Brides-to-be wait during a mass wedding ceremony in Karachi.

According to a 2011 Thomson Reuters Foundation poll, Pakistan is the third most dangerous country in the world for women. He cited more than 1,000 women and girls killed each year in "honor killings" and said that 90% of Pakistani women were victims of domestic violence.

Westerners generally associate the plight of Pakistani women with religious oppression, but the reality is much more complex. In certain patriarchal societies like Pakistan, a certain mentality is deeply ingrained. Poor and illiterate women must fight daily for basic rights, identity and dignity. They should live in a culture that admires them through the male characters in their lives, even though these women are often the breadwinners for their families.

Silently, slowly, in small legal reforms, the process of women's empowerment is beginning in Pakistan. You meet inspiring women here daily. Empathetic employers sometimes provide protection and support, as do other women who have performed well. NGOs and charities try to help empower women, but not all women benefit from these resources. She is afraid of her husbands, draws unwanted attention, somehow hurts her family's honor, or often, she doesn't know there is help. With a female literacy rate of 36%, many women are so uneducated that they do not know their rights.

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A difficult irony for women in Pakistan is that if a victim talks about physical or sexual abuse, she is seen to have lost her dignity and that of her family. Many rapes are not reported because the victim fears that she will be useless in Pakistani society. Often, women will turn to their employers. Families they can count on. This is usually a neglected form of charity but one that can be important for their survival.

These are the stories of six poor, working women of different ages, backgrounds and life experiences in the Pakistani city of Karachi, where I grew up and where I met them. In interviews, which I have translated, edited, and below, they tell me about their lives and struggles during poverty and often violence.

These women have agreed to share stories and photos so that the world can better understand these challenges. To protect them, I have not used their full names.

Ayesha, age 18

On the night of his birth, when my whole family was celebrating, I went to my uncle's house to get some more bread. I didn't know there was a young man there. In the empty house he took advantage of me. He did things I didn't understand. He touched my chest. Before I knew it, I was covered and I was being raped. I was having trouble walking home. I felt faint and had a headache. This happens a lot in the villages. Young girls are raped, murdered and buried. No one has been able to trace him since his disappearance. If a woman is not chaste, then she is not worthy of marriage. He just apologized and they let him go because it was best to avoid letting others know what had happened. He was not punished for destroying me. People may have forgotten what he did, but I never forgot. He is now married and living happily ever after. I blame my fate. I'm just unfortunate that this happened to me.

I was scared when I started working. I guess it was natural, I was only ten years old. Although I consider myself lucky. In the homes where I worked, I was responsible for caring for the children. Prepare them, feed them and play with them. I had a lot of fun. I felt like a child in them. I was able to revive my childhood. Soon, I became so used to working that I felt safer and happier at work than at home and in the village. Our village is full of drug addicts and rude and disrespectful people. Men like my own father.

At the moment we live in a small house in Karachi which has a room and the floor is broken. Whenever I went to visit my parents, I would either see abuse between them or something more disturbing. Ever since I was little, my dad always beat my mom shamelessly. My whole family is aware of my father's abuse. It's no secret. My mother is very obedient. She never tells my father. She leaves home for work at 8 in the morning and returns at midnight. Even if she is tired, she does everything she can to make him happy. She runs our house and cooks whatever she wants. All the men in our village beat their wives, this is normal and women let it happen. Maybe it's fear, maybe it's frustration, I never understood.

As sad as it may seem, my part is no longer afraid of physical abuse. I'm afraid of big things. As I grew older, my father changed. He started smoking, drinking and maybe even using drugs from my income. He started sleeping with me. In the middle of the night he would touch me inappropriately and take off my clothes. Because I was afraid, I would act as if I was sleeping and turn around. After her first sexual assault, I slept in her house every night in fear. I kept dreaming that my father was raping me. I'm very scared I've heard that it never happens if you don't share your dream with anyone else. So I never shared what happened to me.

After all, the only person I could turn to was my employer. He knows what's going on in my house and I know I can count on him. In January, I feared I might become pregnant, and she took care of all my medical expenses without anyone knowing. Thankfully, I wasn't, but if I was, she was ready to take care of me. The reputation of women in Pakistani society is very weak. I begged him not to let me go on vacation, and to keep me in his house where I felt safe. Without testing me, she accepted me, and gave me a place in her home like a daughter. A place that even my own parents could not give me.

Rehana, age 37

My life is no different from any other woman living in poverty in Pakistan. My husband is abusive and I am the main earner. I am trying to educate my children because they are my last hope. The only difference in my story is that if it hadn't been for an incident in my life, I could have achieved it all.

I grew up in a house where my parents were barely earning enough to support a family of 14 of us. My father made medicine cans while my mother worked at home as a helper. We learned to live with very little.

I got engaged to Nasser when I was 14 years old. Living with her was the best time of my life. He was a kind man and earned a decent living. Although we never spent much time together, I felt like I loved it. I think no one ever forgets their first love.

Then, one terrible night after my wedding, some young men broke into our house at about 3 o'clock in the morning. They tied up my parents and beat them. I was sleeping in the next room with my two sisters. As I was the eldest, they pulled me out of bed and tied my legs. I knew they wanted to abuse me. I explained that if anything happened to me, I would lose everything. I grabbed a knife and told them I would kill myself if they continued. Eventually, they decided to let me go. I survived, but the damage was already done. When Nasir and his family heard the news, I was considered "used" and no longer deserved it. Just last night, six boys broke into a house and stole everything. When the parents resisted, they threatened to take the daughter away. This is very common in our neighborhood. It is so easy for a young girl to lose her dignity and tarnish her reputation due to uncontrollable circumstances.

When I was 15, I married my husband Fakhir in a world of despair. Her mother asked for my hand in marriage because there was no cook in her house. I got married for their convenience. I am Fakhir's second wife. He said that he loves his first wife Rukhsana and they have two children. I think he uses my salary to help him too. Fakhir is unreliable, he sometimes goes to work, and gambles the rest of my salary.

We are always fighting for money. I want to teach my children. My time to spend on myself is over. Now I only earn for my children and my home. On pay day, if I don't pay my husband, he won't let me out of the house and he will kill me. However, I keep the fees and rent secret because I'm not sure what he will do with it. I am the main earner. My last child was only seven months old, and I had to return to work. Although doctors have told me to stop working because I have a worm in my stomach, I know I can't trust Fakhir. The medicine I was prescribed costs 3,000 rupees [$ 33 US], so I can't even treat myself.

Domestic violence began two months after my marriage and did not stop fourteen years later. Broken limbs, broken teeth, and abortions became commonplace for me. I don't know why he beats me. Maybe he sees me as an animal that has no rights, or a punching bag for his frustrations. He certainly doesn't see me as a living, breathing human being. Wherever I have worked, I have felt as if I had been treated at home, as if I had not been treated. I feel that I deserve to be considered a human being.

Nargis, age 18

When I was little, we lived in our village with our whole family in a three bedroom house. My mother raised cattle. She sells milk and runs our house with her income. My father did not help. He never really cooperated, he was very selfish. He married his sister before he married my mother. When she died, my family told my mother that she was better able to take care of her sister's children, so she married my father. We are a family of eight, so our house is nothing left.

When I was a kid, I could never buy anything I wanted, but I got the chance to go to school. I was very interested in learning. My favorite teacher, Kiran, loved me. She would ask me to sit in her chair and help teach the other children. I used to wear scarves like this and give homework to others. Those were my best memories. I was able to learn Urdu. At the moment, my employer helps me learn English.

The women in our house are breadwinners, while my father and brother work when they feel like it. My father collects the income we all earn. It is a waste of money, he will go out with his friends and sometimes he will not come back for four or five days. He never fulfilled his responsibilities as our father, never earned for us, and he did not want us to go to school. My father was illiterate, so he would not let anyone else read. I wish my childhood was longer than that.

When I was six or seven, my parents sent me to work as a housemaid in Karachi. In my village, at the age of four, young girls first learn to sweep and clean dishes. At the age of six, we learned to iron and wash clothes. By the time we were ten, we had learned to cook.

When I was really young, I got hurt because my brother was playing cricket and the bat tore my head off. I needed stitches. My parents took me to the hospital on a bicycle and the doctors gave me medicine. In the area where I live, we had no real cure, so my mother did a lot of treatment at home. She used onions, oil, flour and dressings. At home, we didn't really see any happiness. Our parents have never been able to bring peace to our home. My father was very rude. He used to beat my mother and I have been watching him since I was a child.

I remember once when I was cleaning, I was sweeping the floor and my dad asked me to come to the store. I told her I was coming, I wanted to finish what I was doing. He became impatient and picked up a sharp wooden stick and hit me with it. I was five years old at the time. I just remember screaming and crying.

My most horrible memory was when I was eight or nine years old and I saw my father beating his mother for no reason. He started beating my mother with a faucet and an iron rod. After he finished, we all went to bed. I slept with my mother. I remember being so scared, I couldn't sleep all night. I remember my mother telling me, "No matter what, promise me you won't scream." My father had taps and iron bars under his bed. My brother and I got out of the iron rod and faucet in the middle of the night and buried it far away in the sand outside so my father could not use it. In the morning, he got so angry that he picked up a piece of wood and beat my mother, accusing her of stealing things from under his bed. I ran to her and hugged her and calmed her down. My father finally stopped. He loves me the most

Such memories are unforgettable. Growing up in an abusive environment and seeing my father's abusive ways, I lost confidence in my future. The only ray of hope comes from my work environment where I was loved and treated as a child. My work makes me feel special. Maybe there's something better for me.

Nazneen, age 41

There is only one time in a woman's life when she is truly free and that is when she is a child. She can play and laugh. We were three sisters. My younger sister went to school and my older sister got married at a young age. I read a little bit, I know how to read and write a little bit. I studied up to fourth or fifth grade but I don't remember much. We lived in a house made of mud and sticks in our village called Thatta. We came to Karachi and spent a few years for our schooling and started living in a rented house. Then we returned to our village. My parents both worked, my father earned more. My father was a laborer, he earned enough. My mother worked in a school and took care of the children. When my mother quit her job, I started working and had to give up my education.

After childhood, as a woman grows up, domestic responsibilities begin to burden her and then she gets married. If she is unlucky, she marries the wrong person and her whole life becomes a burden. When I got engaged, I started sewing from home to earn money and prepare my dowry. If we didn't provide enough dowry, there would be no marriage. As soon as I turned 16, I got married to my cousin Nabil. Within three years of marriage, my son Sameer was born. He was born prematurely at the age of seven months and I had to have an operation. My husband did not come to pick me up until ten months later. I went back to his house myself.

When I returned, everyone started abusing me. My mother-in-law and her sisters did not give me money to spend, food and most of all, no one loved my son. I started earning my own money and started taking care of my son in their house. Nabil may never have hit me, but he managed to push me emotionally. She never adopted our child. He married another woman behind my back and started a new family with his new wife. They have children. His second marriage involved his mother and sisters. How could he do that with his niece, his cousin? My life was filled with sorrow after marriage.

After this incident I came to live with my family. When my son Sameer was three years old, I went to work. Sometimes, I don't see it for a month. He calls me by my first name, and my mother. I am the main breadwinner of my household, earning only 6500 rupees [$ 72 US] a month and I barely cover my food, medicine and clothing expenses. Samir has only studied up to the fifth grade because I could not afford the higher education fees. Poor generation is one of the reasons for their illiteracy. We just can't afford it. It's not that we don't want to read. It's just that we can't.

I have seen many troubles in my life, but nothing compared to the flood that hit our village two years ago. I was working in Karachi when the flood was heading towards Thatta village. My son, mother, and sister got on the bus and left before the water came. He could carry nothing but clothes on his back. My father stayed in Thatta during the flood and stayed in the water for three days. Government workers received 20,000 rupees [$ 220 US] for each person rescued from the water. Many poor people could not save their loved ones. Even rescuing survivors is a business in Pakistan.

By the time I got home I had lost everything. All our valuables, the money I had been saving for years, and our house was broken into. We did not get any help from the government. They gave each house about Rs. 20,000 to survive, when our loss was more than Rs. 200,000. My family and I had to rebuild our own home. During these difficult times, our village developed a deep sense of community. Even if we had a one-time meal and we didn't know what we would eat the next day, we shared it with each other and prayed that God would give us something else the next day.

Haseena Bano, age 53

My life changed when my father was abducted almost 30 years ago. He was a rich and successful businessman. We were considered a rich family. Due to our lack of education, we were never able to claim the money or gold he left in his bank accounts. The bank informed us that the entire amount has been donated to charity. Soon, we fell into abject poverty. After this tragedy we lost our mother due to high blood pressure. He left behind 12 children who had to learn to live on their own. Being the eldest daughter, the domestic responsibilities fell on my weak shoulders.

I fell in love with Ali when I was 17 years old. We ran away and got married. We were very happy together, but soon her parents forced us to divorce, because they were angry with me. After Ali, I married Fazal, but this time it was decided. We moved to Iran, where I had five beautiful children whom I love very much. We looked so happy I thought we had it all, but it wasn't enough for Grace. One day he told me that my sister had died. Upset, I left for Karachi. When I arrived, and saw my sister in good health, I was confused. Fazal promised to come in a few weeks but he never came. Notice for divorce. She kept my children. At that time my youngest was two years old, today she is 12 years old. He married a young woman, Khatija, who often came to our house as a family friend. I loved Khatija like a daughter. I never expected her to cheat on me like that.

The pain of losing your children was far greater than the loss of grace. After this incident, I kept crying for panic attacks, depression, and my children. I spent two years in a charitable mental institution, first as a patient, then as a worker after recovering. Generally, the facilities in government hospitals are not very good. But I was not ready for mental torture and violence. One of the patients was beaten with a wooden stick until his nose was broken because he had broken the rules. Fear was our cure and medicine.

Meanwhile, my eldest son Shahid came to see me. Fazal tried to stop him. But he came anyway when I was very sick. When I saw him, he was speaking English. I could barely understand it. I never imagined feeling so far away from my child. He brought me clothes, money and medicine. He grabbed me and asked me to come with him. How can I return to Iran? I had nothing to do with his father. Also, I would ask her to stay, but I have no money or house to help her. My home is my place of work.

At the moment, I am much better and work at home as a helper. I take care of the kids and clean up. Wherever I have worked, I have been taken care of and given a lot of love, maybe more than that I have found in my family. My employers give me new clothes, allow me to play with my children as I play with my children, and give me a warm place to sleep at night. When they get married at home, they give me new clothes to wear and make me happy.

I hope to find love again. Even though I'm in my 50's, I hope to find someone who is older. Life has been lonely for many years. My dream is to save my money, and one day have my own home, where my children can meet me. If my dream comes true then I know I can die in peace.

Salma, age 39

In Pakistan, if you are poor and illiterate, you are just waiting for the day when your life will end. Every day goes by trying to find the motivation to live.

At the moment, I work in a home where I am treated with respect and I am very supportive of my family. At work, I'm happiest, home is where I'm most afraid.

Every day with Farooq was full of fear, every minute was long with hard work, and the physical and emotional wounds had not yet healed. I would get up early every day to iron her clothes and prepare her breakfast before going to work. He spent the day at home. If I ever ran for a while, the consequences would be terrible. He hit me hard Sometimes he would give me a black eye or break my arm. The second time, he would take me to the street and hit me in public. She showed no mercy, even when I was pregnant. Because of this I have had three miscarriages. I have two children, a daughter and a son, who were twins. Farooq killed his brother by kicking him in the stomach. He will ask me to stay with my parents during pregnancy. Sometimes in the middle of the night, out of nowhere, he would attack me in front of my children. When I take a bath I look at my stained body and I cry.

Farooq collected my entire salary and used it for alcohol and drugs. One day, he accused me of sleeping with another man and divorced me. It is a shame to be a divorced woman in Pakistani society. Although I was in trouble with her, I tried to save my marriage. He asked me to marry him and said that he would marry me after that. According to the concept of halal in law, if a woman wants to remarry her ex-husband, she has to marry another man and fulfill that marriage. I did what he asked. I married another man. I did it just so my kids could name their father. I went through this process and divorced another man, and Farooq still did not marry me. He said you are not my wife, you are my whore now. He seems to enjoy finding new ways to hurt me.

I thought he would go and it all ended, but he stayed in my life. He kept all my clothes, my furniture, my utensils, my sewing machine and my washer. He still tried to sleep with me. If I refused or spoke, I would be beaten. I was scared for my life. He would tell my daughter Seema that if I remarried he would throw acid on me. Well, he's illiterate, but is he inhuman too?

I have only one dream of my future, and that is to start a new life outside Karachi. I want to work hard, educate my children, and make them aware of the life I have experienced. My parents ask me to leave and work with Farooq because they believe that a divorced daughter is a burden even though our house is run on my income. In our culture, women look their best in their homes with their husbands. Parents feel overwhelmed when they return home. I never belonged to my house or my husband's house. I want a fresh start. I want to show all the people who have bothered me that I can make a whole new life on my own. If not for yourself, then for your children.

Thanks For Reading My Article.