We flew to Shiraz last night and are now here in the garden city. We have a new guide who is equally as lovely as the last. She’s in her mid-20s, completely confident, speaks English perfectly and also speaks French and Turkish in addition to Farsi. She is extremely well versed in her country’s history and is poised in a way I’ve only seen foreign women be at this age. Again, I’m finding the irony of pitying someone with such a strong sense of herself simply because she’s wearing clothing regulated by her government. Her hejab is orange with gold metallic threads running through. My girls are mesmerized by her and take to her immediately. She is instantly one of the best role models I’ve found for them. Yes, here in Iran a ‘positive female role model.’ Ok, so I really can’t stand that term and use it here facetiously but this thing we always seem to be searching for in the west- providing these role models for our girls as an overt quest. In the past two days I have found these two young women to be everything I would love my girls to grow into. They are extremely intelligent, educated, poised, confident, well-spoken, and yet have a real lightness and easiness to themselves. They are very quick to laugh and have an easy sense of humor in contrast to their European counterparts who will often have the intelligence and poise of these women but tend to take themselves SO seriously as they come from a long line of intellectuals who seems to somehow be above humor.
We first head to Persepolis to view ruins over 2500 years
old. One of things I find so
interesting about this area is that Persia what we
consider the US to be now- the
center of the universe. They have
ruled and fallen as a civilization more than once and I’m sure there are
lessons to be learned here.
Then we were treated to one of the most giving and generous events of my life. The woman from the tour agency that planned our trip relayed an invitation from her mother to visist her house when we were in town. She would not be there as she needed to be in university at that time but asked if we would be the guests of honor at a party at her home. We arrived around 1pm for lunch and were fed continuously for the next 7 hours! In total, about 30 people were at this party for us. Complete strangers. Today is Friday, their Sunday, which they gave up to entertain visitors to their country. As we were waited upon hand and foot I couldn’t help to think about all those at home who told me I was being selfish and stupid to endanger my children by taking them to ‘that God forsaken country’ and were at this moment worried about our safety. These people who were so incredibly generous and giving not only in food but in spirit. They were genuinely happy to meet us and talk to us and share their culture with us for an entire day. I’m trying to imagine and American family who would give up an entire Sunday to entertain strangers. The social network here of the people is so much stronger than ours. Yes, of course there are always exceptions but the way the women work together here to prepare meals and clean up is like a well-oiled machine.
Upon arrival I notice the matriarch of the house without a hejab, but the younger girls wearing theirs. I ask about it right away to see if I can take mine off since I’m really not used to it and it’s constantly slipping off and kind of drives me nuts. She says in the home of course I may take it off. I whip the thing off in what I fear must have been the move of a striper with a huge smile and sigh of relief instead of simply slipping it gently off the back of my head and folding it nicely into my bag. Oops. Some of the younger girls have theirs off as well but the married daughter in her mid 20’s keeps hers on as does our guide. I ask her why and she says it would be too strange for her to remove hers because she does not know this family- although you would never know they were strangers by their interactions. They appear as though they’ve been friends forever. So, since she kept hers' on the other 20-something year old kept hers on out of respect for our guide. The elderly grandmother has had hers on since she was 3 and said even her family and children have never seen her without it. She takes it off to sleep and bathe. But as soon as the mood is becoming more friendly and people are feeling more relaxed the 25 year old daughter unties hers from under her chin. Soon the grandmother does as well and lets the ends simply hang down. When the meal is served I ask if I may video it. They agree and next thing I know every woman in the house goes for their hejab- even the teenagers. Now I’m the only woman in the house not wearing one and feel guilty for making this imposition on them. I start apologizing to the guide and telling her that I did not know it meant everyone would need to cover themselves. They all assure me it’s no inconvenience at all. The dishes are plentiful and the food is delicious. The food is served on a vinyl tablecloth on the floor.
Throughout the day more friends kept arriving. The women would go straight to the bedroom to change from their street clothing to private clothing, which included mini skirts, sequins, lots of make up and lots of glitz. I am on one of the more conservative in the room, except for my hair showing. Now friends of the host and their husbands have arrived so all the women again put on their hejab. All day long this hejab dance has kept me truly fascinated.
After clean up we watched a bit of satellite TV- something technically illegal but unenforced in the larger cities they tell me. We watch Iranian music videos and after about 3 of them I am able to distinguish the illegal artists which import from Los Angeles from the legal ones who sing from Iran. It’s easy to spot the raunch factor since it is what my culture worships. They flip the channel and Gwen Steffani is covered in flowers rolling around on stairs. I say, “She’s from the city my sister lives in.” to try to make conversation unrelated to the content of what we’re all witnessing, which is kind of jarring. The channel turns to a popular Iranian boys group that are all using hand gestures of rappers at home. Gestures that were born in US prisons and stem from gang culture. This is one of the world’s true mysteries to me. No matter what corner of the world I’ve found myself in, I’ve seen boy bands imitating this style. When I tell them the origins they seem confused and don’t seem to understand what I’m getting at. They think it looks cool, that’s all. But what I cannot for the life of me figure out is why South Central LA prison culture has had a major effect on world wide pop culture. The world sees America as the ultimate symbol of freedom- well, Bush administration exempt- but as a generalization- so how is it that the thing that is emulated the most is our prison culture- the ultimate loss of freedom. I really don’t get it! Or do they understand something about freedom that we do not?
At one point they ask me what American’s think of Iranians. I contemplate for a split second as to the most delicate way to relay this information and then I decide on the truth. I say, “Most think you live in the desert, hate America, are extremist Muslims and are terrorists.” The room roars with laughter. I imagine them to feel much like I did my years in Japan when students would always ask me on my first day at a school if 1) I had a gun and 2) If I'd ever been shot- as they'd been told everyone in America has guns and shoots each other.
The little sister fell asleep with her head on my lap while
I sit on the floor watching TV.
The grandma comes over with a large piece of fabric and tucks it around
her and pats her head and cheek.
Upon closer examination I realize it’s a chador. This piece of fabric that represents so
much to my country everything we don’t stand for. The sight of it conjures fear and oppression and of course
terror. And my daughter has just
been lovingly wrapped up in it.
Suddenly one of the women turns off the TV and on comes some
wild techno music and she says, “Let’s dance.” She’s motioning all of us to the center of the room. One woman asks if the girls enjoy
dancing and I tell her that they’ve never danced to this sort of music before
and usually this type of dancing is for teenagers. They seem shocked and again I am more conservative than they
are. Since the little sister has
fallen asleep, the big sister and I are talked into having a little
wiggle. We are put into the center
of their circle while they dance and clap around us. The big sister is mortified and gives me a look of, “I can’t
believe you’re making me do this!”
Of course I have much sympathy for her since I feel exactly the same way
only am better at hiding it. It is
very sweet and an honor to be placed in this center it’s just slightly awkward.
Then it is time for the cake.
It takes offering a bit of money- about $1 to a few of the dancers for them to finally give up the knife to me, the guest, to cut the first slice of cake. The cake is delicious and immediately following the cake dinner is served. Where we were supposed to find even the tiniest corner of our digestive tract that had a bit of vacancy I have no idea, but room we found as the food was again delicious.
As the night wraps up we all hug and do the French style 3 cheek kiss good-bye and say our thank yous. They are all thanking me so much for accepting their invitation. Their courtesy is truly remarkable. As we head down the 4 flights of stairs the whole group remains at the door singing us down the stairs until we leave the building. My heart swells and I am near tears as the door closes behind us. I am reassured of my decision to come here and know why I have brought my daughters. If there is one hope I have for them it is that they will never hate in vain.
