"Why can’t that girl move her legs?”
At eight years old, I tugged at my mother’s sleeve, interrupting her mid-bargaining with a shopkeeper in Quetta. A man had just lifted his daughter into a wheelchair. Her legs hanging limp.
"She has polio," both my mother and the shopkeeper replied.
"There’s no cure once the virus strikes. It becomes a lifelong disability."
I froze. Until that moment, polio had been just a word I heard on the news or briefly read about at school. That day, it became real; not a textbook concept, but a human tragedy. My mother’s words stayed with me for days: “It only takes two drops. Free. Given right at your doorstep.”
Those two drops—tiny, unassuming—hold the power to protect a child from paralysis. But for that girl, Gulalai, the protection had come too late. She had contracted the virus in Killa Abdullah, a district in the Pashtun belt of Balochistan—one of the most marginalized and impoverished areas of Pakistan. That single moment became a defining memory in my life.
In June 2024, a 1.5 year old child from Killa Abdullah was paralysed by wild poliovirus WPV1. Just two months later, an 11-month-old infant of the same district tested positive. This is a stark reminder that polio remains a threat in areas with low vaccination coverage.
According to the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) 64% of Killa Abdullah’s population lives in multidimensional poverty. The very same place that Gulalai was from. The district has some of the lowest development indicators in the country. Imagine the plight of a child—especially a girl—in such a setting. Polio strips her not only of physical strength, but of access to education, mobility, even potentially marriage prospects in a society where disability is heavily stigmatized.
But this isn’t gendered, it isn’t just about girls. Boys too are impacted with equal severity. Their chances of gaining an education or contributing economically to their families diminish rapidly. The same challenges extend across the border in Afghanistan. As someone with Afghan heritage, given my grandmother was from Afghanistan, this truth cuts deeply. I carry the sorrow of shared failure from both regions.
Today, despite progress, polio remains an ongoing threat. According to a media release from the Regional Reference Laboratory for Polio Eradication at the National Institute of Health, “60 environmental (sewage) samples were collected from 51 districts in early 2025. Of these, 25 tested positive for WPV1, while 35 samples tested negative.”As of May 18th, 2025 the number of WPV1 cases are eight (8).
Recent testing found poliovirus in sewage samples from both rural and urban areas across Pakistan, including major cities like Lahore, Peshawar, and Quetta. Positive samples were also detected in districts such as Dukki, Pishin, South Waziristan, and Bahawalnagar. This confirms that the virus continues to quietly circulate, posing a major challenge to polio eradication efforts.
But there’s hope. Thanks to high-quality vaccination campaigns since September 2024, cases have dropped dramatically—from 74 cases in 2024 to just ten in May 2025. The next nationwide polio campaign scheduled from May 26 to June 1, aims to vaccinate 45.4 million children under the age of five.
This is what fuels my continued hope. The scale and humanity behind Pakistan’s eradication effort. Learning about the vast network of nearly 400,000 trained workers, the world's largest disease surveillance system, and the many heroes behind the scenes deepened my belief that eradication is within reach.
Nearly seven years after seeing Gulalai, I attended a UNICEF-WHO-Government workshop where I heard moving stories from frontline workers who risk their lives to protect children from polio. Many have faced threats, harassment, and even violence, and sadly, over 200 polio workers have lost their lives in the line of duty, according to the National Institute of Health (NIH).
These health workers are more than part of a programme; they are part of a movement built on courage and sacrifice to protect millions of futures. Their bravery lit something in me — a commitment to play my part too.
I began to write and speak out. In my capacity as a teenage writer, I published my first op-ed—an open letter to parents—where I attempted to debunk myths about the vaccine and encourage and assure skeptic parents. It was printed in a leading national daily. I started speaking at UNICEF-led awareness campaigns and recorded video messages addressing fears in tribal regions and convincing skeptical parents on both sides of the border because viruses do not respect borders, and neither should empathy or awareness.
What I was contributing to on the ground was part of a much larger, decades-long global effort to eradicate polio entirely. This urgency, however, is not new. The global fight against polio has been decades in the making. Since the first polio vaccines by Dr. Jonas Salk (1955) and Dr. Albert Sabin (1961), global cases have fallen by over 99%. Yet today, Pakistan and Afghanistan remain the only two endemic countries. The first vaccine against polio was developed by Dr. Jonas Salk in 1955. Albert Sabin’s oral vaccine followed in 1961, transforming public health strategy across the world.
According to WHO, “Cases due to wild poliovirus have decreased by over 99% since 1988, from an estimated 350,000 cases in more than 125 endemic countries, to two endemic countries.” It’s deeply sobering to say that these two countries are Pakistan and Afghanistan.
Why, then, does it still exist here? Why do we lag behind when the solution is so simple?
Because we haven’t yet reached every child. Because misinformation and low routine immunization rates still thrive. Because we live in times where propaganda works against us..
Nonetheless, I believe in a polio-free Pakistan. Not because it’s easy—but because it’s possible, because it is essential. Several countries across the Middle East and Africa like Iraq, Yemen and Somalia —despite being plagued by conflict, weak health systems, and extreme underdevelopment—have still managed to eliminate wild poliovirus. We've seen continents wipe out the virus. We can too—if we act now.
We owe it to children like Gulalai.
To the workers who walk dusty roads and snow-covered mountains under threat.
To those who gave their lives so others could live without fear of paralysis.
To the millions of children whose futures rest on two simple drops.
Because no child, anywhere, should suffer from a disease we can prevent.
With courage and compassion, we can end polio. Every child deserves the chance to walk, learn, and thrive, and together, we can make it happen.
About the author:
Alishba Barech, 22, is a UNICEF Champion for Polio, youth advocate, and author — Pakistan’s youngest published novelist, having released her first book at age 11. Originally from Quetta, Balochistan, she has been internationally recognized for her literary and advocacy work, including being named Young Woman of the Year at the 2025 Women Changing the World Awards in London. She has contributed to national campaigns on health and education, including UNICEF’s global mental health initiative 'On My Mind'. Alishba currently serves as a Youth Advisor to the Prime Minister of Pakistan, is a member of the National Youth Council, and represents Quetta Gladiators as a Youth Ambassador. She is pursuing a degree in Liberal Arts at Beaconhouse National University, Lahore.