“When Malala is prime minister someday, you can be her secretary,” he said. Atal , the . I am Malala, a girl like any other—although I do have my special talents. Get online PDF I Am Malala: The Girl Who Stood Up for Education and Was Shot by the Taliban today. Download Best Book I Am Malala: The Girl Who Stood Up. PDF | On Oct 30, , Renu Yadav and others published I am Malala, The Girl Who Stood Up for Education and Was Shot by the Taliban.
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I AM MALALA. The Girl Who Stood Up for Education and was Shot by the Taliban . Malala Yousafzai with Christina Lamb. Weidenfeld &. I am Malala: The Story of the Girl Who Stood Up for Education. Pages and then there are men everywhere and I am searching for my I am Malala: The. PDF Drive is your search engine for PDF files. As of today we have 78,, eBooks for you to download for free. No annoying ads, no download limits, enjoy .
A daughter is born ; My father the falcon ; Growing up in a school ; The village ; Why I don't wear earrings and Pashtuns don't say thank you ; Children of the rubbish mountain ; The mufti who tried to close our school ; The autumn of the earthquake The Valley of Death. Between Life and Death. Important events in Pakistan and Swat. Malala Yousafzai refused to be silenced and fought for her right to an education. On Tuesday, October 9, , when she was fifteen, she almost paid the ultimate price.
Over whatever you can think of. My ten-year-old brother, Atal, annoys me less. And he is quite good at chasing down the cricket ball when we kick it out of bounds. But he does make up his own rules sometimes. When I was younger and these brothers started coming along, I had a little talk with God. God, I said, you did not check with me before sending these two. They are quite inconvenient sometimes, I told God.
When I want to study, they make a terrible racket. And when I brush my teeth in the morning, they bang on the bathroom door. But I have made my peace with these brothers.
At least with a pair of them, we can play a cricket match. Our favorite, though, was cricket.
We played cricket day and night in the alley by our house or up on our roof, which was flat. Most of them are not as civilized as girls. Two taps, that was our code. Safina was my playmate from the time I was about eight. We sometimes copied each other, but one time I thought she had gone too far, when my favorite possession—my only toy, a pink plastic cell phone my father had given me—went missing. That afternoon, when I went to play with Safina, she had an identical phone!
The next day, a necklace.
She had found the stolen trinkets in my small cupboard and had returned them. But my mother was unmoved. You should have set a good example. But it was the long wait for my father to come home that was worse.
He was my hero—brave and principled—and I was his jani. He would be so disappointed in me. He knew I was being so hard on myself already that he had no need to reprimand me. Instead, he consoled me by telling me about the mistakes great heroes had made when they were children. One part of that code is badal—a tradition of revenge—where one insult must be answered by another, one death by another, and on and on it goes. I had had my taste of exacting revenge.
And it was bitter. I vowed then that I would never partake in badal.
I apologized to Safina and her parents. I hoped Safina would apologize, too, and return my phone. Safina and I quickly got back to being friends, and we and all the neighborhood children were back at our running and chasing games.
At that time, we lived in a part of town far from the city center.
Behind our house was a grassy lot scattered with mysterious ruins—statues of lions, broken columns of an old stupa, and hundreds of enormous stones that looked like giant umbrellas—where, in the summer, we played parpartuni, a game of hide-and-seek.
In the winter, we made snowmen until our mothers called us in for a cup of hot milky tea and cardamom. Only twice had I not come top — both times when I was beaten by my class rival Malka e-Noor. I was determined it would not happen again. The school was not far from my home and I used to walk, but since the start of last year I had been going with other girls in a rickshaw and coming home by bus. He made us all laugh with his crazy stories.
I had started taking the bus because my mother was scared of me walking on my own. We had been getting threats all year. Some were in the newspapers, some were notes or messages passed on by people.
My mother was worried about me, but the Taliban had never come for a girl and I was more concerned they would target my father as he was always speaking out against them. I thought if anyone attacked me it would be on those steps. I wondered what I would do. What you are doing is wrong. I told my best friend Moniba everything.
Her dream was to be a fashion designeralthough she knew her family would never agree to it, so she told everyone she wanted to be a doctor. I was different — I never hid my desire when I changed from wanting to be a doctor to wanting to be an inventor or a politician. Moniba always knew if something was wrong.
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