A Trip to Haftgehl

It's the Aid-e Nowruz holidays, and after repeatedly being advised to leave Tehran, because NOBODY stays in Tehran during the holidays, and you ABSOLUTELY have to go somewhere, I decided to spend a few days at the home of a religious family I knew in Haftgehl, a village in the southwest province of Khusestan.

The patriarch of the family had died several years ago, and the grandmother, 85 years old now, sits quietly in the corner and looks on at her family. She doesn't look very happy, and she doesn't look at peace. In fact, she looks bored, and somewhat defeated. Her children praise her incessantly, constantly send endearments her way, and wait on her hand and foot (Do you want some tea? How about a piece of fruit? Make room for Maman, she needs a place to sit). The grandmother looks largely unimpressed, and sometimes one senses that there is hidden contempt for the clownish attempts from her family to provoke a reaction from her. On the other hand, she reserves her tender expressions almost exclusively for her children- for the ones who are near her, and for the ones who have moved abroad and are far away.

Until her husband's death, they lived in the house that he built. She would get up in the morning, do her morning prayers, give her husband breakfast, clean the house, do the household chores, feed him lunch, and so the days went on. She has stories to tell, of spotting a snake who came perilously close to her basket of eggs and her little children. She grabbed an ax and hacked off its head. Or she describes killing a fox that would come late nights and eat her chickens. The next time he came, she was ready- she grabbed the fox by the neck and hung him to a noose she had prepared. Afterwards, she skinned it, and took out the gallbladder, which was used for medicinal purposes.

She speaks proudly of her children, especially her eldest son - the first to attend school, and who became a physician and moved to America almost 30 years ago. She herself is illiterate, and when I ask about her education, she tells me that in those days, girls were not allowed to go to school. She tells me that her eldest son got his great sense of memory from her. "If I would have been able to attend school, I could have become a doctor," she states matter-of-factly.

She now lives with one of her sons and his second wife. After he and his first wife divorced, she took the children and moved to Germany. He opened up a chicken farm, then another, and married the 16 year-old daughter of one of his farm hands. After his father died, he and his new wife moved in with his mother, so she wouldn't be alone. His new wife had two babies, and grandma loves them and dotes on them frequently.

Grandmother's eldest daughter is a widow who lives with her two single daughters. Another is attending medical school, and a third is busy running a family, raising her children, and working as a nurse.

Upon my arrival, I was told that her older single daughter R., a schoolteacher, had finally agreed to accept the marriage proposal of her second cousin, whom she had been refusing due to his inability to find a secure job. He had earned a bachelor's degree in theology, and had taught in a nearby village with a temporary contract. When his contract expired, he was not offered a permanent position as hoped, because he was not deemed "Muslim enough". Their mutual interest was known for some time within the families, but she had refused to commit. After waiting for over a year, she lost patience and agreed to become engaged to him- on the condition that they marry only after he finds a job. My arrival coincided with the initiation of that formal process- on that day, he was to come over to khastegary (ask for her hand in marriage).

Because her father had died several years ago, an older male member of the family- let's call him P.- received the suitor and his family. However, age is not the only factor of rank: P.'s son - F., perhaps - is not only the first physician of the family after S., but a decorated war hero as well. He was an active supporter of Imam Khomeini in the pre-revolutionary days, dropped out of medical school to join the war against Iraq, fought in the front lines, was hospitalized due to chemical warfare, recovered, married his childhood sweetheart, finished medical school, and now heads the medical department of one of the largest government institutions. He is one of the darlings of the family. His opinion is highly respected and sought after, by members of both the older and younger generations.

His mother, T., is known as one of the smarter and more ambitious women in the family (at least when it comes to her children and husband), even if she didn't finish high school- she married at 17, to the man her father had chosen: the aforementioned P. He was a National Oil Company of Iran employee, and she sat up through the late hours with him, while he studied after work so he could earn his high school diploma. There are family stories of how she made him countless cups of tea, checking on him every 20 minutes to make sure he had not fallen asleep.

T. raised her son to be the next doctor in the family. Her eldest daughter, however (who was also an early Ayatollah Khomeini supporter), dropped out of college during the heady days of the revolution and is now a housewife, but her two other daughters, born after the revolution, are both college educated- one is an engineer, and the other is a medical student at one of Iran's top universities. Her youngest son is still in school. "He's in a high school for gifted students", she boasts.

T. wears a chador now, but did not before the revolution. In fact, she didn't even wear a headscarf. There are outdoor pictures of her and her older daughters from the pre-revolutionary days, wearing blue jeans and tank tops. In fact, none of the women in the family, except for grandma, wore chadors before the revolution, but everyone from her generation does so today. And while almost all of their daughters who were born after the revolution declare their devotion to Islam, practically none of them have opted to wear the chador, and most wear some make-up in public.

During the khastegary, the male members of both families sat in the parlor, with P. and F. at the head. I asked the female members of the family if women were allowed to sit in the parlor, and they said they were, but that there wasn't enough room. I asked why R.'s mother, at least, wasn't in the parlor, and they replied that she hadn't insisted, and the men didn't request her presence. And, after all, P. and F. would be representing the family, so things were under control.

Although I was told that I was welcome to sit in the parlor, I thought it better to sit in the hallway just outside. The younger female members of the family all joined me, and we all sat in front of the open door to get a view of the ceremony. When T. saw me sitting outside, she insisted I go in, "Why are you sitting out here? You'll get a better view inside. Come on, I'll go with you. I want to go in there anyway." A few minutes after us, another woman came in, then another, and as the men scooted over to make room, I caught an annoyed look, a few amused ones, and a couple of smiles from the younger men who were pleased by the disruption caused by our arrival. The annoyed got even more annoyed when, with the women, came the arrival of their children, curious to see where their mothers had gone. For a few minutes, before the children were ushered out, the men were competing with their children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews to get their voices heard.

In the end, there wasn't much to see. After salutations and small talk, a member of the suitor's family began speaking of the young couple's desire to marry. He was pleased by the news, and was hoping that R.'s family would accept and approve as well. Both P. and F. seconded the emotion, and everyone said salevat (a praise sent to Prophet Mohammad and his descendants). Tea was served (no, the bride-to-be did not serve the tea- in fact, she was nowhere to be found), pastries were passed around, and plans were made for tomorrow's early morning soccer game.

When I came out, I was interested to see many younger female members of the family annoyed, and complaining about the women's lack of participation, "The men said there was no room in the parlor, but you'd think they could have made room for R.'s mother. It's ridiculous that she wasn't there. They're always coming up with lame excuses to exclude us. It's not right." The older women didn't say much, but looked on, a little mystified and intrigued by the young ones' ruckus. As for R.'s mother, she didn't say much, she seemed indifferent to the protests. They told me she was preoccupied and stressed by the planning of the upcoming celebrations that were to take place at her home- the house had to be decorated, R. needed a dress, cooking arrangements had to be made, and so on.

That evening, there was a male-female debate between members of the family: about who was going to prepare tomorrowís lunch, and just what they would eat. About 30 members of the family were in town that weekend; five of grandmother's nine children, their respective spouses, their children and their respective spouses, and their children. The women had stated that they wanted to have a family picnic the next day, and that if the men wanted to play soccer, they would also have to make plans for their families to have some fun too. It was a tradition for the family to drive out to one of several secluded spots outside the village, where they would camp out for the day- the men would have their soccer, the women would take walks and sit around and chat, and the children would run around.

The men complained that the women would take too long to get ready in the morning, and would hold everyone up. The women replied that they had to prepare and serve breakfast, clean up, get the children ready, make lunch for the picnic, and get themselves ready, when all the men had to do was wake up and dress. The men countered that if lunch was such a big hassle, then they would shoulder that responsibility. And that's when the real battle began, with the next hour or so revolving around what the men were going to make for lunch.

It quickly became apparent that the women expected something decent. They figured that if the men couldn't cook, they could at least barbecue (apparently an international male standard). The men were more interested in figuring out a way to play their soccer match the next morning without getting into trouble with their wives, and providing a lunch with the least possible amount of energy expended. The women became increasingly agitated and excited as it became obvious that when the provision of food was up to their husbands, they were all perfectly happy with bread and onions. Surely enough, one man yelled out, emphatically, "I don't care, I'll eat bread and onions for lunch." To which his wife yelled back, "Since when? Since it's you who has to prepare it? "

Again, it was the younger and mostly single women who were the most steadfast. In fact, one of them (I believe it was N.) said to me worriedly, "I know what's going to happen, the men are going to continue acting pathetic, we won't agree on anything, and in the end, after we all disband, they're going to guilt their wives into cooking something." N. lives in Tehran, and maintains the hejab only when visiting her family, out of respect for them. She's 30 years old, single, and lives with an old college friend. She has many stories to tell about the frustrations of two single women looking for an apartment to rent. Even when she shows potential landlords a letter from her father, stating his awareness, many of them still refuse to rent them a place.

N.'s predictions proved correct. When P.'s son F. left the meeting, frustrated by his inability to maintain order, it fell apart. Every family was to bring their own lunch and decide on their own. Translation: each woman would cook lunch for her own family. Neither the men nor the women would admit to it that evening, but sure enough, as the picnic spread was displayed the next day, and each woman embarrassedly brought out their pots of rice, meat, and salad, and bread, that's exactly what had happened.

Later in the day, when the men went out to play their soccer match, the younger women turned on one of the car stereos, put in a cassette, and started dancing. Now that the na-mahraman (those who are not intimately related, and in front of whom women must wear the veil) were gone, the girls took off their headscarfs. One very good dancer wrapped her scarf around her waist and danced bandari (a regional dance from the south of Iran) while the others cheered her on. During this time, I opened my Zanan, a women's rights magazine based in Tehran, and several of the women, including F.'s wife, came over to take a look at what I was reading. She wears a chador, and, three times a week, she goes to her Koran classes while her children are in school. She asked to borrow the magazine, and quickly buried her head in an article. When the men and the children returned, and requests for water and tea had to be met, she put down the magazine, but asked to borrow it later.

The next day, we attended the namzadi (engagement ceremony) of a distant relative. To reach the house, where the bride-to-be and all the women were, we went through a large front courtyard, where about 40 men were sitting on rugs laid out in a square. Some women were helping the bride get ready, others were putting up the last decorating touches, and others were just sitting around, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

Once all the guests had arrived, the women settled down outside, on rugs that were spread further away from the center of the courtyard, where the men were. During the namzadi ceremony, the amount of the dowry and of the shir-bahaa (the amount of money and valuables the groom provides to the bride for the furnishings, household appliances, and basic necessities) are established. Usually, two older, respected men from each family act as representatives, and negotiate the amounts until both sides reach an agreement. In this case, there was only one man, P. (he was related to and highly respected by both families), who was acting as a representative for both sides. The initial price of the dowry was set at 1000 gold coins. Although P. was entrusted to do the talking on behalf of both sides, a member of the groom's family protested that the price was too high, so P. invited the other men who were present (uncles, brothers, cousins, in-laws, etc.) to participate and offer suggestions.

Eventually, the price was dropped to 814 gold coins- 14 representing the number of the Virtuous Ones in Islam, Prophet Mohammad, his daughter Fatemeh, and the 12 Imams. Everyone said salevat, followed by the serving of tea, pastries, and fruit. The women went back inside where there was music, dancing, and the bride-to-be standing in front of a wall decorated with trimmings and ribbons and flowers, the whole shebang. In front of her was a table decorated with large bouquets, and on the wall to her left, pictures of Ayatollah Khomeini and President Khatami. Since the engaged couple had agreed on a 4-hour sigheh (a temporary marriage, for which a period of time is specified), the future groom was allowed to come in and see his fiancé unveiled, in all her glory. This sigheh was conditional- it was stated that the couple were not to have sex. It was merely for the purpose of the future bride and groom to seeing each other without her veil for the duration of the evening's festivities.

I had left the courtyard to admire the couple for a brief moment, and when I returned, the tourist in me was delighted to see two of the men were indulging in a raghs-e chubi (a "wooden dance"), which combines dance movements with martial gestures of hitting one another with wooden batons. A Kodak opportunity.

Incidentally, one of R.'s cousins (R. as in the R. who had refused to marry the unemployed theologian) had also suggested that, since she was going to have a very long engagement period, she should get a sigheh, so the couple could comfortably interact without causing any gossip. Lately, in some families, it has indeed become acceptable for young couples with long engagement periods to get temporarily married, with certain stipulations. This way, the woman can spend more time with her fiancé, socialize with him openly in public, and interact in private, i.e. take off her veil, and maybe even wear a short-sleeved shirt in his presence. Although acceptable in religious terms, culturally speaking, it has yet to be accepted in smaller towns.

The following day, after the engagement ceremony, I discovered that this suggestion had been brought to the attention of R.'s mother, and to that of her older, married sister. The female members of the family were arguing back and forth quite passionately about the issue. R's mother and sister opposed the idea, while R.'s cousins supported it. One of her aunts said that it was for R. to decide, "she's a grown woman, she knows her limits and she knows how to maintain them. She should be trusted to do the right thing." R.'s sister defended her opposition by reminding everyone of the many marriages they knew of where "the bride's belly was already swelling nicely." This caused a whole uproar, although the cousins merely countered that, at the end of the day, the older generation was obsessing about those things far more than they were. At one point, one of R.'s recently married cousins, L., pointed out that she herself had concluded a sigheh before her marriage, to which R.'s mother snapped at her, "Well now that you mention it, I thought that was pretty shameless. My daughter will not be behaving that way." After the anger subsided, and it was time to make up, R.'s sister announced, "I know that R. is a grown woman. However, what her family thinks is important, and their feelings should be respected."

Eventually, R.'s mother said that she could decide for herself. In the end, R. declined to sigheh.

The day I was leaving, one of the younger women- an engineer, who, on the day we met, sat me down and lectured me on the virtues of Islam and its significance in her life- told me that she wanted to examine the tenets and interpretations of Islam more thoroughly where they concerned women. She told me that she felt many men distorted or misinterpreted some of the writings in Islam, "I want to do my own research and see what is true, and what isn't. We women don't examine and know Islam nearly as well as we should. The religious figures of importance are all men. They are the most educated in religious jurisprudence, and they have no incentive to conduct such research. It is not of their concern, but we have much to gain if we learn ourselves." I told her I thought it was a great idea, and would be happy to translate it and put in my newsletter. I haven't heard from her since.

MS


Appendix

Shortly after Mahsa's return from Hafgehl, we chanced upon an article ("Emeutes de misère au coeur de la région petrolière") by the Swiss journalist Serge Michel, which was written on the occasion of street riots that had taken place in the town last January.

[...] At first it was actually a courteous affair, a ceremonious form of protest with a long tradition behind it, intending to remind the governor of Ahvaz of the existence of a town named Haftgehl, where nothing has been done since the nationalization of the Anglo-American petroleum industry in March 1951. But the governor chose to have the town surrounded by riot squads, and to imprison six of the laeders. So on the 2nd of January, the population decided to go and set fire to the police and government buildings.

[...] All four roads leading to Haftgehl are busted. The school is in a pathetic state. The mosque is in ruins. The hospital doesn't have oxygen masks, nor does it have any modern equipment. The ambulance is used as a shuttle bus. The pharmacy shelves are empty. Women must leave for Ahvaz to give birth, and have often died on the way. Haftgehl isn't the only Iranian city to know conditions like these. But what is infuriating to its inhabitants is that for all the poverty on the surface, just beneath the ground there lies an immense underground fortune: petrol.

It was just 60km further north, where in May 1908, the British hit oil for the first time in Iran. The British subjects lived in stone cottages one still sees in Haftgehl, and which bear witness to the centrality the town once enjoyed. "Under the English, the whole area would envy us," one cab driver complains, "but today, all we get from the petrol is the smoke".

[...] In the opinion of Sajadi [the protest movement's key figure, a bassiji (Islamic militant) known by the name of "Fidel Castro"], it was a mere bureaucratic formality that set a spark to the flame. On an administrative level, Haftgehl has been under the jurisdiction of a neighboring county, and was added to is constituency for the upcoming parliamentary elections on the 18th February. "We have two demands; the first is a cut from the sale of our petrol, the second is administrative autonomy.

[...] The deputies of neighboring cities will never do anything for us," Sajadi concludes. [Sajadi had been arrested the day after the riots began, and released after they burnt down the police station.]

transl.: TZ

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