Jameel, cobbler

n the vibrant urban mosaic of a large city, where the cacophony of life intertwines with the pulsating energy of its markets, a poignant narrative unfolds on the small shoulders of Jameel, an 11-year-old Pashtun cobbler. Amidst the towering buildings and bustling thoroughfares, he stands as a testament to the silent struggles etched into the fabric of the streets he calls home.

Originally hailing from the rugged terrain of Bajaur Agency, nestled in the northern embrace of the country, Jameel’s journey to this city is not one of choice but necessity. The bustling city, with its heavy traffic, suffocating pollution and the ever-looming harassment by the police, has not been a welcoming abode for this young dreamer. Yet, with the resilience only found in those who have faced economic tribulations, he shoulders the weight of reality.

At this tender age, Jameel’s hands, roughened by labour, deftly navigate the art of cobbling. His small makeshift shop becomes a haven where he not only mends and crafts footwear but also peddles the famed Peshawari chappal, a craft passed from his father, who toils alongside him. Jameel’s meager stall holds the dreams of a boy who yearns for an education beyond the fourth grade he left behind in Bajaur Agency.

“I wanted to study, but dire economic conditions forced my family to put me to work,” Jameel laments, his voice carrying the weight of aspirations deferred. The relentless grind of urban life has cast its heavy shadow on his dreams, overshadowing the pursuit of knowledge with the immediate demands of survival.

Jameel’s daily routine unfolds against the backdrop of the area. The materials for his trade, procured from a nearby market, become the building blocks of his humble craft. Jameel and his father forge a tenuous connection with Pashtun suppliers who extend a lifeline in the form of small discounts, a reprieve in the face of relentless economic challenges. They live in temporary accommodation, from where they walk to work.

Beyond shoes and sandals, Jameel’s shop unveils an unexpected inventory – a small amount of naswar (powdered tobacco snuff), leather and vinyl pieces of various colours, shoe polish, brushes, etc. Jameel does not divulge the origins of this peculiar addition – a clandestine purchase from the labyrinthine alleys of the market. His customers, predominantly from the middle- and lower-middle-income brackets, find solace in the affordability of his offerings.

From the crack of dawn until the dimming of city lights, Jameel sits in his modest stall. His working hours extend from 7:30 am to 8:00 pm. He eats his lunch on the street. Dinner, a shared ritual with his family, provides a semblance of normalcy amid the chaos. A daily income of around Rs 800, a meager sum by urban standards, becomes the lifeline that supports Jameel and his family. The staple diet, humble daal (lentils), emerges as the thread that binds them together, an emblem of resilience in the face of financial adversity.

Daniyaal,

car-cleaner

ight-year-old Daniyaal, his small hands meticulously cleaning a car window, exclaims, “I wash the tyres too. I can make any car sparkling clean,” a testament to his pride in his work. Behind this display of enthusiasm lies a stark reality shared by millions of Pakistani children who, amidst the challenges of poverty, have lost their childhood, and find themselves compelled to contribute to their family’s income through labour. Daniyaal, in his youthful optimism, stands among the fortunate ones who, despite the burden of work, manage to attend school. He navigates the corridors of education in the afternoon shift of Class 2 at a government school for boys. While not particularly enamoured with academic pursuits, Daniyaal’s preferred pastime during his leisure hours is to stay home and indulge in the pleasure of watching movies on television. His eyes light up as he shares, “I like to watch Punjabi films,” revealing a glimpse of the innocent joys that punctuate his challenging reality.

“I have an older sister, two older brothers and one brother who is younger than I am. We live with our mamoon (maternal uncle), as my father works in Dubai.” The specifics of his father’s work overseas elude him. He eagerly anticipates his father’s yearly visit. In the absence of her husband, Daniyaal’s mother shoulders the responsibilities, working as a maid in people’s homes. The toil extends beyond cleaning in the house they live, as his mother and sister also prepare meals for everyone in their uncle’s household.

They live in an urban slum, a testament to their struggles. Their ancestral roots go back to a village near Faisalabad in the Punjab. Trips to their rural home are infrequent, reserved for auspicious occasions such as Eid or to celebrate family weddings.

Daniyaal’s engagement in the morning ritual of washing cars is a reflection of familial continuity. His uncle, the orchestrator of this labour, deems it fitting for Daniyaal to partake in the same responsibilities. The financial transactions however, remain a mystery to Daniyaal, as all earnings are routed directly to his uncle.

Daniyaal’s narrative, though tinged with the shades of economic hardship, also radiates a sense of resilience and family unity. His story unveils the intricate balance between contributing to the family income and pursuing education, a delicate balance familiar to many children in similar circumstances. As the young boy continues to juggle his responsibilities, his twinkle-eyed dreams and moments of joy become beacons of hope in the face of adversity.

The writer is an author, illustrator and educator. She may be contacted at husain.rumana@gmail.com