Girl Rising Page #2

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the earthquake were blessed?

Surely it meant that she was

supposed to do something special.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust -

she thought to herself.

The next morning Wadley

started for the tent school again.

She wasn't sure what

she was going to do.

But she was determined

to go and stay.

Has your mother paid yet, Wadley?

Has your mother paid the money?

No.

Will you leave, Wadley?

No.

You need to go home, Wadley.

No.

This is the last time I'll tell you.

If you send me away,

I will come back every day

until I can stay.

What's this?

Even if you send me away, I will

come back every day until I can stay.

And the flowers, the hibiscus,

the azaleas, the bougainvilleas,

they all looked even brighter

when Wadley was happy.

They even seemed to thrive from it.

Girls who go to school see

immediate benefits

beyond the things they're learning.

Being a student enhances

their status in the community.

It improves their health.

It makes them safer.

But in the developing world,

getting an education is not

what people expect girls to do.

Girls are expected to work,

expected to fetch water.

To care for younger children.

To get jobs.

Or worse.

It happens to girls like Suma.

Suma's parents didn't

send her to school.

They sent her to work.

It's called kamlari.

I write songs to remind myself

that my memories are real.

And often because there's

so much sadness behind me

what comes out is sad.

Both of my parents were bonded as

kamlara and kamlari in their childhood.

That's the way things

have been around here.

That's the way they

have been for the poor.

You have to bond yourself to a

master, otherwise how will you live?

SUMA,

Nepal

This was the house of my first master.

My mother and father bonded me just

so that I would have somewhere to live.

And enough food to eat.

I was 6 years old.

Fabu Tauru was a landlord and a miller.

He made me work from 4 in

the morning to late at night.

I had to clean the house

and wash the dishes,

and go to the forest to fetch firewood.

When I wasn't minding the goats,

I had to mind the children.

The goats were nicer.

The daughters made fun of me

because my clothes were torn.

They teased me.

They beat me.

I wanted my mother and

father to take me back.

I wanted them to

let me stay at home.

And go to school like my brother.

But when I thought about

how poor they were,

and how much they

too had suffered,

it made me feel weak.

I couldn't ask.

This was the house of my second master.

Johna Kamala wore a uniform to work.

He and the mistress of the

house were very hardhearted.

Unlucky girl - they used to call me.

Hey, Unlucky girl, do this!

- they'd shout.

They made me sleep in the goat shed,

and wear rags and eat scraps

from their dirty plates.

I can't really talk about everything

that happened to me here.

But I will never forget.

This is where I began to write songs.

Only the songs got me through.

Selfish were my mother and father

They gave birth to a daughter

They gave birth to a daughter

My brothers go to school to study

while I, unfortunate,

slave at a master's house.

It's a hard life,

being beaten every day.

This was the house of my third master.

I was 11 years old when I

arrived at Chitai Tauru's house.

I had been a kamlari for 5 years.

It wasn't as bad here.

I mean it was bad because there

was a lot of work.

But there was a lodger in that house.

A school teacher called Bimal Sir.

He changed my life.

Bimal Sir convinced my master and

mistress to enroll me in a night class.

All of us would gather after

finishing our day's work

and we would learn to read and write.

I loved that night class so much.

It was run by social workers for

girls just like me - kamlaris.

We'd also talk to the teachers about

what it was like to be a kamlari.

And as we talked we began to

realize that bonded labor was,

and isn't it - slavery.

The teachers who ran the night class

began to go from house to house.

There is a small girl working here.

- I am here to take her.

- Why?

They wanted to liberate us.

One teacher, Sita Didi, told my

master that he was breaking the law

by keeping me as a kamlari.

She talked about the law

against bonded labor,

and the law about children's rights,

and the law on labor rights,

and the law against domestic

violence and trafficking.

She talked to him about

justice and injustice.

And she demanded

that he set me free.

My master said no.

Once maid a bond

couldn't be broken.

Sita Didi didn't give up.

She kept arguing.

She came back day after day.

And in the end she'd led me

home to my mother and father.

I am my own master now.

I have no mistress.

I was the last bonded

worker in my family.

After me, everyone will be free.

I feel as though I have power.

I feel like I can do anything.

And I have important

things to do.

Inside this house

is a girl like I was.

Away from her parents,

working morning to night.

Wanting so badly to be free.

We have come to this house,

the house of her master

to say - We know you have

a kamlari working for you.

You must set her free.

I've seen where change comes from.

When it comes it's like a song

you can't hold back.

Suddenly there's a breath

moving through you and...

You're singing.

And others pick up the tune

and start singing too.

And the sweet melody

goes out into the world

and touches the

heart of one person.

Then another.

And another.

The practice of kamlari has been

illegal in Nepal since 2000.

Now with the help of girls like Suma

it's finally coming to an end.

For Suma it is not enough

that she herself is free.

She's using her education to make

sure all girls are getting to school.

Because Suma knows that

when parents have to choose

they usually choose

to educate the boys.

So girls have less opportunity.

Less freedom.

And less education than the

boys they grow up with.

This means that girls suffer

more hunger,

more violence

and more disease.

It's a simple fact:

There is nobody more

vulnerable than a girl.

In far too much of the world girls

still suffer uspeakable things.

Girls like Yasmin.

YASMIN,

Egypt

Sit here.

I'm Sergeant Saif.

This is Officer Mansoor.

How old are you?

12.

Do you go to school?

No.

We have no money

to send a girl to school.

She works with me.

What do you do?

We sell tea by the

Sixth of October Bridge.

And your husband?

Jail.

She's just a street kid.

No, I'm not a street kid!

She's probably trying

to shake down a customer...

Can you tell us why you're here?

I'm a superhero.

A superhero?

Stop this nonsense, Yasmin.

Tell them what happened.

I was with my friend Aya.

We were going to get juice.

The juice from a man at the roundabout.

He has the best juice.

Aya had 80 piastre

and I had 2 pounds.

It was hot and we didn't wanna walk.

A man with the donkey cart

said that he would drive us

to the roundabout to get juice.

But then when we were nearing

the roundabout he turned off.

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