The clang of Omar’s trowel against brick was the first sound of the evening, a steady rhythm that began as the sun bled behind the dusty hills. His day job, building walls for a wealthy man’s villa, was done. Now, his real work began.The dream was simple: a school for his village. The children here trekked ten miles to the next town, their futures fading with the dust kicked up by their worn-out shoes. The elders had sighed. "A fine dream, Omar, but who will pay? Who will build?"Omar’s answer was silent, stubborn, and built of clay and conviction. "I