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Iqbal

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Overview

When young Iqbal is sold into slavery at a carpet factory, his arrival changes everything for the other overworked and abused chidren there. It is Iqbal who explains to them that despite their master's promises, he plans on keeping them as his slaves indefinetely. But it is also Iqbal who inspires the other children to look to a future free from toil...and is brave enough to show them how to get there.
This moving fictionalized account of the real Iqbal Masih is told through the...

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Iqbal

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Overview

When young Iqbal is sold into slavery at a carpet factory, his arrival changes everything for the other overworked and abused chidren there. It is Iqbal who explains to them that despite their master's promises, he plans on keeping them as his slaves indefinetely. But it is also Iqbal who inspires the other children to look to a future free from toil...and is brave enough to show them how to get there.
This moving fictionalized account of the real Iqbal Masih is told through the voice of Fatima, a young Pakistani girl whose life is changed by Iqbal's courage.

This moving, fictionalized account of the life of Iqbal Masih, a Pakistani boy who brings hope to child workers in a carpet factory, is told through the voice of Fatima, a young Pakistani girl whose life is chanced by Iqbal's courage.

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
A bonded servant in a Pakistani carpet factory narrates this novel inspired by the life and work of Masih. In a starred review, PW said it "packs an emotional punch. An eye-opening, genuinely touching novel." Ages 8-12. (July) Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.
Children's Literature
In Pakistan, child labor is a horrifying but common occurrence. Seven hundred thousand children are subject to unspeakable slave labor conditions, many of them literally chained to their rug-making looms. This story, translated from the Italian, is a fictionalized account of a real boy, Iqbal, whose courage and bravery provides hope for a better way of life. The story is narrated by a young girl named Fatima, who works for an evil carpet maker. The only path to freedom for these children is to work very hard and very fast, erasing the debt that their families have accumulated. Yet after four years the debt seems to grow no smaller. When Iqbal comes to live and work at the carpet maker's shop, his defiance and strong will infect the other children. Iqbal runs away but is recaptured quickly. His punishment is to spend six days in "the tomb," an old cellar that barely admits light. Iqbal runs away again, and this time locates authorities who liberate the children and punish the shop owner for his illegal activities. Iqbal becomes known worldwide for his tireless fight against child labor, giving speeches and traveling to America. We live shielded and sheltered, our eyes closed to atrocities and inhumanities. This book will open eyes. Iqbal was murdered in his hometown on Easter Sunday, 1995. 2003 (orig. 2001), Atheneum Books, Ages 8 to 12.
— Christopher Moning
School Library Journal
Gr 4-7-Thirteen-year-old Iqbal Masih was murdered in his Pakistani village in April, 1995, a few months after he had received an international prize and traveled to Sweden and the United States, speaking about his six years as a bonded child in Lahore carpet factories. The murderers-perhaps part of the "Carpet Mafia"-have never been caught. In smoothly translated prose, D'Adamo retells the boy's story through the eyes of a fictional coworker. Also sold into servitude to pay her father's debt, Fatima worked in Hussain Khan's carpet factory for three years and had forgotten almost everything about her previous life. She had grown used to the long hours, the scanty rations, the heat, and the cramped quarters of a life spent tying carpet knots and sleeping beside her loom. She and the others in the workshop are stunned when Iqbal appears and tells them that their debts will never be paid. He tries to convince the children that their situations can change and he escapes to the market where he hooks up with members of the Bonded Labor Liberation Front. Fatima doesn't come alive as a character in her own right, but the situation and setting are made clear in this novel. Readers cannot help but be moved by the plight of these youngsters. This thinly disguised biography makes little effort to go beyond the known facts of Iqbal's life. Nonetheless, his achievements were astounding, and this readable book will certainly add breadth to most collections.-Kathleen Isaacs, Edmund Burke School, Washington, DC Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
This profoundly moving story is all the more impressive because of its basis in fact. Although the story is fictionalized, its most harrowing aspects are true: "Today, more than two hundred million children between the ages of five and seventeen are ‘economically active' in the world." Iqbal Masih, a real boy, was murdered at age 13. His killers have never been found, but it's believed that a cartel of ruthless people overseeing the carpet industry, the "Carpet Mafia," killed him. The carpet business in Pakistan is the backdrop for the story of a young Pakistani girl in indentured servitude to a factory owner, who also "owned" the bonds of 14 children, indentured by their own families for sorely needed money. Fatima's first-person narrative grips from the beginning and inspires with every increment of pride and resistance the defiant Iqbal instills in his fellow workers. Although he was murdered for his efforts, Iqbal's life was not in vain; the accounts here of children who were liberated through his and activist adults' efforts will move readers for years to come. (Fiction. 10-14)
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781416903291
  • Publisher: Aladdin
  • Publication date: 7/5/2005
  • Edition description: Reprint
  • Pages: 128
  • Sales rank: 57,038
  • Age range: 8 - 12 Years
  • Product dimensions: 5.10 (w) x 7.60 (h) x 0.40 (d)

Meet the Author

Francesco D'Adamo is well-known for his adult books in the tradition of Italian noir fiction. He began writing fiction for young adults to much foreign acclaim in 1999. Iqbal is his third novel for young adults and his first to be published in the U.S. D'Adamo lives in Milan, Italy.

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Read an Excerpt

One

"Yes, I knew Iqbal. I think about him often. I like to. I feel I owe it to him. You see, for Iqbal I was not invisible. I existed, and he made me free. So here is his story. As I remember it. As I knew him."

The house of our master, Hussain Khan, was in the outskirts of Lahore, not far from the dusty, dry countryside where flocks of sheep from the north grazed.

It was a big house, half stone, half sheet iron, facing a dirty courtyard containing a well, an old Toyota van, and a canopy of reeds that protected the bales of cotton and wool. Across the courtyard from the house was a long building, the carpet factory, where fourteen of us worked. We had all been bonded to Hussain Khan to pay off debts our families had contracted with local moneylenders. The building had a tin roof and a dirt floor, so it was hot in the summer and cold in the winter.

In the corner at the back of the courtyard, half-hidden by thorn bushes and weeds, you could just see a rusty iron door. Behind the door was a short, steep stairway that led down to the Tomb.

Work began half an hour before dawn, when the master's wife, dressed in her bathrobe and slippers, crossed the courtyard in the uncertain light of the fading night and brought us a round loaf of chapati bread and some dal, lentil soup. We all ate together, greedily dipping our bread into the large bowl on the ground, while we chatted incessantly of the dreams we had had during the night.

My grandmother and my mother used to say that dreams come from an unknown area of heaven, far far away, and they descend to earth when men call them. They can bring pain or comfort, joy or desperation, or sometimes they have no meaning and bring nothing. But it's not necessarily true that only bad men receive evil dreams and silly men empty ones. Who are we, after all, to understand the ways of heaven? What's really bad, my grandmother would say, is to receive no dreams. It's like not receiving the warmth of someone who is thinking of us even if they are far away.

I hadn't dreamed for months. I suspect many of us had stopped dreaming, but we were afraid to admit it: We felt so alone in the mornings. So we invented them, and they were always lovely dreams, full of light and color and memories of home. We competed to see who could invent the most fantastic ones, speaking very fast with full mouths, until the mistress said, "Enough already! Enough!"

Then we were allowed to pass — one by one — behind the filthy curtain that hid the Turkish toilet at the back of the big room where our looms and benches stood in rows. The first ones to go were those who had slept chained by their ankles to their looms. The master called them numskulls, because they worked slowly and poorly. They got the colored yarns mixed up or made mistakes in the pattern (the worst possible error), or they cried too loudly over the blisters on their fingers.

The numskulls weren't very bright. Everybody else knew that all you had to do is take the knife we used for working and cut open the blister. The liquid drips out and it hurts for a while, but in time the skin grows back tougher, so you don't feel anything anymore. You just have to know how to bear the wait. Those of us who weren't chained sometimes felt sorry for the numskulls, but sometimes we teased them. Usually they were the new workers, just arrived, who hadn't learned that the only way we could become free was to work very hard and very fast, to erase each and every line on our small slates, until there were none left and we could return home.

Like the others, I had my own little slate hanging above the loom I worked on.

The day I arrived, many years before, Hussain Khan had taken a clean slate and had made some signs on it. "This is your name."

"Yes, sir."

"This is your slate. Nobody can touch it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Then he drew many other lines, one next to the other, as straight as the hair on the back of a frightened dog, and every group of four had a line through it.

"Can you count?" the master asked.

"Almost up to ten," I responded.

"Look," Hussain Khan said, "this is your debt. Every line is a rupee. I'll give you a rupee for every day you work. That's fair. Nobody would pay you more. Ask anyone you want: Everyone will say that Hussain Khan is a good and fair master who gives you what you deserve. And every day at sunset, I'll erase one of these lines, right in front of your eyes. You'll feel proud, and your parents will feel proud, because it will be the fruit of your work. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," I answered again, but it wasn't true. I hadn't understood. I studied those mysterious lines, thick as trees in a forest, but I couldn't distinguish my name from the debt. It was as though they were the same thing.

"When all the lines are erased," Hussain Khan added, "when you see this slate wiped completely clean, then you'll be free and you'll be able to return home."

I never saw a clean slate, neither mine nor one of my companions'.

After the numskulls returned from the toilet behind the curtain and were chained to their looms, the rest of us were free to use the toilet and to splash some water on our faces. There was a small window high up in the wall, and through it you could see the open sky and just barely glimpse the branches of a flowering almond tree. Every morning I stayed an extra minute and tried desperately to grasp the old wooden frame and to pull myself up so that I could look outside. I was ten years old then, small and delicate as I still am, and I never even managed to touch the edge of the window. And yet, every day I felt that I had reached a little bit higher — perhaps a "nothing," only a fraction of an inch — but I was sure that soon I would be able to hoist myself up and lean out just far enough to touch the bark of the almond tree through the open air.

Of course, if I ever did manage to reach through the window or even to wriggle out, I would just find myself in the garden next door and Hussain Khan's wife would come to get me, brandishing her stick and crying, "You, little ragbag! You ungrateful little viper!" I would end up in the Tomb for at least three days, perhaps for more. That's what would probably happen.

But still, every morning I tried.

I had been working for Hussain Khan for three years, and I had never been put in the Tomb. Some of the other children were envious, and said I was Hussain Khan's pet and that's why he didn't punish me. It wasn't true. I was never punished because I worked quickly and well. I ate what they gave me without complaint, and when the master was around I kept silent, not like some, who answered back. I'll admit that sometimes the master did pat my head and say, "Little Fatima, my little Fatima," but all the while I trembled. I was frightened and wanted to disappear, to hide. Hussain Khan was fat, with a black beard and small eyes. His hands were oily from palm oil and left a greasy mark on whatever he touched.

Some nights, when I was still able to dream, I imagined Hussain Khan sneaking up in the dark to where I slept next to the loom. I could hear his heavy breathing and the smell of smoke on his jacket; I could hear the sound of his feet on the dusty earth. He would caress me, saying, "Little Fatima." The next morning, hidden behind the dirty curtain at the back of the room, I would examine my body to see if there were signs of oil. There were none. It was only a nightmare.

Work began at sunrise. The mistress clapped her hands three times and we all sat down at our looms. After a moment we began to work rhythmically, tying the knots, beating them down. While we were working we were forbidden to stop, to talk, or to let our minds wander. We could only stare at the countless colored threads, from which we had to choose the right one to insert into the carpet pattern. The master had assigned each of us a pattern.

As the morning passed, the air filled with heat, dust, and flying lint, and the sound of the looms slipped into the voice of the awakening city. The motors of old cars and loaded trucks, the braying of the donkeys, the shouts of men, and the cries of the vendors in the nearby market — all these grew louder as the day came to life, as Lahore came out into the streets. When my arms and shoulders started aching, I would briefly turn my head toward the door to the courtyard and sunlight, and I would guess how much time remained before my only pause of the day. My hands worked on their own, out of habit. They chose the threads, pulled the knots. Again and again. They passed the weft, beat it down with the comb, then started knotting. Again and again. That evening Hussain Khan would measure my work. He'd judge whether it was up to standards, if it was made carefully, and then he'd erase one of the lines on my slate — a rupee for a day's work.

He had been erasing those lines for three years, and they were still all there, or at least that's how it seemed to me. Sometimes I even thought there were more of them, but that wasn't possible — the lines on the slate couldn't be like the weeds in my father's garden that grew overnight and crowded the crops.

When we finally stopped for lunch we were dulled by fatigue. We dragged ourselves out into the courtyard and sat in the sun around the well to eat our chapati and vegetables and drink water, because our throats were dry and full of lint. Very few of us had enough energy to talk or laugh. Our break lasted an hour, but our hunger a good deal longer. Then we went back into the workroom, while Hussain Khan and his wife retired into their house to escape the heat of the afternoon. For a few hours there was no need to supervise us. Nobody had the courage to run away and anyway we couldn't not work. In the evening the master's measuring tape would reveal to the last centimeter how we had spent our time.

Not enough work done, no rupee, no line erased from our slates; we knew it well.

This was my life for three years. The first months I thought a lot about my family — my mother, my brothers and sisters — our home, the countryside, the buffalo that pulled the plow, the sweet laddu my mother made with chickpea flour, the desserts and almonds that we ate on feast days. But as time went on these memories faded like old, worn carpets.

That is, until the day Iqbal arrived.

Copyright © 2001 by Edizioni EL

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
( 44 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(25)

4 Star

(11)

3 Star

(5)

2 Star

(2)

1 Star

(1)

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 44 Customer Reviews
  • Posted March 1, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    Amazing book!

    "...Every day in Pakistan seven million children get up in the dark before dawn. They work all day..." Iqbal is about a little boy who works at a carpet factory. The story is told from the perspective of a little girl named Fatima who has been working in the factory for as long as she remembers. If the children mess up they have to sit in a tomb with no food and water. This story is about child labor. It taught me many things, mostly how horrible child labor is, how it only takes one little girl or little boy to change something, how important working together is, and how quickly people can give up. I never thought that in other places people work children sometimes harder than adults. It inspired me to help these people but, mostly to be thankful for the life that I do have. I couldn't imagine working in labor like that for every day of my life. I loved all the charters in this book. Maria was my favorite though because she is such a tiny girl but yet she made a huge influence in the safety of the children. Everyone has an excuse for not doing something but, everyone can do there part in something. I thought the most interesting character was Karim. He was basically put in charge of the group of workers. I was always waiting and very surprised to see his reaction to things that came up. Weather he would take the masters side or the kid's side. There was pressure on him either way he went. The master would get him in trouble or blame everything on him or he would disappoint the children. There wasn't any part that I didn't enjoy in the book. This book grossed me out because the children were put through just horrible situations for example when they went in the tomb. They would come back falling over because they were so hungry or the sunlight blinded them. Something that really made me sad is that Iqbal told the children that they would probably never be freed. I'm not sure why or how that happens but the master gets the kids hope up every day.

    I would defiantly recommend this book for anyone. It is easy reading and very interesting. I couldn't put the book down. Although, the end was a little confusing for me. I really wish there was a second book. I want to see what happens!

    3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted May 20, 2011

    Shockingly true story

    I can't believe this is based on a true story. Makes you think how lucky you are to be free from bonded labor. Read the book, it will change your perspective.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted May 9, 2011

    more from this reviewer

    Quick read.

    What a sad but couragous short story. Iqbal's bravery is outstanding. There are very few people like him. A very inspirational story.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 9, 2013

    Best book ever

    So great

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 31, 2012

    I love it

    It is a very touching book and teaches a lot about child labor. I recomend it to young adults or children who are interested in the subject. It is sad that iqbal died but we all believe what iqbal did was mostly right.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 18, 2011

    The brave Iqbal

    In Packistan where they live the is bonded child labor fatima works at a carpet factory when iqbal comes he changes there lives forever he escapes to go get help and fatima and iqbal have a strong friendship then i misfortune happens and then maria writes to fatima ro tell her but there is an iqbal everywhere she learns. This is the kind of book when u get into u want to still read it. There are sad and happy parts and the ending is the best. Enjoy reading

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 16, 2013

    The book was amazing i loved the stiry and passion and bravery and confidence in the characters

    LOVED IT

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 4, 2013

    SAD

    So sad you will not cry.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 2, 2012

    Iqbal

    This is a sad book. But it is also an amazing book about slavery and it is cute how they want to help the other children who need help becominng free from their master's . Its a great book, you should read it .

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 12, 2012

    If i could put more stars i would

    Omg this book is the best book i have ever read it is a huge life leson for young one and not so young one i read this book in school for a novel swap we did ad even though this is a ttrue yet sad stoy the book is telling it happens all across the world even in america and it might even be happing right where u live and ues its haping right now as u are reading this so read iqbal to see what i talking aboit an se if can find a way to help these poor children so read and tell me how u liked it thanks

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 5, 2012

    Iqbal

    Wonderful

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 3, 2012

    Sad

    Did you know he died Easter Sunday?He did.

    0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 16, 2011

    Amazing

    Can't belive this actually happened. Great book

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 11, 2011

    Awesome Book

    I read this book in one of my classes last year and i loved it, and i still do. Its an awesome book. Its also very sad. And my teacher said when we watched the movie that he had dreamy eyes, and she was right. He does have dreamy eyes.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted July 24, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    amazing

    This is a hard book to read because of the images and the ending but it is absolutly outstanding.

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  • Posted March 6, 2009

    Totally gnarly

    I loved it but very depressing

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted December 10, 2008

    iqbal

    BEST BOOK EVER

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 29, 2008

    Iqbal

    Iqbal, a worker for a carpet factory, all brave, all nice, and very willing to help. He was the one who made the most beautiful carpet and ripped it. To the tomb he was sent, but with all his friends¿ help, sneaking out at night and bringing him leftover food, he came out alive. He was the one that ran away that promised Fatima, his best friend they will fly a kite in spring, and he did it. He made a difference to all the children slaves that was sent to pay off the family¿s debt by setting them free one factory at a time. An outstanding novel, I say. For all the slaves, Iqbal made a difference. The amazing non-stop writing gave strong emotions and feelings. The descriptions of the workers¿ lives were unbelievable described. This book, Iqbal made me think differently about the slaves that had once been set free by a 12 year old boy¿. and his name was Iqbal.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 5, 2008

    Iqbal

    Iqbal¿s story is told from the point of view of Fatima, one of Iqbal¿s fellow child laborers. Iqbal is a child of less than thirteen when he is brought to Hussian Khan¿s Carpet Factory. The children there are treated horribly. Some are even chained to their looms. Before Iqbal¿s arrival, all the children accepted their fate, but he gave them hope. Now they must escape. I enjoyed this book. I liked how author Francisco D¿Adamo develops Iqbal¿s character. Iqbal is not new to child labor so he is not afraid of Hussian Khan. Even after he is severely punished he still has the determination to escape and free his friends. D¿Adamo has done a great job of describing what life was like before and after Iqbal¿s arrival. Before Iqbal came there was a false hope that each child would pay off their debt, and the children always did what Hussian Khan told them to do relatively quickly. Iqbal removed the false hope and replaced it with the real hope that they could escape. D¿Adamo is also great at portraying moods and feelings. I enjoyed how she described Hussian Khan when he was angry. ¿His face was red and the swollen veins in his neck looked ready to burst.¿ I also enjoyed how she described all the other child slaves in the factory.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 5, 2008

    The Story of Iqbal

    Iqbal Masih appeared at the workshop changing Fatima¿s, a young Pakistani girl¿s life forever. In the workshop there are child laborers working to clear their family¿s debt. Hussain Khan, their master, promises that the lines on their slate are their family¿s debt and that each line is a rupee. According to how well they do on their carpets, they get a rupee removed from their slate When they get all their lines removed, they¿re free from debt and they can go home. Well Iqbal, has been sold from one master to another, so he¿s very experienced. He explains to them that even though the master removes a rupee, Hussain Khan plans to keep them forever. As he continues to work in the workshop, his courage shines and that¿s why Fatima¿s life is changed forever. Though having to be put in a tomb for several days, Iqbal continued to run away to get help to free the children in his workshop from slavery. He inspired many children throughout his life and he had a huge impact on children, working in child labor. Iqbal¿s name will live on forever and be a symbol, showing the battle he went through to try and free every single child from the slavery and labor they were in. I liked this book because it showed me that my life is really good because I don¿t have to pay off my families debt and be put in slavery and child labor. This book shows me that it doesn¿t matter if you¿re young or old, you still can inspire people and have an impact on them. One thing I didn¿t like about the book was that it was a little choppy and boring at the beginning and middle of the book. It really starts to get interesting closer to the end, I think. This book is also pretty sad but you end the book having a good spirit, knowing that this person Iqbal inspired children in labor, even though he was only thirteen.

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