womany education based on education :
If you don't know who is Malala, please come and see! Malala, a girl who speaks bravely for women's rights , 16 years old, has stepped into her body to fight the Taliban's power, to defend women's right to education, and she is not afraid of bullets. "I have the right to education, I have the right to play, to sing, to the market, and I have the right to appeal."She has a very small body, and she has a great power.And what we can actually do is much more than thought.We'd like to invite you to listen to the following stories of the struggle of Malala.(Extended Read: Success, Success, Watch Six Successful Women's stories )
I am Malala, and a girl who was shot for education for education .
For all girls who have been treated with an unjust treatment and who remain silent. We work together, and others will hear.
I am from a country that was founded at midnight.However, at the time of my death and death, the time was just after noon.
A year ago, when I left home to school, I never came home again.I was shot by the Taliban, and I was taken off the plane with me in the event of a loss of consciousness.Some people say I will never return to my homeland again, but I am convinced that I will definitely go back.No one is willing to be forced to leave the country of love.
Now, every morning when I open my eyes, I yearn to see the old room full of my things, with my full clothes, and on the shelf, which is displayed in the school.But I was in a country with my dear motherland, Pakistan, and my hometown Swat valley, where there were five hours of time difference.You can imagine the convenience of this place.Each tap has a choice of water and cold and hot water. The lights only need to be pressed and not used for the day and night, and no need to use oil lamps.Everything here is very modern, and even if you unpack it, you have cooked food.
When I look outside the window, I can see the tall buildings, long roads, and the train moves in an orderly manner.Both the bush and the turf are trimmed and flattened, and the flat sidewalks are used for human walking.I close my eyes, and I have a moment when I'm back in my —, the — of the mountains, the white snow in the mountains, the green wilderness, the blue river — and the — who think of Swat, and my heart will smile happily.My thoughts were to bring me back to school, and to join my teachers and classmates.I saw my best friend, Moniba, and we sat down and talked and laughed, as if I had never left.
I am reminded that I am now in Birmingham, United Kingdom.
Everything was changed on October 9, 2012.This day is not a good day, because it happens to be a college entrance exam day, but I don't feel like a classmate feels that an exam is a big deal like me.
On the morning of the morning, as usual, we were in a colourful, exhaust yellow truck, and each one of them packed between five and six girls to the narrow muddy Hjji Baba Road.Since the Taliban, our schools can't have any more signs, and in the white wall of the timber yard, there is no decoration on the bronze doors, so people can't see what is inside the wall.
For us girls, that door is like a magic door to our own world.When we were in the fish, we immediately opened the veil, like the wind blowing out the clouds, so that the sun could be sprinkled, and then we would walk up the stairs.Above the staircase is an open courtyard, with several doors leading to different classrooms.We leave school bags in the classroom and then we gather under the sky for morning prayers.We stand on the back of the mountains.A girl gives orders, " Assaan bash!" It's just a little bit more!After all, we will be in the heel and promise to "Allah!"She said, "Hoo she yar!""Attention!""We will have the heel of God," Allah!"
This school was founded by my father before I was born, and the upper wall is painted with red and white paint on the Carol School.The 15-year-old class is a nine-year course that has six in the morning to go to school, to recite chemical formulas or to study Urdu's grammar; to write a story in English, like "Wish", or to draw a blood — chart —It is hard to imagine who would regard such an issue as a threat.Outside the school, however, it was not just the noisy and crazy of Mingora, the main town of Swat, and many of those who, like the Taliban, thought girls should not go to school.
This morning, as usual, it was a little bit later than usual.Because it was the college entrance examination period, it was not 8:00, but at nine o'clock, so it was good, because I didn't like to get up early, and I could sleep until the cry of the chicken and the Voice of the morning sun followed the sound of the morning prayer.
My long room is at the forefront of our home, the only home is a bed and a cupboard, and this cupboard is bought with the prize I received when I fought for peace and women's rights in the valley of the valley.A few of these racks were filled with a gold plastic cup and a medal that I received in my class.
The school was not far from my home, and I used to walk to school, but since last year, I went to school with other girls and took the bus home.I started taking the bus because my mother didn't dare let me go on my way alone.We were threatened all year round.Some are on the paper, some are small notes or messages sent by others.My mother was worried about me, but the Taliban didn't specifically target a little girl.What I am more worried about is that the Taliban will target my father as an attack, because he always speaks against them.My father's close friend, and also his friend, Saeed Khan, who was on his way to prayer in August, was shot in the face, and I knew that everyone was telling my father: "Be careful, otherwise you will be next."" (Extended reading: strive upstream!)the nine girls' learning dreams )
Our street, the car can't open, so when I go home, I'm going to get off the creek side of the road, get through a locked iron gate, and then go a little more stairs.I always felt that if someone was going to attack me, it would definitely be on the stairs.I was like my father as a fantasy man, and sometimes my mind would float away in the classroom, and then I would imagine that when I came home, there would have been terrorists jumping out of the stairs to shoot me.I would like to see how I would react.Maybe I'll take off my shoes and hit him, but I think if I did, I'd be different from the terrorists.
It is better to ask for mercy, "OK, if you want to shoot, you drive, but please listen to me first."It is not right for you to do so.I am not against you. I just hope that every girl can go to school."
I am not afraid, but I am also going to go to bed at night to confirm whether the door is locked and to ask God what happens after the death.I'll tell my best friend, Moniba.We've lived in the same street since we were kids, and we've always been good friends since we were kids, and we shared everything else, like little Justin's song and the twilight movie, and the best of the beauty cream.Her dream was to be a fashion designer, but she knew that her family would never agree, so she told us that she wanted to be a doctor.In our society, if girls really have a chance to work, it is very difficult to engage in any profession other than teachers or doctors.I was different — I never concealed that I wanted to be a doctor, and I wanted to be an inventor or a politician.If anything is wrong, Moniba can always find out."Don't worry," I told her, " The Taliban have never targeted a little girl."
When the bus comes, we use the next steps.The car was packed with 20 female students and three teachers.I was sitting on the left, Moniba and the other little one of our year's girls.He sits on both sides of my side, and we hold a large number of books on the examination, while the schoolbags are placed under the feet.
After that, I was kind of obscure.I remember the trucks were hot and sticky.The days of the day were too cold, and only a thin layer of snow covered the mountain range of the Hindu Kush mountains.There were no windows in the back seat, and plastic rubberized with plastic rubberized plastic sheeting, which were covered with dust, and covered with dust. There was no way to see the outside.We can only see traces of blue sky in the back and a glimpse of the sun. At that time, the sun looked like a yellow sphere, floating in the sand of the sky.
I remember that the bus was on the road, as usual, to the right and to the abandoned cricket field.And then I don't remember anything. In my imagination, my father was also on the bus, and he was shot with me, and there were people everywhere, and I looked everywhere for my father. The fact is that our car suddenly stopped.It's a long weed on our left hand side.He was the first Minister of Economic Affairs of Swat.The right hand side is a snack factory.We should be at a distance of not more than 200 meters from the inspection post.
We don't see the front, but a young man standing in front of the car with a beard, a beard, and a light-coloured dress, waving his hands to indicate that the car will stop.
"Is this a school bus for Keczil school?"He asked the driver.
The name of the school is written on the body, and the big brother Uthiman wants to think of it as a stupid question.Yes.He said.
" I need information for several of these children.That man said.
" Well, you should go to the office." It's a big, big, big, big
When he spoke, another man wearing a white shirt came to the rear of the car."This is the view of the press," he said.Moniba said.Ever since I started to fight with my father about women's rights and protests like those of the Taliban who want to hide us, there are always journalists, even foreigners, but never, like this, find the roadside.
The man wears a hat with a wide margin and a handkerhead, as if he had the flu.He looks like a college student.Then he jumped to the rear of the car, and he came straight to us.
Who is Malala?He asked a tone of his command.
There is no opening, but several of the girls are looking towards me.I'm the only girl who hasn't wrapped my face.
At this point, he raised a black pistol.I later realized that it was a Colt 45 automatic pistol.A couple of girls screamed.Muniba told me that I was holding her hands tightly.
My friends said that the man fired three shots, one gun followed by a gun.The first shot passed through my left eye, and the bullet was ejected from the left ear.I collapsed on Moniba, and blood flowed out of my left ear, so the other two bullets hit the girl next to me.There was a gun in the left hand of the summer and summer news.The third gun is from Cane.Riyaz's left shoulder entered her upper right arm.
My friends later told me that the gunmen were shaking when they opened fire. When we arrived at the hospital, my long hair and Moniba's thighs were full of blood.
Who is Malala?I'm Malala, and this is my story.
Malala · Youssef · Zai (Pashto: The "Aims"), which is a "["]] "["] "["] "["] "["] "[s]", " ", "," "," "," "," Malala Yousafzai, Malala Yousafzai, 12 July 1997), and Marala."Yusuf, a student in the town of Mingora in the northwestern province of Khyber-Puhtukhwa in northwestern Pakistan, is known for his rights to education.Malala introduced her blog to her friends and her friends in the Taliban regime, and later won the first National Youth Peace Prize in Pakistan.
one of the most popular candidates for the Nobel Peace Prize in 2013, but Marlala's spirit of education has inspired many of Pakistan's people.(Extended reading: Attitude and environment for her learning )
On October 9, 2012, Malala was in critical condition in an attempt to assassinate the head and neck of the Taliban when he was on her way home from a school bus.He was later transferred to the UK for treatment, and on January 4, 2013.In recognition of Malala's outstanding contribution to the threat of the Taliban and to the Pakistani girls' right to education, the United Nations stated on November 10, 2012 that it would be the Malala Day on July 12 every year.
Father of Malala said
She is the daughter of the world, and she dedicated herself to this society.
Look at the purest voice of a girl, how to shake the world, I am Malala