Leaving Iran: Between Migration and Exile by Farideh Goldin

Author:Farideh Goldin [Goldin Farideh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Athabasca University Press
Published: 2015-02-23T16:00:00+00:00

05

BABA

1981, Tehran

I didn’t hear back from Mr. Rabizadeh’s office. Every time I called, the secretary picked up the phone and promised that she would convey the message. After repeated phone calls, she finally said, “Aghay-e Rabizadeh says that you may return to Tehran.” I assumed that meant the he had secured my passport. I left for Tehran on the first day of the week and arrived at his office the following day. He entertained me with tea and congenial conversations, but there was no sign of a passport. Every day he said, “Come back tomorrow.” And after that day came and left, and the following day and the day after that and I still didn’t have my passport, I folded my hands in front of me in a show of humility and respect, and asked him, “Please tell me what to do.”

He said, “Go back to Shiraz. I’ll be in touch.”

Dismayed, I thought that something terrible had happened and that my situation wasn’t as easy to resolve as he had promised. Perplexed by the situation, I visited Iraj, the man who had led me to this lawyer, to ask for his advice. I thought maybe he knew something that had escaped me. He listened to my story patiently.

“Did you pay him anything?” he asked.

“No,” I said, surprised. “He told me it wasn’t necessary.”

He shook his head and laughed, “Is it possible, Dayanim, that anyone would do anything for you in this country for free?”

I felt stupid. “I offered. He acted insulted at the mention of payment.”

Iraj shook his head again as if he’d seen the most naïve person, “This was ta’arof! People in Iran don’t just come out and tell you what they want. You know that.”

“What should I do?” I asked.

“Go back with two hundred thousand toman [around twenty thousand dollars], and discreetly put it in his pocket,” Iraj recommended.

“I don’t have that kind of money with me,” I said.

“Then go back to Shiraz and come back with the money in cash. This time we’ll visit him together, give him the money, and reassure him that he’ll be paid the rest later.”

I returned to Shiraz.

Precious time had expired. During this time of war and unrest, people found ways to escape the country through its various borders. Many flew to Turkey or Austria for vacations and didn’t return. Most people sent their children away, especially sons who were in danger of serving in the military. The son of a worker at my farm managed to escape from the front, shaken, half-human with wild eyes. He had witnessed other children buried in a river of tar released by the Iraqis. His fear was so great that he never left his room. Distraught and frightened, he believed that if the government agents found him, they would either kill him for desertion or force him to return to the front line. Hearing these horror stories, many Iranians redoubled their efforts to save their children. Many decided to uproot their entire family and leave Iran for calmer, more secure countries that allowed them entry.

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