For the Basic Right to Education

Saturday, February 14th, was a day whose date I will forever carry in my heart. The dawn promised a new beginning in another chapter of my life. Every morning, for me, is the beginning of a better tomorrow, a new life, and new experiences. The sky was still dark, but my heart was bright, filled with excitement and joy, and my eyes were shining. After performing the morning prayer, I checked my messages. While exchanging messages, one of my friends wrote that there would be more Taliban presence on the streets today, and we also had an exam. She asked, “Are you going to take the exam?”

Her message was filled with fear, but at the same time, she spoke of her courage and said that she would definitely attend. I replied briefly, “I have come this far; I will not turn back because of a day filled with wolves. I will definitely take the exam.”

At breakfast, my mother said, “The city will be crowded today because of Valentine’s Day, so be very careful. Go to the exam alone and return alone. Don’t walk today; take a car instead. When you arrive at the exam center, make sure to call me.”

The ticking of the clock echoed in my ears like a song until I was ready. Two hours before the exam began, I left home for the examination center. When I stepped outside, I had a strange feeling. It was the first time I was taking an exam somewhere far from home. After about twenty minutes of traveling by rickshaw, I reached the main road. There, I printed my answer sheet and bought a pen and an examination board from a bookstore. I got them from the nearest shopkeeper, hoping to return home with good news. Then I got into another car and continued toward the examination center.

Along the way, I looked at the city and at the circumstances we were living in—a reality none of us deserved, yet one we had been forced to accept. On the public minibus, an elderly man was sitting in the back, talking to a teenage boy about his time in the military. He insisted that anyone who had not experienced that period would never truly become mature.

My ears were listening to the old man, but my mind was occupied with the exam and with the future in which girls like me are serving our own kind of military service—a struggle in which we must stand firm. It is a time filled with restrictions and deprivation, yet within all of it, there is resilience and strength. The elderly man’s sweet stories continued until I reached the exam station. As I got off, I looked at him and smiled.

I did not know the exact address of the examination center, nor did I know whom to ask for help. On WhatsApp, I listened to a voice message from one of my teachers, but I had taken the wrong route. I asked the nearest shopkeeper for the name of the school. They told me that I had to cross the road and that it was at the end of the alley. The directions given by that kind man became a guiding light that led me to the school.

When I arrived, the first thing I had to do was find my name on a list that had been provided to them earlier. My name was the third from the bottom. After registering my attendance, I entered the school grounds. After being searched and climbing the stairs, I reached a hallway filled with young girls. Each of them held a notebook in her hands and was reviewing her lessons. It was a scene that reflected a thirst for knowledge.

I asked the office, “Has the exam supervisor arrived?” One of those present said, “The teacher is in a meeting.” I did not know anyone there. Looking at that scene, I remembered my school exam days. A few minutes passed, and I greeted several of my friends who had also come for the exam. The exam time was approaching.

I sat in the assigned seat, received the question paper, and began solving the questions. Today’s exam was equal to all those days when, under the scorching summer sun, I walked for twenty minutes to reach school and study.

Today’s questions were the equations of the days when I saved money that would otherwise have gone toward transportation so that I could afford internet access. They were the addition and subtraction of days when I sometimes became exhausted but never stepped back. They were numbers representing my simplest and most basic right—education—a right for which I had paid a price, made sacrifices, and never stopped learning.

They were lines with which I had written letters to my dreams and promised that I would reach them. They were words with which I had designed a magazine in my mind for the person I hoped to become. Altogether, it was an exam filled with deep emotions and memories I had been waiting for years to experience.

This exam was like the university entrance examination, for which one must work hard for twelve years. One must sacrifice sleep, food, and comfort to reach the field of study one desires and earn the score one deserves.

The exam began at eleven in the morning and continued until two in the afternoon. Throughout the exam, my mind was not occupied with “I can’t” or “I don’t know.” There was only one thought in my head: I had to find the answer. I had to reach what I deserved.

When the exam ended, we ate lunch and then uploaded our answer sheets. Because of my excitement, I did not manage my time very well. The evening call to prayer could be heard, and darkness had fallen by the time I left the examination center and began my journey home.

On the way, I became stuck in heavy traffic and reached home at around seven in the evening. I wrote this experience so that history would never forget that girls never surrender. They always shine, they are always strong, and they always believe in a better tomorrow and in the light waiting beyond this mountain.