At the Bologna Children’s Book Fair this April, amid shelves of newly imagined worlds and conversations about the future of children’s publishing, Basarat Midhat Kazim found herself doing something she has done for decades, speaking about children who are often left out of those conversations. As President of the Alif Laila Book Bus Society and of the International Board on Books for Young People (IBBY), she was there to represent Pakistan, but also something more specific, a way of thinking about books that begins not with markets or trends, but with access.
“It is always my great honour to represent Pakistan wherever I go,” Basarat said. “This year, Pakistan was very much in the news for its peace-making efforts, and it was heartening to hear people speak with appreciation of the country and its courage in undertaking such an important mission. It is deeply important for institutions like Alif Laila to be present at events such as the Bologna Children’s Book Fair, to speak about Pakistan’s children and the work being done with and for them, while also learning from others across the world.”
For many outside Pakistan, Alif Laila has long been a point of curiosity and admiration. It was featured on CNN as early as the 1990s and, over the years, has appeared in numerous international and local media outlets, from print publications to television. The attention has never quite defined the work, but it has helped place it on a global map. Basarat herself has received international recognition, including the IBBY iRead Outstanding Reading Promoter Award in 2024, a Stevie Gold Award, and the Library of Congress Best Practice Award. These acknowledgements matter, but they sit lightly alongside a body of work that has always been more concerned with continuity than visibility.
Where The Work Began
The story starts in Lahore in 1978, with a double decker bus turned into a children’s library by American educator Dr. Juanita Baker. At the time, it answered a very real question, how do you get books to children who have none?
That question has never really gone away. It has just changed shape.
Under Basarat’s leadership, that single bus has grown into a network of more than 7,000 libraries across Pakistan. Some are fixed, many are mobile, and all are built around the same idea, that access cannot be passive. If children cannot come to books, then books have to find their way to children.
Taking Books Where Roads End
In cities, that might look like a book bus pulling into a neighbourhood, or a rickshaw library stopping at a school that doesn’t have one. In harder to reach areas, the solutions become more inventive, and more grounded in place.
Alif Laila’s camel libraries are perhaps the most widely recognised of these. Since 2020, 13 have been launched, with nine currently active across more than 40 villages in Sindh and Balochistan, reaching over 50,000 children. The camels, with names like Nayab, Amal, Sakoon, Khushi, Mashal, Raunaq, Umeed, and Roshan, arrive in open spaces where children gather, often long before they appear on the horizon.
There is no formal staging to what happens next. Books are unpacked, children sit in circles and stories begin. Over months and years, those visits add up. Children who start by recognising letters begin to read with ease. Confidence follows. So does a sense of ownership, not just of the books, but of the space itself.
The camel libraries have also become social spaces in ways that feel organic rather than designed. Parents stay. Conversations begin. Reading stops being something that belongs only to classrooms and becomes part of everyday life. Each camel carries more than books. Solar powered tablets travel alongside them, offering digital access in places where electricity is unreliable. It is not an either-or approach. It is a way of holding both things together, the tactile experience of reading and the possibilities that technology can open up.
And if deserts call for camels, rivers call for boats. In districts like Rajanpur and Sanghar, Alif Laila’s boat libraries move across water, docking along riverbanks where children wait to climb aboard. The shift is simple but significant, the river stops being an obstacle and becomes a route.
What A Book Still Does
“In a world torn apart by war and strife, by noise and loudness, books become the haven children so urgently need,” Basarat says. “Alif Laila has always sought to be that haven, a place a child can enter and call her or his own. A place where books may be explored, miles travelled, and dreams pursued.”
There is a tendency, especially now, to frame books in opposition to screens, as if one must replace the other. Basarat does not see it that way.
“Of course, technology is useful and must be embraced,” she says. “But the power of the book can never wane. When we create spaces where children can sit, read, dream, and imagine, we preserve not only literacy, but the inner life of the child.”
That idea of an “inner life” is easy to overlook in conversations about education that focus on numbers and outcomes. But it is central to how children make sense of the world.
“A book allows the child to step into the world of another,” Basarat says. “To befriend them, to grow in empathy and understanding, and to look toward a fairer and more equitable world.”
Building On A Legacy
Amna Hassan Kazmi, the young CEO of Alif Laila, often speaks about her work in terms of inheritance. Not in the sense of something handed over, but something learned and then reshaped.
“Having worked closely for over 15 years under the guidance of our President, Basarat Kazim, I have not only grown within Alif Laila, I have also inherited a vision,” Amna states earnestly. “Her dream has always been to dot the map of Pakistan with children’s libraries, to ensure that no child, no matter how remote their location, is deprived of access to books, imagination, and learning.”
Amna’s own thinking pushes that vision a little further. “My own dream builds on this foundation to not only expand access but to transform these spaces into living ecosystems of creativity, critical thinking, and opportunity. I envision a future where every library, every mobile unit, every classroom we touch becomes a hub of inspiration, where children don’t just read, but create, question and lead.”
Her background as an artist comes through in how she describes this shift. “I strongly believe in the healing power of art,” she says. “I want to place creativity at the heart of every child’s learning journey, using art not only as expression, but as a tool for emotional healing and self-discovery.”
There is something radical in that framing. It moves the conversation from literacy as a basic skill to literacy as a way of thinking, feeling, and participating in the world.
“What drives me is the belief that stories can change lives,” she continues. “And what keeps me going is witnessing that change in real time, a child discovering their voice, a teacher reimagining their classroom, a community beginning to believe in possibility.”
Alongside its libraries, Alif Laila has built its own publishing programme, producing children’s books in Urdu and English that reflect local contexts and lived realities. Since 1992, dozens of titles have been written, illustrated, and distributed, offering children stories that feel familiar, rather than imported. This part of the work is easy to miss, but it matters. Representation in children’s literature is not only about visibility, it shapes how children understand themselves and the world around them.
“My deepest and greatest hope is that Alif Laila should not be reliant on individuals but become an institution that is an integral part of the fabric of our society,” Basarat says. “My dream extends to it becoming an organisation that children lead for children and that this model extends to all parts of Pakistan becoming an organic movement. May Pakistan read forever.”
It’s a simple line, but it carries the emotional weight of nearly five decades of work. Across cities, deserts, and rivers, Alif Laila continues to move in ways that are practical, responsive, and grounded in place. The formats may change – buses, camels, boats, rickshaws – but the intention remains steady.
“We’re not waiting for children to come to learning,” Amna says. “We’re taking learning to them.”
And in doing so, Alif Laila is holding on to something that feels increasingly necessary, not just the act of reading, but the space it creates. A place where a child can sit with a story, follow it where it goes, and, for a moment, imagine a world that is larger than the one in front of them.
To support Alif Laila Book Bus Society’s meaningful work, write to the team at: bmk_al@yahoo.com and ceo.albbs@gmail.com