When I was 11, I remember waking up one morning to the sound of joy in my house. My father was listening to BBC News on his small, gray radio. There was a big smile on his face which was unusual then, because the news mostly depressed him.
Kada sam imala 11 godina, sećam se da sam se jednog jutra probudila uz zvuke radosti u svojoj kući. Moj otac je slušao vesti na BBC stanici na svom malom, sivom radiju. Imao je širok osmeh na licu, što je u to vreme bilo neuobičajeno, jer su ga vesti uglavnom deprimirale.
"The Taliban are gone!" my father shouted.
"Talibani su otišli!", povikao je moj otac.
I didn't know what it meant, but I could see that my father was very, very happy.
Nisam znala šta je to značilo, ali mogla sam da vidim da je moj otac bio veoma, veoma srećan.
"You can go to a real school now," he said.
"Sada možeš da ideš u pravu školu," rekao mi je.
A morning that I will never forget. A real school. You see, I was six when the Taliban took over Afghanistan and made it illegal for girls to go to school. So for the next five years, I dressed as a boy to escort my older sister, who was no longer allowed to be outside alone, to a secret school. It was the only way we both could be educated. Each day, we took a different route so that no one would suspect where we were going. We would cover our books in grocery bags so it would seem we were just out shopping. The school was in a house, more than 100 of us packed in one small living room. It was cozy in winter but extremely hot in summer. We all knew we were risking our lives -- the teacher, the students and our parents. From time to time, the school would suddenly be canceled for a week because Taliban were suspicious. We always wondered what they knew about us. Were we being followed? Do they know where we live? We were scared, but still, school was where we wanted to be.
Nikada neću zaboraviti to jutro. Prava škola. Vidite, imala sam 6 godina kada su Talibani zaposeli Avganistan i zabranili devojčicama da idu u školu. Tako sam se sledećih pet godina oblačila kao dečak kako bih pratila svoju stariju sestru u tajnu školu, jer joj više nije bilo dozvoljeno da sama bude napolju. To je bio jedini način da se obe školujemo. Svakog dana išle smo drugačijim putem kako niko ne bi posumnjao kuda smo išle. Sakrivale smo knjige u kese od namirnica kako bi izgledalo kao da smo samo izašle u kupovinu. Škola je bila u jednoj kući, gde je više od stotinu nas bilo sabijeno u jednoj maloj dnevnoj sobi. Zimi je bilo prijatno, ali je leti bilo veoma vruće. Svi smo znali da rizikujemo svoje živote - učitelj, učenici, kao i naši roditelji. S vremena na vreme, škola bi iznenada prestala s radom na nedelju dana jer bi Talibani postali sumnjičavi. Uvek smo se pitali šta su znali o nama. Da li su nas pratili? Da li su znali gde živimo? Plašili smo se, ali škola je ipak bila mesto na kom smo želeli da budemo.
I was very lucky to grow up in a family where education was prized and daughters were treasured. My grandfather was an extraordinary man for his time. A total maverick from a remote province of Afghanistan, he insisted that his daughter, my mom, go to school, and for that he was disowned by his father. But my educated mother became a teacher. There she is. She retired two years ago, only to turn our house into a school for girls and women in our neighborhood. And my father -- that's him -- he was the first ever in his family to receive an education. There was no question that his children would receive an education, including his daughters, despite the Taliban, despite the risks. To him, there was greater risk in not educating his children. During Taliban years, I remember there were times I would get so frustrated by our life and always being scared and not seeing a future. I would want to quit, but my father, he would say, "Listen, my daughter, you can lose everything you own in your life. Your money can be stolen. You can be forced to leave your home during a war. But the one thing that will always remain with you is what is here, and if we have to sell our blood to pay your school fees, we will. So do you still not want to continue?"
Imala sam sreće da sam odrasla u porodici u kojoj se obrazovanje cenilo, a ćerke čuvale. Moj deda je bio čovek koji je išao ispred svoga vremena. Bio je potpuni disident iz udaljene pokrajine Avganistana i insistirao je na tome da njegova ćerka, moja majka, ide u školu i zbog toga ga se otac odrekao. Ali moja obrazovana majka je postala učiteljica. To je ona. Otišla je u penziju pre dve godine, kako bi našu kuću pretvorila u školu za devojke i žene iz našeg komšiluka. A moj otac - to je on - on je bio prvi u svojoj porodici koji se školovao. Podrazumevalo se da će i njegova deca, uključujući i njegove ćerke, biti obrazovana uprkos Talibanima, uprkos riziku. Za njega, veći rizik bio je ne obrazovati svoju decu. Tokom vladavine Talibana, sećam se, ponekad sam bila toliko isfrustrirana našim životom i uplašena jer nisam mogla da vidim nikakvu budućnost. Želela sam da odustanem, ali moj otac, on bi rekao: "Slušaj, ćerko moja, u životu možeš da izgubiš sve što poseduješ. Novac ti mogu ukrasti. Mogu te naterati da napustiš svoj dom tokom rata. Ali jedina stvar koja će uvek ostati sa tobom je ono što se nalazi ovde, i ako budemo morali da prodamo svoju krv da platimo tvoju školarinu, to ćemo i uraditi. Dakle, da li još uvek ne želiš da nastaviš?"
Today I am 22. I was raised in a country that has been destroyed by decades of war. Fewer than six percent of women my age have made it beyond high school, and had my family not been so committed to my education, I would be one of them. Instead, I stand here a proud graduate of Middlebury College.
Danas imam 22 godine. Odgajana sam u zemlji koju su uništile decenije rata. Manje od 6 procenata žena mojih godina nastavilo je školovanje posle srednje škole, i da se moja porodica nije toliko posvetila mom obrazovanju, i ja bih bila jedna od njih. Umesto toga, ponosno stojim ovde kao diplomac univerziteta u Midlberiju.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)
When I returned to Afghanistan, my grandfather, the one exiled from his home for daring to educate his daughters, was among the first to congratulate me. He not only brags about my college degree, but also that I was the first woman, and that I am the first woman to drive him through the streets of Kabul.
Kada sam se vratila u Avganistan, moj deda, onaj koji je bio izbačen iz svog doma jer se usudio da školuje svoje ćerke, bio je među prvima koji su mi čestitali. On se hvali ne samo mojom fakultetskom diplomom, nego i time da sam bila prva žena, i da jesam prva žena koja ga je provozala ulicama Kabula.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)
My family believes in me. I dream big, but my family dreams even bigger for me. That's why I am a global ambassador for 10x10, a global campaign to educate women. That's why I cofounded SOLA, the first and perhaps only boarding school for girls in Afghanistan, a country where it's still risky for girls to go to school. The exciting thing is that I see students at my school with ambition grabbing at opportunity. And I see their parents and their fathers who, like my own, advocate for them, despite and even in the face of daunting opposition.
Moja porodica veruje u mene. Imam velike snove, ali moja porodica ima još veće snove za mene. Zato sam svetski ambasador za 10x10, globalnu kampanju za obrazovanje žena. Zato sam jedan od osnivača SOLA-e, što je prvi i možda jedini internat za devojčice u Avganistanu, zemlji u kojoj je za devojčice još uvek rizično da idu u školu. Uzbudljivo je videti učenice u mojoj školi kako ambiciozno grabe prilike. I vidim njihove roditelje i očeve, koji ih podržavaju, kao i moj otac mene, uprkos obeshrabrujućem otporu, gledajući mu direktno u lice.
Like Ahmed. That's not his real name, and I cannot show you his face, but Ahmed is the father of one of my students. Less than a month ago, he and his daughter were on their way from SOLA to their village, and they literally missed being killed by a roadside bomb by minutes. As he arrived home, the phone rang, a voice warning him that if he sent his daughter back to school, they would try again.
Kao Ahmed. To nije njegovo pravo ime i ne mogu da vam pokažem njegovo lice, ali Ahmed je otac jedne od mojih učenica. Pre manje od mesec dana, na putu od SOLA-e do svog sela, on i njegova ćerka bukvalno su za nekoliko minuta izbegli smrt od bombe pored puta. Kada je stigao kući, zazvonio mu je telefon i glas sa druge strane žice ga je upozorio da će ponovo pokušati da ih ubiju ako pošalje ćerku nazad u školu.
"Kill me now, if you wish," he said, "but I will not ruin my daughter's future because of your old and backward ideas."
"Ako želite, ubijte me odmah," rekao je, "ali neću uništiti budućnost svoje ćerke zbog vaših zastarelih i nazadnih ideja."
What I've come to realize about Afghanistan, and this is something that is often dismissed in the West, that behind most of us who succeed is a father who recognizes the value in his daughter and who sees that her success is his success. It's not to say that our mothers aren't key in our success. In fact, they're often the initial and convincing negotiators of a bright future for their daughters, but in the context of a society like in Afghanistan, we must have the support of men. Under the Taliban, girls who went to school numbered in the hundreds -- remember, it was illegal. But today, more than three million girls are in school in Afghanistan.
Ono što sam shvatila u vezi sa Avganistanom, a što se često odbacuje na Zapadu, je to da se iza većine nas koji uspemo, nalazi otac koji prepozna vrednost u svojoj ćerki i koji vidi da je njen uspeh i njegov uspeh. Ne kažem da naše majke nisu ključ našeg uspeha. U stvari, one su često prvi i ubeđujući faktor za blistavu budućnost svojih ćerki, ali u kontekstu društva poput avganistanskog, moramo imati podršku muškaraca. Pod Talibanima, devojčice su išle u školu njih stotine - setite se, to je bilo protiv zakona. Ali danas, više od tri miliona devojčica je u školama u Avganistanu.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)
Afghanistan looks so different from here in America. I find that Americans see the fragility in changes. I fear that these changes will not last much beyond the U.S. troops' withdrawal. But when I am back in Afghanistan, when I see the students in my school and their parents who advocate for them, who encourage them, I see a promising future and lasting change. To me, Afghanistan is a country of hope and boundless possibilities, and every single day the girls of SOLA remind me of that. Like me, they are dreaming big.
Avganistan se čini toliko drugačijim odavde, iz Amerike. Čini mi se da Amerikanci vide krhkost u promenama. Bojim se da ove promene neće trajati dugo nakon povlačenja američkih trupa. Ali kad se vratim u Avganistan, kada vidim učenice u svojoj školi i roditelje koji ih podržavaju, koji ih ohrabruju, vidim obećavajuću budućnost i dugotrajnu promenu. Za mene, Avganistan je zemlja nade i beskrajnih mogućnosti. I svakoga dana, devojčice u SOLA-i podsećaju me na to. Poput mene, one imaju velike snove.
Thank you.
Hvala vam.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)