One Saturday morning in Seoul, inside a small room in an old annex of a Buddhist temple, a group of homeless children gathered around a table to attend what has become a unique weekend educational program.
The children ranged in age from 6 to 16, with ages 9 to 14 making up the bulk of the group. Some had just arrived in Seoul from rural villages, hoping to find work or make quick money. Others had been living on the street for years, sleeping under bridges or in cardboard boxes in subway stations.
Despite their hardships, they came to learn. The program, called the Noksa Weekend School, is one of South Korea's few organised initiatives dedicated to educating homeless children.
The Noksa Weekend School operates out of the temple in a working-class neighbourhood on the fringe of Seoul. Noksa is a Korean word meaning "homeless" or "having nowhere to sleep." The program, which began in 1998, accepts students from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m. on Saturday mornings, offering classes in Korean, math, English, art and computer literacy.
The school's director and founder, Rev. Lee Kyung-je, a Zen Buddhist priest, started the program after encountering homeless children in Seoul and recognizing their isolation and despair. Since then, the school has grown to serve dozens of homeless children.
"Many of these children have been abandoned," explained Lee, a thin, soft-spoken man with grey hair who has dedicated his life to helping Seoul's most vulnerable children. "They either ran away from home or were cast out by their families. Others arrived in Seoul from the provinces, hoping to find work. Without education or job training, they have few options but to survive on the streets."
Teacher Kim Young-hee, one of two full-time educators on staff, added: "These are brilliant children with potential. The problem is they have no support system, no family structure, no resources. Many have never had the chance to go to regular school. We're trying to give them a foundation—basic literacy, numeracy skills, and most importantly, the self-confidence to believe they can have a future."
The curriculum focuses on practical skills and emotional development. Beyond the traditional subjects, the school emphasizes computer literacy, knowing that technology access is crucial for homeless youth trying to find employment or pursue further education.
Art class was a favourite among the students. One girl drew elaborate figures with coloured markers; another boy sketched detailed buildings. "Through art, we can reach them emotionally," said Kim. "They express themselves in ways they might not through words."
During the Korean language lesson that morning, the children practiced writing their names and simple words. Rev. Lee moved from student to student, offering encouragement and praise for their efforts.
"You're doing great," he told one boy, patting his shoulder. The child beamed with pride.
The school also provides a hot meal each Saturday—a critical resource for children who often go hungry. This simple gesture of care demonstrates the school's commitment to addressing not just educational needs, but the basic survival needs of these vulnerable youth.
Beyond the classroom, the Noksa Weekend School serves as a sanctuary. For three hours each Saturday, the children have a safe place, warm meals, and adults who genuinely care about their wellbeing and future. In a country where homeless individuals face significant social stigma, the school represents hope and dignity.
Rev. Lee's vision extends beyond weekend classes. He hopes to eventually establish a residential facility where homeless children can live, study, and receive counselling. "These children deserve a chance at life," he said. "Education is the key to breaking the cycle of poverty and homelessness."
The Noksa Weekend School is supported by donations and volunteer teachers. While the school's resources are limited, its impact on the children is immeasurable. For many students, it represents the first adult investment in their lives, the first suggestion that they matter, that their future is worth investing in.
As the Saturday morning session ended and the children prepared to leave, several lingered, reluctant to return to the streets. They knew they would be back the following Saturday, but that was a week away. For now, the cold reality of homelessness awaited them.
Yet something had changed. These children had experienced a few hours of normalcy, of hope, of human connection. And as Rev. Lee stood at the doorway, waving goodbye, it was clear that for him, every Saturday session was a seed planted—a small but determined effort to transform lives one child at a time.