My hero is the French girl who shaved her head when they said she couldn't wear the scarf.
My hero is the Palestinian girl who tells the soldier it is her duty to visit
My hero is the black girl in
My hero is the
My hero is the Afghan girl, always raising her head up high against communism and its young brother the fanatic bearded man.
My hero is the Iraqi girl, martyred when
My hero is the Chechen girl, holding steadfast to the rope of Allah.
My hero is the Desi, marching in
and to the Malaysian girl, brightly clad under Ramadan lights, with hands cupped, hoping God will drop her a dime of luck for her prayers.
My heroes are my grandmothers, grabbing rifles from trigger happy soldiers and waving white cloth when their sons were taken to prison.
My hero is my mother, our mothers, always fixing us a hot plate and making sure our homework is always neat, blessed by the virtue of Allah, given the patience to kiss their fallen son and forgive him,
While their daughters look on painfully in a world that throws bullets and scowls at their braided locks and dangling scarves.