8 July 2003

Iran 4: Ten-Kiss Goodbye

This is going to be one of those gorgeous-rich experiences. I'll be a wreck when I leave this place. I'm threatening bodily harm to some of these grinning scampering little devils as it is.

I'm in Iran, setting up a students council for Afghan refugee youth in an Afghan-funded and -run school in a small outskirt town south of Tehran. The days are hot and stuffy and filled with Ms Kamal, can you... Ms Kamal, where is... (and I, not entirely sure who this Ms Kamal is, run and do the bidding of a riotous horde of junior and highschool students who clamour around the council office door during recess.)

It's been barely a month, and a crazy experience. Impromptu sessions of teaching Chinese and the use of chopsticks (and gadzooks - even Tae Kwon Do - curious heads poke around corners as I demonstrate aspirated punches...) to giggling classes intersperse my actual work which is setting up committees and getting the children involved in extra-curricular activities which intersperse my actual actual work which is gathering research data on Afghan refugee youth and their coping skills in the face of long term migration from their homeland. Try to figure that one out, because it still hurts my head thinking about it.

This is an innovative research project where we set up a youth club for Afghan refugeees, and then observe them in the process of their organizing and learning to collect data for research. It's great - I've set up a committee for myself called the Research Committee, where ten suckers get to do all my legwork for me. Funnily enough, its a lot more work trying to get them to do things than doing the work itself - but I still reserve the right to nag and whine when I'm back to being a research lackey myself in the winter...sigh.

Work is fun, but exhausting. It's a 2 hour commute in the heat each way to the overcrowded, hot and stuffy basement where about 200 students study in three shifts every day. Weve rented a room from the school and renovated it, and equipped it with a computer, printer, small library, and conference table and chairs. We are now in the process of organizing 7 committees of 10 students each (all democratically elected!!) to become active in student affairs. It's funny, after years of student politicking I learned to hate meetings, and here I am deliberately setting up 14 meetings per week that I have to attend for months on end. I scowl viciously at you, cosmic joker!

But ah, here I am, sweltering and grouchily swatting at smirking students, and loving every second of it. I'm all over the empowerment and organizing part of my work, but the concurrent observation and research part is something I can't even begin to tackle yet. It's an ambitious project, to say the least. I've set up the so-called Research Committee since I really don't have the Farsi reading skills to efficiently manage the data weve been gathering, and besides, I can teach the kids basic stats and interviewing skills in the process. The Committee to Solve Community Difficulties (sounds dumb when translated) is also my little bit of cheating: since my research was to be on observing youth problem solving skills, I figured I could have a committee collaborate on improving living conditions in the school while I sat back and, you know, observed. I'm even making them write up minutes for me on their meetings which I can then submit as data. Heh heh.

In Mashad, a city 2 hours flight away, I'm supposed to be setting up a similar student club, but due to logistical difficulties (school is out, and we have no centralized office space that could attract decent numbers of Afghan youth) we've toned down the expectations from that end to be a monthly newsletter produced by Afghan youth. Every time I go to Mashad, the gorgeous Afghan family I stay with feeds me way too much, and their 7 year old boy (I'm marrying him when I grow up) gives me a ten-kiss goodbye when I leave. It's a rough life.

I have to sprint now to get things set up to run smoothly in my absence when I go to Afghanistan in three weeks. My actual actual actual research is there (as in, the stuff I want to do for my degree, as opposed to what I do for fun). I want to research radio reconstruction in Afghanistan and the listening habits and access to radio of rural women, and am angling to spend a month or so in an Afghan village to gather data. I was supposed to go there in July, but my main contact in Afghanistan went to Italy for a month, and the instability in Iran has made me want to stay here in case something happens.

By the way, if anything does happen in Iran, it's to happen tomorrow. Demonstrations against the government have continued but less intensely since I wrote last, and that's either the calm before the storm or an indication of lagging support. My money is on no momentous change happening tomorrow, because there's no buzz in the streets and there's been no galvanizing event to catalyze an outpouring of dissent. The taxi drivers arent talking, and for me, they're the canaries in the mine shaft. So as far as I'm concerned, its all just hype for now.

On the other hand theres been a lot of foreign attention (see the July 2003 Forbes cover for a picture of Iranian cleric Rafsanjani as one of the millionaire mullahs) and hence there may be things going on that I know nothing about. At any rate, rightly or wrongly, I don't think this regime is going to go yet, and feel pretty safe here.

In fact, this is the most secure I've felt in months. I'm finding it refreshing being away from the constant artificial hysteria of US media. I felt tense in the US - the terrorism propaganda and orange alerts worked even though I like to think of myself as being media savvy and knew that much of what they said was nonsense. In the US, blaring news headlines and the constant presence of an unknown swarthy threat (Hispanic, African American, Arab, half-Chinese half-Iranian, goddammit) got under my skin and into my bones after a while, and it wasn't a comfortable feeling. Ironically, here in Iran, where poverty is much greater and the threat of an internally or externally induced regime change is real, the world is a safe place and there's a feeling of togetherness with the people you meet. How's that for improved quality of life?

Here's hoping Mr. Bush has to find another job next year. Same with these mullahs.

But aieee, lets leave politics and return to things that are real:

I saw two plastic fluorescent pink slippers floating in a puddle yesterday, bobbing up and down to the music in their heads. It was one of those moments I wanted to stop and cherish, but I was an obviously foreign element in a quiet residential street, so the roving lens in my head panned, swivelled, and moved on.

Today I saw the slippers again on the feet of a girl in tan, who sat pensively on a purple tricycle. My eyes crinkled at seeing them again. I thought: what a privilege to have plastic fluorescent pink slippers to look for and mentally greet every day. How wonderful to have even seen their motion, their stillness, their vibrant contrast with a dusty street! I am one lucky human being.

My luck continues as I enter the school every day and bow hello to my many friends there. It's a privilege few people share.

A lot of the refugees have been asking why I work with them. Their questions have made me reflect on things: on why I'm here, how I'm here. I've sat and thought through some of my recent history, which I've shared with you through this list. And I've realized this about my current state of being:

Some days I'm so glad to be alive I'm vibrating with it. I could just sit and live with memories, and be happy. Other days I get grouchy because I think things arent going my way. Most days I just do the work I have to do and unbeknownst to me gather more beautiful things to ponder and relive in moments of quiet.

So why and how am I here? It was weird being okay with dying 20 months ago. It was also weird being upset at not being allowed by Afghans to go inside Afghanistan while it was being bombed. Among other things, they said there were few enough people honestly working on problems in their country, and it would be an utter waste and solve nothing if I dealt with my powerless fury by potentially getting myself killed. Silly girl.

I don't know how to explain this, but bear with me: I was very upset at first at being given my life back, so to speak. It was really hurtful at first, because it was all I had and I felt that it was being rejected. It took me a while to work through that. In retrospect, however, I can see that this entire process has made many things a lot simpler for me. I'm not scared of things, and whatever happens to me is just icing on an already complete life. The future can do what it likes: I'm already on my second lifetime.

Further, since it wasn't my decision to stay safe, as far as I'm concerned, I'm not mine anymore. I belong to the eager eyes who welcome me every day at school, to the little girl whose pink plastic slippers make my day, to my gorgeous, ever-suffering family (I'm sorry) and friends. I belong to that ten-kiss goodbye.

So while I get conceited once in a while because I think I'm sharing some pretty interesting life lessons with the youth here, its pretty naturally followed up with a yeah, so what? What's in your head belongs to them anyway. And so I grin, pretend to look cross and scold the little monkeys because they definitely deserve it, and sit and quietly intensely tell them things that I hope will serve them well, because they definitely deserve that too.

Wishing you warm-eyed remembrance of sweetness tinged with pain,

Sarah