The day you were born, no one smiled except the sun, because you were born between the dusk and dawn into a land where they celebrate sons, ONLY SONS. You are a daughter, a dauntless daughter who will bring not just your family, but your tribe, state and nation laughter, but how will “they” know when all they do is chatter, about how your mother isn’t fortunate to bring your father a potential master, a son. But the “they” does not include your father, which is interesting because fathers in Pashtun prefer sons to daughters, and your mother is exempted because she believes you are a shining star, the reincarnate of her grandfather, so you let out your first cry and announces to the world that you have come.
Everyone says you are intelligent and bold, you don’t believe it but truth be told, your words are like that of sages from old. You compete and beat the supposed superior beings, the sons. You are the best student in your class, you encourage other daughters who don’t have the GOLDEN PRIVILEGE to go to school, and counsel them not to give up on education. Although your place is a deserted desert in the middle of mountains and valleys, you nurture dreams of standing alongside your allies, with famous world leaders. Your dream will come to pass, but the route would not be easy.
They are here, the dark devilish devastating armies, they have encroached into homes and valleys, and made your town’s leaders their allies. Their goal is simple, The girl child must not be educated, it is against the Islamic law, or so they say. You stand, you stand up for the girl child, you speak boldly, voicing out vociferously against the virulent violence spreading in village. You think you are young and they would not attack you since your father is more expressive than you are. They have threatened your father a thousand times, maimed a hundred of his colleagues, and locked tens of schools, but you are dauntless, ferociously fearless….then something happened.
It was the day of one of your final exams; you love physics, because physics is real, honest and plain, unlike politics and terrorism that is full of pain. Your mates adorn their hands with beads, but you adorn yours with, Boyle’s law, Charles’ law, Oxidation and reduction processes and the carbon cycle. While you were basking in the aura of the present serenity, you heard your name; it was a male voice, a thick coarse voice asking “Who is Malala”? Then you heard a gunshot, no two, and you lie, first hurt, then unconscious, then lifeless.
You are awake, you hear a different diction and intonation, you have been taught English but haven’t heard the English speak English, you are excited but your body can’t express your excitement because all around your head are thick white bandages. You read people’s silence and words, they are all ecstatic you made it because your left brain was shot. You stare at the cartons of greeting cards with different “get well soon” messages, so you are energized, ebullient and full of enthusiasm to get back to your feet. In few weeks’ time, you will clock sixteen, and you will stand in front of one the most powerful gathering in the world, The United Nations Gathering, and you will deliver one of the most indelible speeches ever delivered. Few months later you will win the highly coveted, most treasured Nobel Prize not just that, you will be THE YOUNGEST PERSON TO EVER WIN IT, those that thought they silenced you, gave you a voice, a voice louder than what you heard. Your name is Malala and this is your tale.