stood up, distinguished in his striped robe. As spokesman for the others he said:
“Some people have taken the day off work. Others have cancelled their meetings. We have hired this vehicle to bring us from the village and each person wanted to be here to say thank you for what you have done for our daughters.
“We did not recognise our daughters when they came back to us. Before they came to you, they were gossips and busybodies. But now, they are women who treat others well, concerned not just for themselves but for their communities. They are confident, well-spoken and wise in their thinking.
“When our women saw the change that had come over our daughters, they too wanted to learn. So now many of our wives are coming to the city to get literacy classes as well.
“Our girls are transforming the schools in which they teach. They are role models for all the other girls in our village. Thank you for what you have done for our daughters.”
Maria served as a Partner in Central Asia.
