The Journey of Yusra Jamsheed
In my mountain village in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, I used to wake with the first call to prayer. Life before my father’s death feels like someone else’s story now. My father would walk me to school every morning, telling me stories along the path. In the evening, he would hug me tight and call me “his scholar.”
After he was gone, the house fell quiet. My mother’s face carried a tiredness that never left. I put my dreams away like old clothes in a trunk. The books my father brought me every month, science books, Urdu poetry, maps of places I wanted to see,sat gathering dust in the cupboard.
I remember finding my entrance test paper in his shirt pocket. He had paid the fee with his last salary. When my mother said, “My child, we cannot afford school anymore,” I did not answer. I just held his shirt to my face, breathing in what remained of his scent.
My days became washing, cooking, caring for my siblings. At night, when everyone slept, I would go to the roof and watch the stars. My father used to say, “Every star is a dream that came true.” Those same stars now watched over my silence.
I would sit with his photograph and whisper:
“My father, will I ever become a doctor?
Will I keep my promise to you?
Is this all my life will be?”
Then one day, a woman from the Sadaat Foundation came. She spoke with my mother, but her eyes kept returning to my hands-hands that knew dishwater better than book pages.
“We will send Yusra back to school,” she told my mother. “We will help her dreams grow.”
When I first stood at the Sadaat Foundation Facility at Mardan door, I closed my eyes and spoke to my father:
“You always said reaching the sky begins with one step.
Today, I am taking mine.”
Inside was a different world. My teacher told me, “Yusra, your father sees you. He is proud.”
For the first time, I shared stories about my father with friends.
For the first time, my hand went up in class.
For the first time, I stood before everyone and said, “I want to be a doctor to understand how others hurt.”
When my Cadet College acceptance came, I wore my father’s shirt that morning. My mother held me and said, “Your father is crying happy tears today.”
Now I wear a cadet uniform. These badges on my shoulders carry the weight of all those silent nights. When I speak in class, my voice does not shake anymore.
My father taught me that every problem has an answer. For me, the Sadaat Foundation was that answer. Every day, I try to keep the promise I made to him.
But somewhere tonight, another girl is putting her dreams away.
Another daughter misses her father.
Another mother wonders how she will educate her child.
At the Sadaat Foundation, we believe:
- No dream is too small
- Every voice matters
- Education turns silence into strength
My father said every star is a fulfilled dream. You can help make someone’s dream shine.
A uniform. A book. A pen.
These simple things rewrite futures.
This is where broken dreams mend.
This is where voices find courage.
This is where hope gets a second chance.
Every day, I live for the promise I made my father.
You could help keep another girl’s promise alive.
Thank You Sadaat Foundation
Contact Detail
Email : info@sadaatfoundation.org
Mobile No : 0346-1514152
Canal Road Bijli Ghar Mardan KPK
https://www.sadaatfoundation.org/
https://www.facebook.com/sadaatfoundationkpk/
Yusra Jamshaid
