Malala: My Story of Standing Up for Girls Rights by Malala Yousafzai

Malala: My Story of Standing Up for Girls Rights Reviews

• 
  Mariah Roze

  This book is a great, short version of her story. I really enjoyed it and definitely suggest it :)
  
  "When the Taliban took control of the Swat Valley in Pakistan, one girl spoke out. Malala Yousafzai refused to be silenced and fought for her right to an education.
  On Tuesday, October 9, 2012, when she was fifteen, she almost paid the ultimate price. She was shot in the head at point-blank range while riding the bus home from school, and few expected her to survive.
  Instead, Malala's miraculous recovery has taken her on an extraordinary journey from a remote valley in northern Pakistan to the halls of the United Nations in New York. At sixteen she became a global symbol of peaceful protest and the youngest nominee ever for the Nobel Peace Prize.
  I Am Malala is the remarkable tale of a family uprooted by global terrorism; of the fight for girls' education; of a father who, himself a school owner, championed and encouraged his daughter to write and attend school; and of brave parents who have a fierce love for their daughter in a society that prizes sons.
  I Am Malala will make you believe in the power of one person's voice to inspire change in the world."
• 
  Stacy Renee (LazyDayLit)

  Loved it!
  
  This quick review was originally shared on
  Lazy Day Literature
  
  This is the abridged version of Malala's full-length memoir. It's geared toward young readers and is very concise and educational as well as eye-opening. This gorgeous new edition will help bring Malala's shocking true story to younger generations all over the world.
  
  While it is a sobering story, it is still very hopeful and inspiring. Malala was an incredibly courageous young girl who used her education and voice to help others go to school and to speak for girls when their right to education was being denied.
  
  Now she uses her voice and infamy to get her story out into the world; to spread knowledge, tolerance, and equality.
  
  Includes a glossary, pronunciation guide, and a timeline of Malala's life.
• 
  j_karlovska

  4.5*
  This book was perfect! I've already read I Am Malala, the biography for adult readers and I Am Malala, the biography for teens. This children's version contains beautiful illustrations and is nicely written. It has even little explanation parts on different cultural and religious phenomena. It would be perfect for a read aloud, it opens so many different discussion topics for kids and their parents. I definitely plan to read it to my future kids one day. Would 100% recommend.
• 
  Different Is Beautiful

  I could not put this book down it was Soo captivating and moving such an amazing book not to mention powerful
• 
  Mdg2810

  Un livre très intéressant, accessible à tous. J'en ai appris plus sur Malala, jeune fille si humble et posée que ça me fait voir la vie sous un nouvel angle.
• 
  Mercedes Yardley

  Malalal: My Story of Standing Up for Girls' Rights is strong, simply-written, and doesn't shy away from the attack without spending too much time on it. It's written quite matter-of-factly and is absolutely appropriate for middle grade readers. It's inspiring, is a quick read, and everyone should read it despite age. I learned things from this book about Malala that I didn't hear from the news. It was nice how she explains how ordinary she is while the rest of us know her as such a powerful, extraordinary person.
• 
  Olive

  i like it a lot!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
• 
  Jaymee Fox

  Read aloud to my Grade 4-6 class over a few weeks. It took them a while to get into it (they aren't big fans on non-fiction) but learned a lot about Islamic culture and customs.
• 
  Emily

  Going into this abridged version of Malala Yousafzai's memoir, I have to admit that I didn't have particularly high expectations for the content or the writing. I should have known better. The writing is super accessible, but there's an elegance to its straightforwardness and simplicity that I appreciated. And, the content was impressively substantive. This small book covers a lot of cultural history and personal biography. Kudos to children's author Patricia McCormack who assisted with the adaptation. The book also includes helpful maps, illustrations, and sidebars that define terms and explain cultural practices that might be unfamiliar to younger readers.
  
  I can imagine this book as a powerful read-aloud, a useful mentor text, and a book of interest to many elementary school-aged readers (and teachers).
• 
  Leslie Wiseman

  I bought this book for my seven year old daughter at a time where she already takes her education for granted. As we read about Malala and her journey for education for all children my daughter asked so many questions. I value the lessons that Malala’s words spoke into my daughter’s life; life is not the same for all children the world over. We discussed how wrong it is that in some countries children don’t get to go to school at all. We looked up Pakistan and we looked up things she had never heard of before.
  
  When I bought this book for my daughter, a child of glitter and lip gloss and dancing, I worried that she would think I picked a dud of a book. I have been pleasantly surprised that she has been looking forward to reading a little bit of this book with me every day.
• 
  Graziella (AuxPetitsBonheurs)

  Je me suis rendue compte que je connaissais que très peu l'histoire de Malala. Son point de vue est impressionnant de bonté. Malgré tout ce qui lui est arrivé, elle n'a aucune envie de vengeance. Je la trouve très inspirante. J'ai un peu halluciné quand je me suis rendue compte que nous avions le même âge ! Son histoire est très bien romancée, la partie au Pakistan est très visuelle et pleine d'émotions.
  
  
  https://auxpetitsbonheursweb.wordpres...
• 
  Paisley M

  I gave this book four stars because I thought it was a very inspirational book, but it also wasn't the best fit for me because it was a lower level than I normally read. I found it a very cute book with many twists and turns, which I obviously can't say, and I found it to be very encouraging to girls standing up for their own rights and many others as well. The relationship between Malala and her father is a big part of the story. I thoroughly enjoyed reading about Malala's daily struggles and how she overcame them to help future generations.
  
  A few things that I did not enjoy as much in the book was the lower reading level. I think I would have enjoyed reading the older version better because it would've included those multiple little details needed to make the story more interesting and memorable. Overall I thought this book was inspirational and a decent, easy book to read.
• 
  Janet

  I picked up this book to keep for my granddaughter who is just turning 7. I wanted to read it before passing it along to her and her mother. While Malala has to acknowledge that she was seriously harmed for standing up for the rights of all children to be educated, this version of her memoir emphasizes the importance of education and being willing to speak out against wrong. I want those values for Emmalyn.
• 
  Aleta

  Wow.
• 
  Ciara

  Read with my KS3 students; they really liked it!
• 
  Michelle

  This is an excellent adaptation of
  I Am Malala: The Story of the Girl Who Stood Up for Education and Was Shot by the Taliban. It is geared toward older elementary school readers. Even though it was simplified, it still made me cry. Her story is very touching, and it is so sad to hear how the hate of small groups of people can ruin the lives of so many regular people who just want to live in their country with their religion and their culture. I will seek out the longer, original version of the story to gain more understanding.
  
  Excerpts
  
  I really wanted the magic pencil when my mother asked me to take trash to the dump near our house. Then I could have erased it all: the smell, the rats, the giant mountain of rotting food. I was about to toss our potato peels and eggshells onto the garbage heap one afternoon when I saw something move. I jumped.
  
  It was a girl my age. She and some boys nearby were sorting through trash. I wanted to talk to them, but I was scared.
  
  Later that night I asked my father about the children. Why weren't they in school?
  
  He told me that these children sold what they found at the dump to help feed their families. If they went to school, their families would go hungry.
  
  I realized then that God must have been showing me what my life might be like if I couldn't go to school. There was no such thing as a magic pencil to change the world: I would have to do something. But what?
  
  I wrote a letter to God, asking for the strength and courage to make the world a better place. I signed my letter, rolled it up, tied it to a piece of wood, placed a dandelion on top, and floated it in a stream that flows into the Swat River. Surely God would find it there.
  
  ---
  
  We were visiting relatives who lived nearby one evening when I heard a strange sobbing on the radio. At first, it sounded like just another imam, or religious leader, giving advice. Pray daily, he said. The women murmured in approval.
  
  Then he began to cry. Stop listening to music, he begged. Stop going to movies. Stop dancing. Stop, he begged, or God will send another earthquake to punish us all. Some of the women began to cry, memories of the previous year's earthquake—one of the worst to ever hit our region—fresh in their minds.
  
  I wanted to tell them it wasn't true. An earthquake is explained by science. But the women had no education and were raised to believe their religious leaders. So they were frightened.
  
  My father told us not to listen to this man, whom people called the Radio Mullah, which is another world for imam. But my friends at school began to repeat what he said almost word for word. All music is haram, said the mullah, which meant that it is forbidden by Islam. Only his radio station was permitted. Men should grow their hair and beards long, he said, and women should stay at home in purdah quarters at all times: They should go out only in emergencies and only wearing a burqa and only with a male relative.
  
  Many people admired how the mullah talked about the importance of daily prayer. They didn't have faith in our government, which they felt had not helped enough after the earthquake, so they agreed with his idea of bringing back Islamic law.
  
  The voice on the radio belonged to Fazlullah, one of the leaders of the group that had helped many people after the earthquake. Now he was using that disaster to make them feel afraid.
  
  ---
  
  Then Fazlullah joined forces with another Taliban group and announced that women could not go out in public at all. Suddenly, everywhere I looked, the Taliban seemed to sprout like weeds.
  
  There were rumors that the Radio Mullah's men were listening at doors. If they heard someone watching TV, which they called a sin, they would bash the door in and then smash the TV to bits.
  
  My brothers and I didn't understand how wrestlers with funny names a little boy with a magic pencil were so bad. But every time there was a knock on the door, we jumped.
  
  Eventually we moved our TV to a closet. Then if strangers came to the door, they wouldn't see it.
  
  How had the mullah gotten so much power? And why was no one prepared to defy him?
  
  ---
  
  Every day, Fazlullah's men struck a new target. Stores, roads, bridges. And schools. Most of the attacks were outside Mingora, but soon they got closer. One day I was cleaning dishes in the kitchen, and a bomb went off so close that the whole house rattled and the fan over the window fell.
  
  I had grown up hearing the word terrorism, but only now did I understand it. Terrorism is different from war—where soldiers face one another in battle. Terrorism is going to sleep at night and not knowing what horrors the next day will bring. It is walking down your own street and not knowing whom you can trust. It is the enemy everywhere and the attacks coming out of nowhere.
  
  ---
  
  At school, we wrote speeches about how we felt about the Taliban's campaign to destroy girls' schools and about how much our own school meant to us. We planned to give our speeches during an assembly, and that day, a Pashto TV crew arrived at our school.
  
  We were excited and surprised—we didn't think anyone cared what a group of girls had to say. I was a bit more comfortable in front of camera than most girls. But even I was nervous.
  
  We were a democracy at the Khushal School, so every girl would get a chance to speak. Girls talked about friends who had quit school out of fear and about how much we loved to learn.
  
  Then Moniba, our public-speaking champion (and, of course, my best friend), spoke like a poet. "Because of the Taliban, the whole world is claiming we are terrorists," she said. "This is not the case. We Pashtuns are peace-loving. Our mountains, our trees, our flowers—everything in our valley is about peace."
  
  I was speaking next, and as soon as they put a microphone in front of me, the words came out sure and steady, strong and proud. Microphones made me feel as if I were speaking to the whole world.
  
  "This is not the Stone Age," I said. "But it feels like we are going backward. Girls are getting more deprived of our rights." I spoke about how much I loved school and how important it was to keep learning. "We are afraid of no one, and we will continue our education. This is our dream."
  
  ---
  
  "After the fifteenth of January, no girl, whether big or little, shall go to school. Otherwise, you know what we can do. And the parents and the school principal will be responsible."
  
  That was the news that came over Radio Mullah in late December 2008. I did not believe it at first. How could one man stop more than fifty thousand girls from going to school?
  
  ---
  
  I didn't know how to write a diary, so the BBC reporter helped me. Worried about my safety, he suggested that I use a fake name, so the Taliban wouldn't know who was writing the diary. He chose the name Gul Makai, which means "cornflower" and is the name of a heroine in a Pashtun folktale.
  
  My first diary entry appeared on January 3, 2009, about two weeks before Fazlullah's deadline. The title was "I Am Afraid," I wrote about how hard it was to study or to sleep at night with the constant sounds of fighting in the hills outside town. And I described how I walked to school each morning, looking over my shoulder for fear I'd see a Talib following me.
  
  The story of what was happening in Swat was there on the Internet for the whole world to see. It was as if God had at long last granted my wish for that magic pencil.
  
  ---
  
  Four days after all girls' schools were shut down, Fazlullah's men destroyed five more schools. I am quite surprised, I wrote. These schools had already been closed. Why did they also need to be destroyed?
  
  ---
  
  During those dark, dull days, we heard rumblings about secret talks with the Taliban. Then, out of nowhere, Fazlullah made a surprising announcement: It was all right for little girls to go to school, he said, but he still insisted that girls over ten should stay home, in purdah.
  
  I was eleven, but I wasn't going to let that stop me. Besides, I could easily pass as a ten-year-old.
  
  ---
  
  I hid my books in a bag in our guest room, where it seemed safest, and whispered a few verses of the Holy Quran over them to protect them. Then the whole family gathered together, said some prayers, and put our sweet home in God's protection.
  
  We were about to become internally displaced persons, or IDPs. It means you must leave your home because it's too dangerous to stay, but you remain in your own country. Internally displaced persons. That's what we were now, not Pakistanis, not Pashtuns. Our identity had been reduced to three letters: IDP.
  
  Outside, the streets were choked with traffic: people and their suitcases, bags of rice, and bedrolls. Entire families balanced on motorbikes—and other people ran down the street with just the clothes on their backs. No one really knew where they were going—just that they had to leave. Two million people were fleeing their homes. It was the biggest exodus in Pashtun history.
  
  The trip, which usually took a few hours, took two days. My father stopped in Peshawar because he felt it was his duty to warn people about what was going on. My mother, brothers, and I continued on.
  
  When we finally made it to Shangla, our relatives were shocked to see us. "Why did you come here?" they asked.
  
  The Taliban had only recently left the mountains, but there was a rumor they would be back.
  
  For IDPs, there was no safe place.
  
  ---
  
  In early 2010 our school was invited to take part in an all-district assembly. Sixty students from all over Swat had been chosen as members. They were mostly boys, but eleven girls from my school participated. And when we held an election for speaker, I won! It was strange to stand on a stage and have people address me as Madam Speaker, but I took the responsibility very seriously.
  
  The assembly met almost every month for a year, and we passed nine resolutions. We decided that no child should be forced to work. We asked for help to send disabled and street children to school. We demanded that all the schools destroyed by the Taliban be rebuilt. Once the resolutions were agreed upon, they were sent to officials—and some were even acted on. We were being heard, we were making a difference, and it felt good.
  
  ---
  
  I still hadn't grown an inch by the award ceremony, but I was determined to be heard. When the prime minister presented me with the award, I presented him with a list of demands—including the request that he rebuild the schools that Fazlullah destroyed and that the government establish a girls' university in Swat. In that moment, I knew I would become a politician—so I could take action and not just ask for help from others.
  
  ---
  
  Here was a call for my death, and I was as calm as could be. It was as if I were reading about someone else.
  
  I took another look at the message on the screen. Then I closed the computer and never looked at those words again. The worst had happened. I had been targeted by the Taliban. Now I would get back to doing what I was meant to do.
  
  "are you all right, jani?" asked my dear father who was near tears.
  
  "Aba," I said, trying to reassure him. "Everybody knows they will die someday. No one can stop death. It doesn't matter if it comes from a Talib or from cancer."
  
  But my proud, fearless Pashtun father was shaken in a way I'd never seen. And I knew why. He had always said, "Let them kill me. I will die for what I believe in,." But he had never imagined the Taliban would talk about hurting a child. Hurting me.
  
  My father suggested we stop our campaign. I saw the fear in his face, but I also knew he would honor my wishes no matter what I decided. But there was no decision to make. I felt a powerful force inside me, something bigger and stronger than me, and it had made me fearless. Now it was up to me to give my father a dose of the courage he had always given me.
  
  "Aba," I said, "You were the one who said if we believe in something greater than our lives, then our voices will only multiply, even if we are dead. We can't stop now."
  
  ---
  
  My fifteenth birthday felt like a turning point for me. I was already considered an adult—that happens at age fourteen in our society. But it was time for me to think about my future. I knew for certain now that I wanted to be a political leader. And I started to worry that the awards I was receiving were too much. I saw so many children suffering still—why should I enjoy galas and ceremonies?
  
  ---
  
  I will admit that I used to be sensitive about my looks. I had thought that my nose was too big. My skin was too dark. Even my toes were too long.
  
  But I looked at this Malala in the mirror with nothing but curiosity. I was like a scientist studying a specimen. I wanted to understand exactly where the bullet went, what exactly it had done.
  
  I wasn't saddened by what I saw. I wasn't scared. I just thought: It doesn't matter what I look like. I am alive.
  
  ---
  
  One day, when we were alone, he grasped my hand, his eyes filled with tears. "Jani, they threatened me many times. You have taken my bullet. It should have been me." And then he said, "People experience both joy and suffering in their lives. Now you have had all the suffering at once, and the rest of your life will be filled only with joy." He could not go on.
  
  I longed to tell him that I wasn't suffering—and that I didn't want him to suffer, either. I smiled my crooked smile and said simply "Aba." It was so unfair that my poor injured brain couldn't come up with the words for the person I loved so much.
  
  ---
  
  As the first anniversary of the shooting approached, and journalists began to interview me, I discovered that I was not nearly as upset as some of them were about what had happened to me. I guess I see my situation differently. If you tell yourself, "Malala, you can never go home, because you ae the target of the Taliban," you just keep suffering.
  
  I look at it this way: I can see! I can hear! I can talk! I am living the life God wants for me.
  
  The journalists also ask if I am afraid. I say no. And it is true.
  
  I am frustrated when journalists want to focus on the attack, rather than on my fight for girls' education. I understand it. But in my mind, out of the violence and tragedy came opportunity.
• 
  Alice Rawrr

  Efter läst denna bok blev jag kär i Malala
• 
  Sadie-Jane Alexis Huff

  Amazing human being
• 
  Kati

  I read this alongside my 3rd grader. She loved it and is walking around in its afterglow feeling inspired and empowered.
• 
  Morgan Jones

  Obviously aimed at younger children, I thought it was a good way to get Malala's story across to those who were too young to remember it happening.
  I think it gave an accurate but youth friendly version of events that gave an insight into living in a country taken over by terrorists.
• 
  Shannon

  Great for 3rd and above readers.
• 
  Mélanie

  En ces temps troublés, ça fait du bien de revenir un peu aux fondamentaux, aux choses qui ont de l'importance. Comme le combat de celle qui n'était encore qu'une toute petite fille pour que d'autres petites filles comme elle puissent accéder à une des choses les plus précieuses au monde : l'éducation.
  
  On connait tous, ou presque, au moins le nom de Malala. Elle a été récompensée par l'ONU, après tout, ce n'est pas rien.
  
  La grande force de ce livre, c'est qu'il est totalement accessible aux jeunes lecteurs. Son ton est tourné vers eux, Malala y raconte son parcours, avec des choses aussi légères que ses disputes avec ses frères ou ses relations avec ses copines de classe. Mais sans négliger non plus toute la difficulté de sa vie dans un pays musulman en train de se radicaliser, de sa place de fille et de femme dans ce contexte, de la guerre intérieure qui détruit un pays, de la peur quotidienne qui y est liée. Bref, elle parle de sa vie, quand elle était enfant, pour les enfants. Et son texte permet de se rendre totalement compte de ce que représente la vie dans ces conditions.
  C'est un livre à lire en famille, parce qu'il est tout aussi intéressant pour les adultes, et qu'il permet de dialoguer autour de son contenu.
  C'est un livre qui rappellera aussi aux enfants à quel point l'école peut être importante (et ça, on ne leur répète peut-être pas assez. Dans le sens où c'est une chance de pouvoir y aller, une chance que tout le monde n'a pas, même encore de nos jours).
  C'est vraiment un livre à lire et à offrir, parce qu'il porte un message de paix qui ne sera jamais de trop, sans pour autant être donneur de leçon. Il est un témoignage, celui d'une petite fille, ce qui le rend encore plus fort et important !
• 
  Leia

  Great book! Well written and very educational.