This young boy belongs to Rehri Goth. I took this picture on my way to this urban informal settlement in Karachi. I could not resist when I saw this boy… who is he? What is his name? Does he go to school? What is his life like and what does his future hold? These questions hit me hard and continue to do so after many days of this very brief encounter. Maybe because this boy is about the same age as my son… so similar yet so different.

I am engaged in a UNDP-IBA project on development and strengthening of urban resilience in the informal settlements of Karachi and the experience thus far has been instructive to say the least. The work links very closely with Sustainable Development Goal (SDG) 11, “Make cities and human settlements inclusive, safe, resilient and sustainable”. Cities represent opportunities for higher -and better quality education and employment to most, and therefore experience a continued influx of migrants looking to better their lives and livelihoods. My work centers around identification of challenges experienced by migrants and host communities of two informal settlements - Azam Basti and Rehri Goth from Karachi - and the identification of interventions that will contribute towards our aim to increase urban resilience and hopefully better social cohesion of the settlers.

As I drive into Rehri Goth to engage in a listening circle with women who run small businesses in the settlement, I see a stark contrast with the Karachi I know. It appears that the different governments over the years forgot to plan for development or provisions of public amenities. Roads leading to these areas are in a dilapidated state and the sanitation network appears practically non-existent. I observe mountains of waste, on which stand living shacks that seemingly house most of the population. I can’t help but wonder the kind of diseases these birth, and the effects on physical and mental wellbeing of residents. I park my car in the vicinity of a public hospital which is empty, dark, and dead. With no electricity, no staff and no patients, the structure stands tall, but it appears there is no ownership.

My circle informs me that there is no such thing as a cheap and reliable transport mechanism so that they can travel to work or reach educational institutions. In times of medical emergencies, reaching hospitals is not possible without spending a lot of their limited income. It is a no-brainer that public transport is often a prerequisite to sustained economic growth, because it facilitates employment, business, and commercial activity, and improves the quality of life of those who benefit from its use.

As these women open up about the challenges they face in terms of limited resources, livelihood options that depend on climatic conditions (given that most of the population is fishermen), lack of public transport, hospitals, and sewage services, they keep coming back to concern for their children because of the rampant availability of a variety of drugs, robbing many of their future. The usual choice of drug is ice and glue (or Samad Bond as the local brand is called), the participants inform me. Haleema, who runs a beauty parlour, said that it had ravaged the community’s younger generation and she had to make sure that her twelve-year-old son went straight and only to school and madressah, and nowhere else when he left home every morning. She goes on, ‘When our worry is to earn for the next meal, we forget about the children…. They just play in the streets and become vulnerable’.

The residents are stuck in a vicious cycle: lack of basic services and job opportunities often lead to frustration in youth causing them to adopt escapist methods of drug abuse, especially when there is little to no barrier to drug availability. This addiction, in turn, leads to poor performance in school, health issues, and low productivity, reinforcing poor living conditions in the area.

Another participant in our listening circle is Masi Khatoo. She makes and sells ‘masalas’ (spices) through a store she runs. Her husband is no longer alive, and her two sons (24 and 20 years old respectively) have been drug addicts since their early teens. She implies the presence of a drug mafia with involvement of multiple stakeholders, but is too afraid to say more. She supports her family with a daily income of around PKR 500. Out of that amount, she sets aside PKR 100 for a committee to pay off her loan of PKR 50,000 that she had taken from a relative as her business has been hit hard due to COVID-19. When I ask her for a solution to her problems, she feels helpless because there is little or no government support for people like her, and very little opportunity for the children and youth to channel their energies in constructive activities.

My observation of working in the field is that among other things, these areas are in dire need of parks, community centers, and other development projects that can actively involve the local population as a resource. Human resource from settlements if utilised to manage public goods such as parks will only create employment but also ownership of the community residents, while proving to be excellent engagement avenues for the youth.

For now in most cases, land for parks has been allocated but is not being used for that purpose – either its development and maintenance as a park is being neglected, or it has been taken over by commercial interests in connivance with government officials. In such a situation, the state needs to step in and ensure that their children not only get access to good education that enables them to acquire critical thinking, skills but also have avenues where they can expend their physical energies constructively, like participation in sports which teaches valuable skills such as teamwork, focus, leadership, and is good for both physical and mental health.

In addition, to this, the government can help set up vocational training institutions where young people can acquire technical skills such as those needed to become an electrician or a carpenter, a tailor/seamstress, or a beautician. Given the general dearth of quality educational resources in these areas, imparting such skills could be a glimmer of hope, reducing desire to turn rogue or partake in activities such as drug abuse. It is important that the community be involved in all such projects because that is likely to make them sustainable in the long run and make them empowered to make right decisions for themselves.

As I sat in my car to leave the field, I realized the weight of the work we are carrying: to understand the problems plaguing the area, to raise awareness about it, and to ensure that relevant stakeholders hear and see the informal settlers. I am hopeful that our IBA-UNDP urban resilience work will contribute to create a city that can provide equal access to services, opportunities of employment, and an equal chance to live a good life to all. This research along with other that follow a community-driven approach creating advocacy and meaningful change at the policy level, can lead to solutions that are cohesive and sustainable. One day, I hope to see Karachi as a City for All: a city that provides the same footing to that young boy in Rehri Goth as my own son.

The author is Technical Lead Qualitative for the Access to Justice and Human Rights in Informal Settlements of Karachi project being carried out jointly by IBA Karachi and UNDP Pakistan