Reflections on Byaspur’s Community-Led Knowledge Fair

[Sadia Jafrin]

I haven’t written a blog in a while. Maybe because some experiences take time to settle in the heart before they can be put into words.

Today, I feel ready to reflect on our Community-Led Knowledge Fair held on 15 December 2025 in Byaspur, Gopalgonj—not as an event, but as a moment of truth about what community ownership really looks like.

This Knowledge Fair was entirely organized by the Byaspur community. They planned it, hosted it, led it, and lived it. As I stood there, observing rather than directing, a deep sense of pride kept rising in me. Let me share why.

First, the choice of venue. The community collectively decided to host the fair in one of their own home yards. They explained something very simple yet powerful: if the fair were held at a school or an open field, many community members—especially women—would not be able to attend due to household responsibilities. That reality was acknowledged, respected, and planned around. What I noticed beyond that was comfort. Because the fair was held in their own space, there was no hesitation, no formality, no invisible barrier. People sat, stood, laughed, spoke, and participated as themselves. Ownership begins where comfort exists, and that day, the space truly belonged to them.

Second, the mothers. They were confident, composed, and remarkably organized. What moved me most was that they did not merely stand on a stage as symbolic participants. One by one, they held the microphone and spoke—with grace, clarity, and authenticity. No scripts prepared by outsiders, no rehearsed lines directed by facilitators. They prepared themselves. They shared their stories in their own words, in their own rhythm. Their voices carried lived experience, not performance. Watching them, I felt proud not because they spoke “well,” but because they spoke freely.

Third, our grandparents. They were phenomenal. Truly. They shared their experiences with confidence and warmth. There was no nervousness—only presence. They spoke, laughed, and even participated in sports with an energy that filled the space. Their participation reminded me that learning, leadership, and joy do not belong to any single age group. When grandparents feel safe enough to be vocal and playful, you know the community has created something deeply inclusive.

Fourth, Our Girls Teams.
The girls’ teams were one of the most inspiring sights of the day. They openly voiced their desire to play outside—right in front of parents and grandparents—who nodded in agreement. I know that change like this doesn’t happen overnight, but this was the beginning of a conversation, a spark of possibility that will grow over time. Seeing them speak so freely, supported by their community, filled me with hope for the generations to come.

Beyond these moments on stage, there was so much happening quietly and powerfully in the background. The community decorated the venue with care. They prepared winter pitha with love. On the day of the fair, they were not “volunteers” waiting for instructions—they were co-facilitators. They distributed food, prepared children for performances and sports, supported one another, and held everything together. No one asked whose responsibility it was. They simply owned it.

That is what stayed with me the most.

This Knowledge Fair was not successful because it was well-managed. It was successful because it was deeply owned. It reminded me that when communities are trusted to lead, they do not just participate—they transform the space, the process, and themselves.

And standing there in Byaspur, I felt it clearly: this is what sustainable change looks like.