The day my life changed: an Afghan girl's story of tragedy and triumph

The story of what happened to 17-year-old Farah Ahmedi on her way to school one day in Afghanistan is part of her best-selling book. Read an excerpt inside.

When Farah Ahmedi was a 7-year-old living in war-torn Afghanistan, she used to daydream about climbing a towering ladder to see what was on the other side of the sky.

She loved going to school to learn about the sun and sky and stars. That's why when she woke up late one morning, she decided to take a shortcut to school. She didn't want to miss a moment of class. What happened along the way would change her life forever.

Today Farah is a 17-year-old high school senior who lives just outside Chicago. The story of what happened to her that morning 10 years ago is told in the recently published book The Story of My Life: An Afghan Girl on the Other Side of the Sky, coauthored by Farah and Tamim Ansary. Farah's story was published after an essay about her experiences won the Good Morning America and Simon & Schuster "The Story of My Life" contest.

Read this except from the book and find out what happened to Farah that fateful morning.

I woke up and felt the sun in my eyes.... That light shining in my eyes told me I was late.... It was eight o'clock. Class had already started, and I was missing precious minutes of my teacher's stories.

I jumped out of bed. In Kabul a schoolgirl wears a black dress with white stockings and a white head scarf. I threw on this uniform as quickly as I could. I didn't have time to pull on the stockings. They were too much trouble. Instead, I put on a pair of traditional white ankle-length pantaloons. ... As for my long hair, I didn't have time to comb it. I just left it tangled and unruly from sleep, grabbed my school box, and rushed out the door, forgoing my usual morning bread and tea--I had no time. ...

And so I thought, I'll take a shortcut today.

By veering off the paved street and cutting across an overgrown brush-filled field directly to the main road that led to my school, I could save two or three minutes. I think that most people knew to stay out of this particular field. ... A child forgets such warnings.... I was late to school, and that's all I could think about. I started across the field.

And then suddenly a fire flashed in my face and the earth seemed to move beneath my feet. I remember a shower of soil and then nothing.

I woke up on the ground, surrounded by a crowd, men and boys mostly, but a few girls, too. No women. They were all staring down at me with huge eyes. The color had fled from their faces. They looked horrified. Their lips were moving, but I could hear no voices. All I heard was a loud ringing in my ears. The sun blazed down on me, but shadows kept cutting across the light as people pushed their way into the ring of spectators. They just let me lie there for half an hour or more. ... They didn't know what to do. They didn't know who I was. At that moment I didn't quite know who I was either. I could feel a strange anxiety gnawing away inside me: I was late for school, late for school. I had to get up. But the sight of all the horrified faces buried that anxiety in chaotic panic. I tried to look down at my legs, but I couldn't. It was so confusing. I didn't know what had happened or why I couldn't get up. I felt no pain, no physical sensation at all, just mental turmoil and fear. Those horrified people standing over me were arguing. Was it too late? Was I dead? Should they lift me up? ... Yes, that's what they were disputing. The babble of their voices was beginning to come through the ringing now, as they loomed over me, shadowy faces and figures, sunlight twinkling through the shifting spaces between them.

And then at last I found my voice. "What happened?" I screamed. "Why are you standing there? Pick me up!"

But no one moved to help me. They just crowded against one another, jostling for position ... for a better view of me. ... The crowd was huge and getting bigger. I wasn't wearing stockings. I remembered that suddenly. Stockings took too long to pull on, so I had just slipped on a pair of baggy pantaloons that morning, under my black school dress. And suddenly I knew that those pantaloons were gone. Nothing was left of them except the elastic around my waist. That single fact flooded through me, overwhelming all my senses for an instant. My trousers gone and people gawking at me!...

At that moment a man leaned over me. I knew him. He was our neighbor. ... He came over for a look and recognized me. That good fellow had a patoo, a large shawl that Afghans wear over their shoulders for warmth. With great tenderness, he spread that patoo over my shivering body.

It was he who sent someone to notify my family. My father wasn't home, but my mother came running, howling with dismay. Her lamentation drove my panic to another level. The fear she felt shot right to the core of me as well.

Meanwhile, our neighbor had hailed a taxi. He and the taxi driver rolled me onto the patoo and lifted that blanket by the corners. That's how they moved me from the ground into the taxi. I don't know what would have happened if that neighbor had not come along and taken charge. ... That neighbor was one in a long series of people who have saved my life.