“My name is Zanu. I am 11 years old. I live in Sylhet. Originally my family lived in Karamgong, in Assam, India. After liberation my dad came here and bought some land.
I have three brothers and two sisters. My eldest sister studied up to class 5 and got married when she was 13. Her husband is a carpenter. She works as a housemaid and grinds spices and onions on a stone pata. My mother works in people’s houses. She is an expert at making clay flooring. Her customers pay her 15 to 20 taka a day and sometimes give her rice too. She never went to school, but my dad could read and write. My younger brother is 10. He used to help as a sales assistant in a photographic shop. He is often ill with dysentery. He has no worked for the last month. He used to earn 5 taka a day.

I went to school for two years. I had to give up when my father died. Sometimes I think about office work but I cannot read and write properly. I would like to carry on my education up to high school but it was impossible. My younger brother and sister still go. I don’t want them to suffer from ignorance like me.

I feel sorry for myself when I see kids of my age travelling on a tempo on their way to school. I am the same age, but I am working, struggling to survive, risking my life. I have no chance to enjoy games or enjoy myself like them. I used to go to the cinema, but I stopped. I had to save money for my family.

My father worked in a biscuit factory. He earned 800 taka a month. I had started to work on a cigarette stall that he bought for 1,000 taka. Then he went to Assam to visit his parents. He came back seriously ill. He was coughing up blood and he was paralysed on his left side. He had to give up his factory job. We were too poor to pay for the cost of my dad’s medical treatment. We had to sell the stall for 500 taka. The workers in the factory raised 500 taka to help pay for his medical bills. We called the doctor, than the herbalist, than the mullah from the mosque. But none of them could save him. He died. The factory workers clubbed together to help with the cost of the funeral. Since my dad died I have been working on tempos.

I start work at 7 am. I work seven days a week. I cannot afford to take a single day off. Except when I am ill. Then I have trouble to buy rice and medicine. I finish work at around midnight. I take my dinner when I finally get home. I feel really tired. I go to sleep immediately. Just like a dead person. I have to get up by 6 am to get to work on time.