The Garage School

A maidservants daughter in Shabina Mustafa’s building was refused admission in a sewing class because she could not read or write. In the intro to the project her rejection spawned, Shabina writes, “if I could teach her some basic numeric and literacy skills, she could build on them and learn specialized skills to make something of her life. It was then that I thought, why not teach the children of other servants too. My garage was lying unused and it came in handy for this purpose.”

Today the garage school has over 40 students, most of them the children of domestic servants working in her immediate neighborhood. The ‘school’ is a well-lit, white garage with bright posters and drawings on the wall and a green canopy adding a precious few inches to the space within. Outside the canopy are two carefully laid out lines of shoes. A young girl worms her way between the two rows of low benches; around them are gathered children ranging in size from small to medium, the large ones will come later. Yesterday they stayed late and painted the garage themselves.

Shabina Mustafa has been a widow for 30 years. Her husband Flight Lieutenant Syed Safi Mustafa (shaheed) S.J was killed in East Pakistan in 1971. She says he was always passionate about education and has dedicated her garage school to him. With Honors In Sociology tucked firmly under her belt, Shabina believes simply being able to read, write and conduct yourself are valuable life skills and should be offered to all.

Although her garage school functions out of a back lot in a ‘posh’ compound, very few of her neighbors have expressed any real interest in it. “A lot of people come, but they look and say it’s very nice and go away.” One teacher and various volunteers from different localities staff the school. “Tahira (the teacher) has been a great help to me. Second is Tahir Baluch, my colleague from work at the Saudi consulate, he’s the one who got me introduced to Dr. Khalid Bhamba who gives them free ENT treatment, and does all their blood work. There’s also a Dr. Yasmeen living down the road who comes every Tuesday. She says they’re malnourished, so I’ve written to English Biscuit to see if they’re interested in donating food for them. They also need milk.”

The garage school charges no fees, though there is a Rs.2 absentee fine. The first ever day of school everyone sat on the floor. Then someone donated a table, and another one, and a bench, and things gathered momentum. “My brother provided all the tables and chairs, Zarina knew a trained teacher who was just sitting at home, and after the review article some people donated books and time. I have one lady from the PACC, Nadira, who comes in and teaches the older boys. Aunty Zubeda, a 75 year old lady from Shabbirabad, comes to teach the boys Macramé and the girls crochet.” She shows me samples, beautiful work. “I thought they could sell these at Christmas Bazaars and help their families.”

The garage school does not discriminate on the basis of religion. Its student body includes Hindus, Muslims, Christian and 12 Sikhs, including little Bulbeer who apparently is quite the whirlwind dancer. On 14th August the children put together a little programme of celebration. From the pictures, it’s obvious they had a great time. Zarina, the maidservant whose daughter unwittingly started this, made their costumes herself. The parents of a Muslim child objected to studying with non-Muslims and Shabina says, “I called those people and I asked them, does that child have four ears, does he have four noses, does he have a name? He does? So we’re all human. I tell them to learn about their own religion, I even went and bought books about Sikhism so I could teach them about it instead of picking up some twisted version, but at the end of the day we’re all the same.”

“The greatest help I get in doing all my odd jobs is from my driver Yousuf who is constantly helping me, and my maid Zarina who stitches their clothes from the throw away cut pieces I get from factories.”

What about the curriculum? From 11 in the morning the garage school is filled with 25 children who have never been to school before. The first thing they learn is how to write their name, their parents names, and where they live. Then, they are taught basic things like the names of days, weeks, months, seasons, fruits, vegetables, animals, utility works, anything that has any relation to their everyday life. First they learn the vocabulary, and then they learn to write it. Each of the children has an English Urdu Dictionary (she bought some herself but needs more) and learns to identify and understand difficult words. At the end of each day Shabina corrects all the books herself and assigns work according to each child’s individual abilities. Tests are conducted regularly and parents are sent a carbon copy and requested to work with their kids.

They also learn grooming, discipline, hygiene. Hence the neat line or shoes, and the roster detailing which two children will clean up and put the stools on the table at the end of the day. Shabina is determined that ‘her kids’ will experience life without falling victim to an easily avoidable disease and buys them socks and checks their nails regularly. “When I’m asking them to stay clean, I’m indirectly getting theirs homes cleaned too.”

From 2-3:30 in the afternoon the garage school is home to the kids who’ve already had some form of basic education. From 2:30-4 schoolchildren flock to revise and interact. From 4-6 p.m the older children flood in.

Before taking me downstairs to show me the school she shows me what she’s been working on, hunched over her dining table. They are laminated cards from a lab detailing their blood work and identity. In case of an accident, she wants them to be carrying whatever information is necessary to give them the help they need. This includes her reference. “I have parent teacher meetings and all the parents come now.” She gestures towards the avalanche of information sprawled across her desk, ID card copies, birth certificates, vaccination records, everything goes in a file that she maintains. In essence, Shabina has taken almost complete charge of ensuring they get their basic rights and learn skills that will make it easier for them to be admitted to or benefit from vocational training. “As soon as I get more volunteers I’d like to maybe bring in a craftsman every week, or a carpenter, or an electrician, someone who will teach them skills they can use to support themselves with later. It’ll take them at least six months to learn how to simply groom themselves. We teach them patience, discipline, when standing in line no pushing no hitting etc.”

“They went to see Jinnah (the film) you know. And we’ve gone to the PAF museum; and I’ve taken them to the Behbood Center in Shireen Jinnah Colony and they were very excited. There was block printing, and different kinds of work you could learn to do and the children got very excited. They all wanted to learn, what I need is volunteers who will come in and teach them crafts like blocking printing or candle making. Mrs. Raza comes to teach them art once a week, and Miss Seerat leaves her own two children behind to volunteer here two mornings a week.” I ask how many people have supported her from her compound. With tears in her eyes she says only one or two. “Never has anyone come to teach or talk or even see what happens in this tiny place. They prefer to get their gardens beautified and their flowers watered, not realizing that the children will give fruit in the future and not the plants.”

“They just need love”, she says, “ and what they enjoyed at the PAF museum was the swings, especially the older girls because the swings are hidden from public view and they could just be free and enjoy themselves. Next Sunday WWF is organizing a picnic and taking them to Sandspit. I’m also trying to get their hepatitis B shots organized. I’ve been in touch with Smith Kline & Beecham and they’re willing to provide the vaccinations at cost price, which is Rs. 8000 for all of them. I spoke to the ladies in the lions club and they said they would pay half.” She says most of the expenses incurred to date have been borne by her and close family.

Shabina has since heard from a lady in Nazimabad who wants her guidance in setting up a similar project, and even people in New York have heard about this and want to help. “This movement could grow like a mushroom” she says, “if our own neighborhood children are given such good care, medical and discipline, maybe government schools would not be required.”

I leave Shabina with her children, this is one of the days she spends the afternoon with them. She works half the day, and spends the other half at her school, in between fitting in time for her elderly mother who lives with her. The next morning she sends me a prioritized list of items required to ensure the small, very vulnerable life forms in her care have half a chance at a level playing field later in life. They include vaccinations, shampoo, and ‘one world map with globe.’

She also sends me an essay one of the children has written. And young Tanvir Abbas from the garage school, who suffers from night blindness and now has glasses, writes, “iss school main koi alaida mazhab ka nahin, hum sub insaan hain, agar hum iss tara kaam kartay rahay to aik din hum sub baray aadmi bun jaain gay.”