Riding the Karakoram Highway Part 2: Visiting Malala’s School -

TJ and I with Mubashir, Malala’s cousin

Our most memorable evening was spent up a valley in the Shangla area of Pakistan. We had been invited to speak at the school that Malala had set up in her home town and we spent the evening with her cousins in their family home. It was spacious but not ornamental; the covered courtyard was bare apart from eleven wicker mattress-like chairs and there was a framed photo of Malala holding her Nobel medal aloft. We chatted with Malala’s cousins, Aziz, Tariq and Mubashir in the hujra (guest room), sitting on thin mattresses set around the edges of the room, as they plied us with tea, grapes and bananas, whilst a wood-fired stove emitted cosy heat. Aziz, an affable and energetic man close to fifty in a shalwar kamiz, told us that he had been to the UK and America, but he was drawn to come back to Pakistan. “I didn’t think I would [return], but I missed my family. Our roots to our family place are incredibly strong, you don’t have this in England. My family have been in the valley for hundreds of years, if I were to leave, it would be disrespecting our village and family. It would mean I didn’t want to be with them – how can I leave when it has been good enough for all my ancestors?”

The cousins went on to tell us that the Pashto communities in this area are continuous with those living in Afghanistan. “We are the same people, the same traditions and culture, but we now live in different countries.” Some of the traditions they upheld, such as purdah, the separation of men and women in the family home; we saw no women during our stay with Malala’s cousins. “This is cultural, this is very important to us,” Aziz explained, “it’s not really religious, it’s not in the Quran.” In other ways they were much less traditional, such as their focus on education for women. “Only 2% of women in this valley are literate,” Mubashir, who worked in the school as an administrator, told us regretfully. This figure startled me and reminded me how unusual this family was for prioritising women’s education in this area.

To Western eyes, it would be easy to see inconsistency or hypocrisy in their attitude – on one hand separating women in the home, on the other, working hard to educate them. From my limited insight, what is most important to remember is that change only happens within a given context and culture. They are not trying to overthrow values and customs that have been important for centuries to them and their community – values which are still respected, upheld and integral. They are changing their community in a way that is specific to their area, balancing tradition with newer practices.  

The next morning we spoke to fifty girls at the school in Shangla. It was the first time I had spoken to any women in Pakistan. They were at desks, lined up in rows of eight, socially distanced. Many were wearing masks – a rare sight in Pakistan – and all had bottle-green headscarves on. I wondered what the lives of these girls were like at home, and how people felt about them attending school. Mubashir told me that the 600 girls at the school came from disadvantaged and minority backgrounds.  

Although reserved in manner, they listened with focus as I explained my trip, and told them that my Mum had cycled with me in Georgia, at which several broke into a smile. I asked them if they had bikes or cycled. They all shook their heads. What about sport in general? The big smiles came back. “We love to play badminton, cricket, football, so many sports,” one of the girls said, and I could sense the irrepressible desire – shared amongst all young people – for movement. This school not gave them education, but also a space in which to be active and play sports – a rare opportunity.

I was very aware that the expedition that I am currently on would be impossible for these girls – simply going to school was big departure from tradition in this valley. Yet the message I shared was not to go on a big expedition; rather, whatever situation you find yourself in, you will be able to make changes – small or big – to improve your situation. There were many things those girls had no control over, but I hoped that by sharing my story they would think about what things they could change positively in their lives.

“But how did you stay positive when you were diagnosed with cancer?” a girl asked. I did my best to answer: that I focussed on what I could control – doing my best to fill my time with the things I loved and to do all that I could of giving myself the best possible chance of getting through treatment. Not because it guaranteed a successful outcome, but because I wanted to know I had done everything I could. I found that enormously empowering and motivating. 

At the end, one girl in glasses told me “I also want to do a big adventure like yours, but I don’t think I can cycle around the world”.

“Are there are other adventures you could go on? Perhaps you might be able to hike the length of the valley?” I suggested, knowing I had little idea of what might be a reasonable suggestion.

Outside the school with TJ

It was unclear what would happen to these girls after they finished school. Many would marry and become housewives. A few might become teachers for a period. Going to university away from the valley seemed out of the question. Mubashir said he hoped they would be able to establish a university here in future.

I’m very aware that it’s vastly easier for me as a rich, white, male, European to travel around the world, but all the same, I think it’s really important to show what can be done, rather than be apologetic about it. It’s better to dream and fall short than not dream at all.

As we drove away from the valley, to carry on cycling to Islamabad, I felt I had many unanswered questions about this valley. It seemed to hold much potential, but also many difficulties for these girls. I’m intrigued to see what the passage of time brings to this community, and what the future holds for the girls I met.