In a rainy day last February, I hailed a taxi at Birmingham New Street train station to take me to Ziauddin Yousafzai’s house. He had invited me to come for lunch. “You are going to the best part of Birmingham, the posh part,” my driver, a young man of Pakistani descent, told me when I gave him the address. After a while we turned onto a street with distinctly expensive and stately houses set back from the streets with large lawns and gardens. Many of them were gated and walled. “We are getting close,” the driver noted.

From the driver’s initial reaction to the address, I expected the taxi to stop at one of the homes. But we drove past the mansions, which were soon replaced by smaller homes. We turned onto a street, the car slowed and the driver began looking for the address I had given him. I was also looking at Google map on my phone and spotted the house first.

We turned into the small paved yard of a modest house, slightly larger than average British homes. I had not known what to expect, but based on the driver’s emphasis on the affluence of the neighbourhood, I had imagined a mansion similar to those we had passed. But the home I was to enter was far from that.

While waiting beside the taxi for my change, I heard a noise. I looked up. Ziauddin was rushing out of his house with, a big grin. “Welcome, welcome to our house, Shehla.” He gestured to the driver: “We don’t let guests like her pay for their fare, if you would wait a few minutes I will get the money. Please give her back her money.”

Despite allegations to the contrary, Malala’s family remains humble and grounded

My protests were to no avail. I reluctantly took my money back.

Ziauddin escorted me into the house, into an open room with a sitting area and a television on one wall and a kitchen, where his wife, Toor Pekai, was busy. Several pots were in various stages of cooking on the range.

Toor Pekai and I exchanged salaams and I embraced. Her “Aap kaisee hain [How are you?],” surprised and delighted me. On our first meeting almost six years ago, in 2012, we were unable to converse — she spoke no Urdu beyond a few rudimentary phrases and I spoke no Pashto.

How was it that I was visiting the Yousafzais in Birmingham? My acquaintance with them began in 2009, at the height of the Taliban insurgency in Swat.

The news coverage of the militants’ gains of Swat began appearing in the international press since 2007 but intensified in 2009. I had visited Swat several times in previous years and when news about the trouble began trickling out I took an immediate interest.

We turned into the small paved yard of a modest house, slightly larger than average British homes ... I had imagined a mansion similar to those we had passed. But the home I was to enter was far from that.

At that time I was reading the news exclusively on the internet. In early January 2009, the BBC website began publishing a blog by Gul Makai, a seventh-grade schoolgirl in Swat.

The blog chronicled life under the Taliban: bombed schools; dead bodies of those they killed in the streets; women banned from bazaars and forced to wear burqas; and worst of all their dictate to close all girls’ schools. Gul Makai wanted to study and felt girls should go to school.

The diary saddened me. I wanted to do something but I did not know what. It wasn’t until a video appeared on The New York Times’ website in February 2009 that I decided to do something: write about the plight of schoolchildren, especially girls, in Swat.

“Class Dismissed in Swat Valley,” the short and sober New York Times video, profiled Swat educator Ziauddin Yousafzai and his 11-year-old daughter, Malala, who attended a girls’ school run by her father. She felt sad about its impending closure and, in the video, was emotional when she spoke of her dreams of becoming a doctor. She realised she might have to defer that. To conceal her tears, she covered her face with her hands; tears welled up in my own eyes.

At the time no one knew that Malala and Gul Makai were the same. People realised Gul Makai’s true identity when Malala was nominated for the 2011 International Children’s Peace Prize.

After viewing The New York Times’ video, I resolved to inform people. I decided to write an opinion piece about what was happening. I wanted people to know of the plight of schoolchildren, both boys and girls, but especially girls. But first I wanted to speak with the Yousafzais but I had no way to contact them.

Through contacts in Pakistan I got the Yousafzais’ number. I dialed it and waited nervously.

When Ziauddin’s voice crackled from across the world and I blurted, “I am a Pakistani-American writer from Alaska and I have visited Swat many times.” He was surprised, “Ah, Alaska the state of Sarah Palin!” I told him I was no fan of our former governor, the Republican vice-presidential candidate in the 2008 elections.

“I saw The New York Times video and I am calling to offer my support.” I spoke then with both father and daughter. Each thanked me for caring enough to call and asked me to tell others and to encourage people to watch the video.

In early March 2009, my hometown newspaper, the Anchorage Daily News published my article, “Taliban Wages War Against Girls’ Education in Pakistan.” I sent Ziauddin a link to the web version and called him again. He thanked me and invited me to visit Swat as his guest.

While visiting Pakistan in 2009, I spoke with Ziauddin again and he invited me once more. I didn’t go because the security situation seemed tenuous.

Meanwhile, people were noting Malala’s advocacy for girls’ education. In 2011, the Pakistani government honoured her with the first-ever National Youth Peace Prize and the Dutch Kids Rights Foundation nominated her for its International Children’s Peace Prize.

The children’s peace prize nomination also identified Malala as the Gul Makai of the 2009 BBC diaries but it also made her a target for the Taliban and others in Pakistan who wanted women to stay within the confines of their chardiwaris (four walls).

On my visit to Pakistan in 2012, I spoke several times with Ziauddin. He invited me again and told me there was nothing to worry about. His words reassured me. I decided to go to Swat.

I met the family in Karachi a month before that, however. They were there because Malala was receiving another award for her work on behalf of girls’ education. Hours before we met, I read a worrisome news item on the internet — Tehreek-i-Taliban Pakistan announced that Malala was on its “hit” list.

Tears welled in my eyes when I first saw the 14-year-old Malala, a slight figure in a pink shalwar-kameez suit, head covered with a matching dupatta. We spoke about her school, classes and her newest award. She believed fearlessly in her cause and spoke softly without a hint of hubris, unaffected by her growing fame.

When I mentioned the Taliban threat her father’s face registered a momentary shock; but Malala kept her composure. I asked her if she was frightened. Her eyes flashed. “No. I feel no fear. Life and death are in Allah’s hand.”

A month later, in April, I spent four memorable days at the Yousafzai’s house in Mingora. I slept in Malala’s room at the front of the house. It seemed spacious, but was probably a combined drawing and dining room. Her awards, trophies and citations from the United Nations and foundations crowded the shelves.

On a tall bookshelf, volumes in English and Urdu jostled for space. There was the Twilight teen series, as well as Oliver Twist, Anna Karenina, a biography of Pakistan’s founder Muhammad Ali Jinnah and a translation of Engel’s The Origin of the Family, Private Property and the State. And, surprisingly, Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time. I asked if she had read the book and if she understood it. “Yes, and no. My favourite subject is physics so I understood most of the book.”

Ziauddin introduced me to many of his friends and took me to his boys’ and girls’ schools. I saw Malala in her classrooms, her hand up the minute I asked the girls a question.

The time went by quickly. I had the unique opportunity to live in a Pakhtun house and experience the hospitality for which the people of Swat are famous. I met many people who became friends, and I have visited Swat regularly on subsequent visits to Pakistan.

Six months later, the Taliban carried out their threat. They shot Malala.

My contact with Ziauddin continued through the ensuing years but we didn’t meet again until last month, in Birmingham. Malala was away to school at Oxford, but we spoke on the phone and I noted she sounded much like she did in Swat. Much has changed in her life, but from her voice I knew her kindness remains and her desire to help others still burns brightly.

As I was driving to the Yousafzai’s house I wondered if I would find the family changed. I had read of rumours about their “wealth” and a “lavish” lifestyle. I never believed the rumours but I also knew people change with time, and my email exchanges had been sporadic and short. I didn’t know what people I would meet again, after six years.

They were the same. They live simply, as they did in Swat. Their décor and furniture were not ostentatious. There were simple curtains, everyday pots and pans in the kitchen, and well-used leather sofas in the sitting area. A copy of a painting of Malala hung on the wall (the original was auctioned to raise money for the Malala Fund, a charity). Another painting nearby showed Malala with her head draped in a dupatta, on which the words “Ishq” and “Ilm” were repeated on alternating lines.

Yes, they do have some money. Malala’s book was a bestseller and is still in demand. She and Ziauddin give speeches all over the world.

But what I discerned in my few hours with Ziauddin and Toor Pekai was this: they miss Swat very much. Toor Pekai spoke sadly of not being able to see her family. “This [England] is not home. I miss Swat very much — the mountains, my house, language, culture, food, and my family and friends.”

Ziauddin and I spoke at length. He no longer works as education attaché at Pakistan’s consulate in Birmingham but is now busy, and very satisfied, in helping victims of other terrorist attacks in Pakistan.

When I had walked into their house, I noticed other people in the sitting area. Ziauddin introduced. One was Sami Ullah, a survivor of the January 2016 terrorist attack on Bacha Khan University, in Mardan, that killed more than 18 and injured scores more. Sami Ullah’s injuries left him unable to speak coherently. Ziauddin is helping him get treatment at a hospital in Birmingham.

I also met “Lala” or Mohammad Iqbal, the father of Mashal Khan, the young student lynched by a mob on the false claim of blasphemy, at Mardan’s Abdul Wali Khan University in April 2017.

“The School of Oriental & African Studies (SOAS), University of London, had invited me to deliver the 2018 Bacha Khan lecture. I told them to invite Lala in my place. He is the bravest Pakhtun I know,” Ziauddin said.

Later in the afternoon, Waleed Gulzar Khan also came to visit. Waleed, a survivor of the Tehreek-i-Taliban attack on the Army Public School, was also in Birmingham for treatment which Ziauddin had helped arrange.

It became clear to me that fame and what little wealth the family has is being used to help others. Ziauddin clearly thrives in his role as facilitator in helping those injured by terrorists attacks. He wished such attacks would end, but he knows the reality is that they won’t. Not any time soon. In the meantime, he intends to keep on doing what he is doing — helping the grievously injured.

Before I left, Ziauddin called Malala. He told her I was visiting and handed the phone to me. It was a delight to speak with her.

When it was time for me leave for the train station, Ziauddin bade me farewell. His voice broke as he told me to tell everyone I met in Swat how much he missed them and how much he longed to visit.

I am writing this in Swat. Ziauddin, Toor Pekai and Malala were here a couple of days ago. Their visit was personal. I am glad they came, although I didn’t get to see them. From all accounts, it was an emotional visit.

During past visits whenever I asked people about Malala they gave comments that were reserved, mainly that she was no longer “one of them” because she no longer lived in Pakistan. Others were uncharitable: the family was living “the high life,” that Malala was a stooge of the West and had become an American citizen.

On Thursday, when news came that the Yousafzai family was in Pakistan, I spoke to several attendees at a conference held by a local NGO. Everyone said they were delighted Malala had returned and they wished she would visit Swat. I spoke to the hotel staff where I was staying—waiters, the housekeepers, the managers. Everyone wanted to claim Malala as their own. “Malala nay hamaray mulk ka naam roshan kiya hai, Allah uss ko bari zindagi atta karay takay woh apni zindagi main bahut kuch karay [Malala has made us all proud, may Allah give her a long lifeso that she can achieve great things].”

The sentiment appears to be widespread — even in the small hamlet of Kandao, high on a mountain near the resort of the White Palace at Murghazar. Our host Amin Khan and his family are poor and not well-educated but they now see the value of education and praised Malala for spending money on projects in Pakistan.

The reaction of people in Swat makes me feel hopeful.

I leave with hope, not only for this valley but for the rest of Pakistan, that its children are schooled and that girls in rural areas are given an education so they can grow up to better their lives and those of their children.

Shehla Anjum is a writer who lives in Anchorage, Alaska. She visits Pakistan regularly.

Published in Dawn, EOS, April 8th, 2018