Malala, Taliban and Swat Valley

I've been reading the I Am Malala book this past week. The last few chapters I've thought about deeply, even in the moments I'm reading the page; I find myself losing my focus, lost in a different world trying to understand exactly what I've been reading. The time of the Taliban and their exertion of power over the Swati people is such a sad part of the book. Why such discrimination, and why such a loss of vision and love for ones fellow human being? Religious belief shouldn't even be factored into the equation of such acts as those of the Taliban. It's a surreal moment in history, like that of the Nazi concentration camps or Pol Pot's regime in Cambodia. Of course it's not as extensive and the number of casualties don't compare, but the nature of the beast is the same; the confiscation of ones freedom.

The confiscation of education from a girl, the confiscation of free will, the freedom to choose not just your faith, but the manner in how you practice your faith. The enforcement of law is not law when the majority of a population are suppressed to the point of giving in to the opposing force, against their will.

What I find really painful to read are the moments in which Malala describes the Taliban's destruction of ancient Buddhist structures, and the elimination of all kinds of traditional and cultural values that the Swati people hold so dear. It's very clear throughout the book that culture and tradition in the Swat Valley is paramount to the way that Pashtuns live their lives.

Malala also brings more light on the hurt that was felt by Swati's on the news of innocent killings of children by US drones. That is a story that lies in the background of Malala's book, yet is obviously a greater issue than that. It must be seen as on par with the actions of the Taliban, and  was clearly a driving force behind the Taliban's recruitment appeal.

I hope one day that for me it will be safe to go visit the Swat Valley. It's mountains, lakes and scenery are clearly some of the most beautiful on this planet. To walk or cycle through the valley, and walk the streets of Mingora and other small villages would be a dream. One day, I believe that I will.

Sandcastles and the Sea

Life’s like building a sandcastle.
You sweat and you burn under the sun,
slaving away as you build your masterpiece,
your pride and your joy.
When your work is complete and the day is done,
you lie back in the sand to admire your effort.
But the minutes tick by and the water draws near,
next thing you know, your castle disappears…

The Crossroads

For a part of our lives we lived together,
we worked together, and we loved together.
For a part of our lives, nothing else mattered.
You were the most important person to me,
and I the most important person to you.
Our world was a harsh one, but that didn’t matter.
Through laughter, work, struggle and prayer,
We were together as one. Nothing else mattered.
But the road ahead is never straight forward,
And today we are stretched by the realities of life.
But forever we remain under one sky,
Through spirit and memories of times gone by,
When we were together at the crossroads of life.

The Lost Soul

The lost soul wanders through the throng of people,
deaf and blind to the world around him. He looks
through tired eyes and walks his tired body. Tired
from the pain and the stresses of life. Tired from having
nothing to do, tired from being shouted at, and turned
away. Tired from being acknowledged as nothing more
than a pest and a nobody.
Finding a dark isolated corner, he rolls his best friend
between his fingers, places it between his lips, puffs
and lets go. Finally a place of comfort where the world
wont find him!