“Which people?”

Asked the boy with broken dreams in his eyes. He was sitting on the side of a busy road, selling bottles in the heat. His clothes were dusty, his feet bare. 

"His childhood, already traded for coins."

He looked across the street and saw another boy, same  age, same country, different world. That boy was laughing, chasing a red balloon, his mother watching him with smile.

And in that quiet moment, the bottle-seller didn’t say much. But his eyes asked the question none of us want to answer:

"Which people are you talking about?”

When you say equality, do you mean him? When you say the future is youth, do you mean him? Or do you mean the other boy, the one with the balloon?

I know the answer. Because I’ve asked the same question.

I was the girl who topped every class. The girl whose books were worn but whose dreams were big. And when I finally won a fully funded university scholarship abroad, I thought I had made it.

But I didn’t.

Because the scholarship didn’t cover the $300 visa fee. That was more than three months of my father’s income.

I begged, I emailed, I tried. But in the end, the seat was given to someone with lower scores but higher means.

That night, I didn’t cry because I lost the opportunity. I cried because I was invisible. Unfunded. Unnoticed. Uninvited.

And when I said I wanted to work, even part-time, to help myself, I was told:

“It’s against our culture.”“
A woman can die of hunger but she must not step outside to earn.”
“Your honor is your silence.”

Because in my community, dead traditions are worth more than living people.

It’s more honorable for a girl to stay hungry than to stand on her feet.

They call it ‘honor.’ I call it hunger dressed in tradition.

We talk about youth empowerment but which youth? The ones born with Wi-Fi, bank accounts and family support? Or the ones filling water bottles at dawn and wiping tears in silence at night? We talk about access but we don’t talk about who’s kept out.

I started a small online page just from a cracked phone, with borrowed data. I guided other girls like me. Girls who had no money, no mentors, no networks, just dreams. I helped them find scholarships. Hope. Courage.

Even with no electricity, no job and no support, I kept going. That was my form of activism. This isn’t just my story. It's the story of every child who grows up knowing they were born on the wrong side of the gate. Who watches the balloons but never gets to hold one.

The boy still sells bottles. I still fight. But until ‘which people?’ includes both of us, equality is just a balloon- bright, floating, and forever out of reach.

So next time someone says,
"Let’s build a better future for the people...”
Ask them and ask yourself:
"Which people?"

_____

References

1. International Labour Organization (2023). Child Labor: Global Estimates

2. UNESCO (2022). Barriers to Education for Low-Income Students

Posted 12/09/2025