In a small village called Susweni, the cheerful voices of children can be heard every afternoon as they run through gardens and fields. Yet, those voices are rarely heard in classrooms, because classrooms themselves barely exist. Here, school is not seen as a place of dreams that opens a path to the future, but merely as a distant, unfamiliar name.
Many children in Susweni grow up believing that school is unimportant. For them, helping their parents in the fields brings more tangible results than sitting for hours on wooden benches listening to lessons. “School is just about studying; what’s the point?” That is the thought that lingers in their minds. As a result, there are still middle school students who cannot read. Some children can write words but do not understand the meaning of what they have written. Even when taught simple things, their responses often resemble those of toddlers who cannot yet grasp adult speech.
This problem is not just about children’s willingness but also about a system that has never truly been present. In Susweni, there is no kindergarten, no elementary school, and no middle school. There is only one small early childhood education center (PAUD), modestly standing with just a single teacher, known affectionately as Kakak Ike. With patience, she continues teaching, even though she bears alone the burden of educating many children. More than 30 children are officially enrolled, yet during class hours, only five were present when observed. A planned partnership program to issue PAUD certificates, required for admission to elementary school, has yet to materialize, closing off the children’s pathway into formal education.
As they grow older, their options narrow even further. In Susweni, there is only one private high school and one state high school that specializes in sports. If they want a better education, children must leave for the city. But cost is the greatest barrier. Transportation, uniforms, books, and living expenses push many families to give up. Parents choose to keep their children at home to help in the fields. Education, then, becomes a kind of luxury, accessible only to those with enough money and courage to leave the village.
Yet the greatest barrier lies in mindset. For many parents, school is not seen as a path toward a better future. Education feels pointless because its results are not immediate. “It’s better for children to help in the fields” is a common refrain. Without education, however, children are destined to repeat the same cycle of limitations their parents endure. They lose the chance to escape poverty and marginalization.
Educational inclusivity should guarantee that every child, no matter where they are born, has the same right and opportunity to learn. But in Susweni, inclusivity remains only a discourse. Children seem trapped in a cycle that locks away their dreams. They grow up without books to read, without enough teachers, without proper classrooms, and without a system that truly stands by them.
And yet, a fragile light of hope remains. It glimmers in the small figures who still eagerly come to PAUD despite its limited facilities. It lives in Kakak Ike, who lovingly teaches the first letters even when she feels alone. But this hope is fragile, always at risk of fading if real support does not arrive.
Susweni teaches us one essential truth: building education is not just about passing regulations or opening schools in cities. Education must reach even the most remote areas, with qualified teachers, proper facilities, and awareness nurtured within communities. True inclusivity is not only about access; it is about commitment, about recognizing that the children of Susweni are just as valuable as those in the big cities.
Now, they wait. They wait for doors to open, for opportunities to learn, for the helping hands that will ensure their right to dream is no longer stolen by circumstance.
Happy National Children’s Day 2025!
