The community schools emerge somewhere between the other building in the villages, they sit next to small cafes, in-between small connected houses, or sometimes by themselves. They are found in between the sandy low rise house of El Khnaim, in the busy streets of Abnoob, and the other villages in the Assiut governorate. In total there are 150 schools run by association where I'm volunteering. The schools only consists of one room. The walls are decorated by learning aids made by the students, the English and Arabic alphabet running along the walls. I look to the left and see photographs of the students in flowers, surrounded by Arabic words: "Esmee Fatma we nefsy akoun doctor" - "My name is Fatma and I dream to be a doctor."

Another saying, "Esmee Mohammed we nefsy mohandessa" - "My name is Mohammed and I dream to be an engineer." The community schools are strategically placed to give children (especially girls) who otherwise would not able to reach government schools, or to work, the chance to learn to read and write and complete grades 1 and 2. They act as a bridge back into the educational system, in a place where the lives of the children can be easily shaped by circumstance and choice, and where opportunity often gets overshadowed.

When the door opens, choruses of greetings in both Arabic and English meets us. The dark brown of the mud walls merges with the mahogany brown of the furniture, the room just about managing to fit enough desks and chairs for all the children, though some have to double up on seats. When the children stand up you can see it is clear that they are all of mixed age. Small birds fly in a out and sit somewhere in the background in between the children whispering about the strangers in the school, and sound of my colleagues talking to the facilitators. We help in the arts section; drawing and teaching English words, in the drama section by showing them how to act, and by helping to make models.

I say goodbye, which they mimic, saying goodbye as if a novelty; for many they would not have ever met someone from outside of Egypt, or a native English speaker. Smiles flash across their faces, their hands raised in response to my wave. Before I get onto the minibus to take me to a different school, I look back at the open doorway, and the couple of children who have left their seats to wave goodbye. And next to them I see a child who is not in the school, with a small goat nearby; he seems the same age as some of the children in the school but does not seem to wave - just looks at me and then looks away. Although many of the children are given a chance by these schools, being placed in their community, there is still many that can't see past their villages.

Read more about Bede's travels