Noor Rehman stood at the beginning of his third-grade classroom, gripping his academic report with trembling hands. First place. Yet again. His instructor smiled with happiness. His peers applauded. For a short, wonderful moment, the nine-year-old boy thought his aspirations of turning into a soldier—of defending his homeland, of making his parents pleased—were possible.
That was several months back.
At present, Noor has left school. He's helping his dad in the wood shop, learning to sand furniture in place of learning mathematics. His school attire hangs in the closet, clean but unworn. His schoolbooks sit arranged in the corner, their pages no longer moving.
Noor didn't fail. His household did all they Poverty could. And yet, it couldn't sustain him.
This is the tale of how poverty does more than restrict opportunity—it erases it wholly, even for the most gifted children who do all that's required and more.
While Excellence Isn't Adequate
Noor Rehman's parent toils as a woodworker in Laliyani, a compact settlement in Kasur region, Punjab, Pakistan. He's skilled. He's industrious. He departs home prior to sunrise and comes back after sunset, his hands rough from years of forming wood into items, entries, and embellishments.
On profitable months, he receives 20,000 Pakistani rupees—about seventy US dollars. On slower months, less.
From that salary, his household of six members must afford:
- Rent for their small home
- Provisions for four children
- Services (electricity, water supply, fuel)
- Doctor visits when children get sick
- Transportation
- Apparel
- Everything else
The calculations of being poor are basic and brutal. There's always a shortage. Every rupee is committed before earning it. Every decision is a choice between necessities, not once between essential items and comfort.
When Noor's school fees needed payment—along with costs for his siblings' education—his father encountered an unworkable equation. The math couldn't add up. They not ever do.
Some expense had to be cut. One child had to give up.
Noor, as the eldest, grasped first. He's conscientious. He is wise exceeding his years. He understood what his parents could not say out loud: his education was the cost they could no longer afford.
He didn't cry. He didn't complain. He merely arranged his attire, put down his books, and asked his father to instruct him the craft.
Because that's what young people in hardship learn first—how to abandon their ambitions without fuss, without troubling parents who are presently shouldering greater weight than they can sustain.