She didn’t think about the mines planted in the ground. She didn’t think about the crowd yelling at her from behind the barrier. All she could think of was Leila.
She finally reached the little girl. Leila was covered with blood. The mine had damaged her belly as well as her legs. She looked up at Parvana and whimpered.
Parvana knelt down beside her and stroked her hair. “Don’t be afraid, little sister,” Parvana said. Then she gathered Leila up in her arms and walked back across the mine field to the camp.
Their nurse friend was waiting for them at the barrier. People helped Parvana put Leila gently on the ground. Parvana sat down and held Leila’s head in her lap. She was dimly aware of Asif kneeling beside her, and of the nurse trying to help.
Leila was trying to say something. Parvana leaned down so she could hear.
The little girl’s voice was thin with pain. “They were so pretty,” she said. And then she died.
A great deal of activity began to swirl around Parvana, but none of it touched her. She knew Asif was crying beside her. She knew the crowd was talking and that people were pushing in to see what had happened, but the grief inside Parvana was a solid blackness that kept everything away. She kept her head down, looking into Leila’s face. She closed Leila’s eyes and smoothed down her hair.
“Another dead child!” a woman cried out. “How many dead Afghan children does the world need? Why is the world so hungry for the lives of our children?”
The woman knelt beside Leila’s body.
“Whose child is this?” she asked.
“She is the sister of these two children,” someone said.
“Where are her parents? Does she have parents? What have we come to, that a girl can die without her mother?”
Something in the woman’s voice reached through Parvana’s blackness.
Parvana raised her head. The woman was wearing a burqa. Parvana reached out her hand and raised the front of the burqa.
Her mother’s face looked back at her.
Parvana started to cry. She cried and cried and did not think she ever would be able to stop.
TWENTY-ONE
Dear Shauzia:
I’m writing this letter while I sit at the edge of another cemetery. It’s the only quiet place in the camp. I’m wearing a warm sweater Mother found for me.
We buried Leila yesterday. I put rocks around her grave, just like I put them around my father’s grave so long ago.
It’s not the same, though. I’m not alone this time. I have my old family — Mother, Nooria and my little sister Maryam. And I have my new family — my two brothers, Hassan and Asif.
My baby brother Ali died last winter. Mother thinks he died of pneumonia, but she’s not sure. There was no doctor around at the time.
I told them how Father died. My mother says it wasn’t my fault.
There’s a lot I haven’t told her yet, but there’s time. Our stories can wait.
It was pure chance that we found each other again. Mother’s tent is on the far side of the camp. She was at the clinic with a neighbor woman who was too shy to go by herself to see the nurse. When she heard the explosion, she came running out.
I would have found her eventually, though. It just would have taken me a while.
She and Nooria are part of a women’s organization in the camp. The Taliban are busy fighting the war so they don’t bother women in the camp very much.
The women’s organization runs a small school and tries to match up people who need things with the things that they need. Mother said Nooria is especially good at this. I can see how she would be. She’d be good at anything that allows her to boss people around.
She hasn’t been bossy to me yet, but just wait. A mean old nanny goat doesn’t change into a dove just because a little time has passed.
It’s wonderful to be complaining about Nooria again! It makes me feel all warm inside, like there is at least something normal in the world.
I gave mother the women’s magazine I’d carried all the way from Kabul. She was very happy to see it. She’s going to pass it around to other women in the camp to cheer them up.
We hear a lot of rumors. Some people say the Americans are doing the bombing. Some people say the Taliban have left Kabul. People say a lot of things. They even say that someone sitting comfortably in one city can press a button and destroy another city, but I know that can’t be true.
“Writing another letter to your friend?” Asif hobbled over and eased himself down to the ground beside her.
Parvana didn’t answer him, hoping he’d take the hint and leave her in peace.
“I’m surprised you even have a friend,” Asif said. “You probably made her up. You’re probably writing all those letters to yourself.”
“Oh, go away,” Parvana said.
Asif, of course, stayed where he was. He gave her a few moments of silence and then said, “I’ve just been talking with your mother. I talked with your sisters, too. They’re both much prettier than you are. I don’t think you’re even from the same family.”
“You and Nooria should get along well,” said Parvana. “You’re both unbearable.”
“You’re probably going to stay here with your family now, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, if you think I’m going to stay with you and them, you can forget it.”
Here we go again, thought Parvana. “I don’t recall asking you to stay.”
“I mean, your sisters are pretty, and your mother is nice, but deep down, they’re probably all as crazy as you are.”
“Probably.”
Asif was quiet again for a moment. Parvana knew what was coming. She waited.
“You probably want me to go,” he said. “Why don’t you just admit it?”
“I want you to go.”
“You’d probably hate it if I stayed.”
“Yes, I would.”
“All right then,” said Asif. “I’ll stay. Just to annoy you.”
Parvana smiled and turned back to her letter.
It’s been a long journey, and it’s not over yet. I know I won’t be living in this camp for the rest of my life, but where will I go? I don’t know.
What will happen to us now? Will we be hit by a bomb? Will the Taliban come here and kill us because they are angry at being made to leave Kabul? Will we be buried under the snow when it comes and disappear forever?
These are all worries for tomorrow. For today, my mother is here, and my sisters, and my new brothers.
I hope you are in France. I hope you are warm and your stomach is full and you are surrounded by purple flowers. I hope you are happy and not too lonely.
One way or another, I’ll get to France, and I’ll be waiting for you at the top of the Eiffel Tower, less than twenty years from now.
Until then, I remain,
Your very best friend,
Parvana.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Afghanistan borders Iran, Pakistan and the Central Asian countries of Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan and Tajikistan. It is a nation of incredible wild beauty, with mountains, deserts and fertile valleys.
For nearly forty years, Afghanistan’s people have had to endure war, from the Soviet invasion to the civil war to the brutality of the Taliban to the Allied bombing and fighting to dislodge the Taliban from power. Millions of Afghans have been injured, killed, turned into refugees or orphaned. Many have gone mad, unable to cope with the unrelenting loss and fear.
Afghanistan is one of the most heavily land-mined nations on the face of the earth. Land mines are cheap weapons. They are easy to put on the ground, effective at controlling movement over a piece of land, and they create a long-lasting demoralization of a population. Land mines are like the terrible relatives who will not leave — even now, an average of fifty Afghans
are killed or injured every month by land mines that were put on the ground a generation ago.
Children are often the victims of these small bombs, as they are often the ones to gather firewood, take the goats to pasture or simply be out playing in any way they can. Afghanistan is full of children and others who have one leg or no arms or are blind because of land mines. For those who become disabled due to land mines or other war injuries, there are very few resources.
For all the difficulties Afghanistan faces, there are many heroes there, doing incredible work to try to rebuild the country. Schools are being built, teachers trained, land mines removed, wells dug, and buildings repaired from bomb damage. The youth of Afghanistan are reaching forward, wanting to embrace a future that has got to be better than the past.
When I re-read Parvana’s Journey, it strikes me that the book, while specifically about Afghanistan, could be about children wandering a landscape of war in way too many parts of the world.
It is possible to create a world where problems are not dealt with by dropping bombs on someone. We have the brains to make better decisions, to hold our leaders accountable to some very basic level of decency. We have the ability to recreate the world starting from wherever we are — in our schools, our homes, our communities. We can learn about each other and practice in our own lives what we want to see our leaders practice on the world stage — active curiosity about others, active kindness toward others and active compassion toward every living thing on the planet.
I look forward to the day when Parvana’s Journey and the whole Breadwinner series is not a reflection of a brutal reality, but reads instead like some long-ago fictional fairy tale, a story out of the past that we have put far behind us.
GLOSSARY
bolani – A kind of dumpling.
burqa – A long, tent-like garment worn by women. It covers the entire body and has a narrow mesh screen over the eyes.
chador – A piece of cloth worn by women and girls to cover their hair and shoulders.
Dari – One of the two main languages in Afghanistan.
jenazah – A Muslim prayer for the dead.
land mine – A bomb planted in the ground, which explodes if it is stepped on.
mullah – A religious expert and teacher of Islam.
nan – Afghan bread. It can be flat, long or round.
Pashtu – One of the two main languages in Afghanistan.
pilaf – A rice dish that usually contains vegetables, meat and spices.
Ramadan – A month of fasting in the Muslim calendar.
Red Crescent – The Muslim equivalent of the Red Cross, an international organization that provides aid to the sick and wounded in times of disaster and war.
shalwar kameez – Long, loose shirt and trousers, worn by both men and women. A man’s shalwar kameez is one color, with pockets in the side and on the chest. A woman’s shalwar kameez has different colors and patterns and is sometimes elaborately embroidered or beaded.
Soviets – The Soviet Union before its break-up, including Russia and other Communist countries.
Taliban – A militant group that took control of Kabul, Afghanistan, in 1996 and was forced from power in 2001.
toshak – A narrow mattress used in many Afghan homes instead of chairs or beds.
The Breadwinner
Deborah Ellis
Eleven-year-old Parvana lives in Kabul, Afghanistan’s capital city. Her father works from a blanket on the ground in the marketplace, reading letters for people who cannot read or write. One day he is arrested and the family is left without someone who can earn money or even shop for food.
As conditions for the family grow desperate, only one solution emerges. Forbidden to earn money as a girl, Parvana must disguise herself as a boy, and become the breadwinner.
“A great kids’ book ... a graphic geopolitical brief that’s also a girl-power parable.” — Newsweek
“... a book ... about the hard times — and the courage — of Afghan children.” — Washington Post
Baia delle Favole Literary Award • Hackmatack Award • Middle East Book Award • Rebecca Caudill Young Readers’ Book Award • Sweden’s Peter Pan Prize • YALSA PPYA
Paperback • 978-1-55498-765-8 • $9.95 CDN / US
epub • 978-1-55498-007-9 • $9.95 CDN / US
mobi • 978-1-55498-581-4 • $9.95 CDN / US
Mud City
Deborah Ellis
Parvana’s best friend, Shauzia, has fled Afghanistan and now has to survive on her own on the streets of Peshawar, Pakistan. With her dog as her only friend, she must scrounge for food, beg for money and look for a safe place to sleep every night.
But could it be worse than a lifetime spent in a refugee camp?
This is a powerful and very human story of a feisty, driven girl who tries to take control of her own life.
✶ “A stunning portrait ...” — Quill & Quire, starred review
“… a fine, strong addition to Ellis’ growing list of novels. Highly recommended.” — Toronto Star
Hackmatack Award • Lamplighter Award • Cooperative Children’s Book Center Choices • New York Public Library Books for the Teen Age
Paperback • 978-1-55498-773-3 • $9.95 CDN / US
epub • 978-1-55498-027-7• $9.95 CDN / US
mobi • 978-1-55498-690-3 • $9.95 CDN / US
My Name Is Parvana
Deborah Ellis
In post-Taliban Afghanistan, American soldiers have imprisoned a teenaged girl. But who is she? Why was she found alone in a bombed-out school? Could she be a terrorist?
The girl is held on an American military base and interrogated. She remains silent, even when she is threatened, harassed and mistreated. The only clue to her identity is a tattered shoulder bag containing papers that refer to people named Shauzia, Nooria, Leila, Asif, Hassan — and Parvana.
✶ “This passionate volume stands on its own … Readers will learn much about the war in Afghanistan even as they cheer on this feisty protagonist.” — Kirkus, starred review
✶ “… an example of vivid storytelling with a visceral sense of place, loss, distrust, and hope.” — School Library Journal, starred review
Short-listed for the IODE Violet Downey Book Award • Short-listed for the Manitoba Young Readers’ Choice Award • Short-listed for the Rocky Mountain Book Award • Bank Street College of Education’s Best Books of the Year • Capitol Choices Noteworthy Books for Children and Teens • USBBY Outstanding International Books
Paperback • 978-1-55498-298-1 • $9.95 CDN / US
epub • 978-1-55498-299-8 • $9.95 CDN / US
mobi • 978-1-55498-628-6 • $9.95 CDN / US
Kids of Kabul:
Living Bravely Through a Never-ending War
Deborah Ellis
What has happened to Afghanistan’s children since the fall of the Taliban in 2001? In 2011, Deborah Ellis went to Kabul to find out. The two dozen or so boys and girls featured in this book range in age from ten to seventeen, and they speak candidly about their lives now. They are still living in a country at war. Yet these kids are weathering their lives with remarkable courage and hope, getting as much education and life experience and fun as they can.
“This nuanced portrayal of adolescence in a struggling nation refrains, refreshingly, from wallowing in tragedy tourism and overwrought handwringing. Necessary.” — Kirkus
✶ “... compelling and motivating.... A valuable, informative resource.” — School Library Journal, starred review
Norma Fleck Award for Canadian Children’s Non-Fiction • Joint winner of the South Asia Book Award • Short-listed for the TD Canadian Children’s Literature Award • Short-listed for the North Carolina Young Adult Book Award • Bank Street College of Education’s Best Books of the Year • IRA Notable Books for a Global Society • USBBY Out
standing International Books
Hardcover with jacket • 978-1-55498-181-6 • $15.95 CDN / US
epub • 978-1-55498-203-5 • $14.95 CDN / US
mobi • 978-1-55498-613-2 • $14.95 CDN / US
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Deborah Ellis is the celebrated author of almost thirty books for young people. She is best known for her Breadwinner series, which has been published in twenty-five languages and has earned more than $1 million in royalties to benefit Canadian Women for Women in Afghanistan and Street Kids International. She has won the Jane Addams Children’s Book Award, the University of California’s Middle East Book Award, the Governor General’s Award, the Ruth Schwartz Award, Sweden’s Peter Pan Prize, and the Vicky Metcalf Award for a Body of Work. She has also received the Ontario Library Association’s President’s Award for Exceptional Achievement, and she has been named to the Order of Ontario.
Deborah lives in Simcoe, Ontario.
deborahellis.com
facebook.com/deborahellisauthor
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