Road out of Homelessness - Nazma of Kolkata

My name is Nazma, and I'm called a pavement dweller because this is my home. No house number. No walls really. No door. My mother, she married when she was eight. And my father was a rickshaw driver until he was paralyzed in an accident. We lived on the street my whole life. Outside my home runs an endless river of cars and motorcycles and tuktas Across from us they play music and sell juice. The blender screams all day long. It's loud here, so loud. The noise never rests, even at night. And that's the only time I have to study. But I can't even hear myself think. There's no such thing as privacy here. Lurking eyeballs always seem to find me. That's why I bathe in my clothes, in the dark. Whether it's winter or summer, I walk home wet, sometimes catching cold. Sleeping on the street, with no door to lock, makes me feel so exposed. Like I could be snatched away, in an instant. So my sister and I sleep on the floor where she works because there's a real door, with a lock. It's safer there. Mornings can't come soon enough. None of my grandparents went to school. My mother can't sign her own name. None of my five sisters can read or write. In fact, no one is educated in my family. Just me. That's why I love my school uniform. I'm the only one in my family to wear one. It makes me feel... different. And when I have children, I'll send them to school too. An uneducated person goes one way. An educated person goes in another. I'm going in another. Educate girls. Change the world.