The World I Live In

We met at the middle school and remained best friends for over a decade.

I was raised in a relatively liberal family. My companions were mainly my older brother’s friends, and my cousins, many of whom were males. However, coming from a strongly religious family, she was restricted to socializing with females only. Hence, she was not allowed to visit my house, and the only way for us to spend time together was for me to go over to her place. Although, this was not always the case, as she normally managed to find ways of rebelling against her family.

Later on, as we grew older, we started an English course, which turned into an excuse for her to spend some time out and socialize with people. Every day, we would meet at my place and make our ways to school from there. This provided her with the opportunity to get rid of her black chador for part of the day. She’d remove it as soon as she arrived at my house, and would put it on again when she was close to home. Soon it was the university time, providing her with even more opportunities to get out of the house. Like many other girls of that age, we’d go to the cinema, coffee shops, and restaurants, occasionally flirting with guys here and there. This was supposed to be the extent of our playfulness, as I assumed at the time.

However, her family restrictions had driven her extremely curious about men. She was always seeking a chance to try what she’d been prevented from. I suppose she would have been amongst the first friends of mine to start dating, if not the very first one. Not always being able to go out on dates, she’d get the boys over to her attic, where her parents thought she spent all her time studying! Not to mention what stress she went through to get the boys in and out of the house!

Eventually she found herself living a double life-on the one hand, five-times-a-day prayers, fasting during Ramadan, visiting holly places with family, covering up head to toes while around her family, and talking religion at home. On the other hand, having secret male visitors, intimate phone conversations with men, and dressing in miniskirts on the sly. However, with her family monitoring her more and more, it didn’t take long before she realized it was too difficult to maintain such a double life. That was when she started seeking the gateway to contentment!

We were as close as always when she told me about a woman she had met in the gym. She was married, with two children. At the beginning she was only a gym friend, who later on became more than one would expect. I was told that her husband was out of town most of the time. So, my friend’s family had no problems with her staying over at the woman’s place, as long as there was no man around. In fact, they were very happy to find out their daughter was socializing with a woman who had a family. At the end of the day, single girls could be a bad influence!

Before long her life was revolving around this new friend, staying at her house for weeks, while her husband was away. “She is so kind and caring. I feel very happy around her”, my friend would brave. Soon was the time for romantic presents to come her way. “She is so sweet, she is always buying me nice things”, she would boast. “Maybe we should all do something together”, I suggested once. “Well, I don’t know about that; I’m not sure she’d be comfortable around you”, she replied. “To be honest, I can no longer keep in touch with you. Just don’t ask me why!” she told me once on the phone. This was our last official conversation as friends, and just like that I was cut out of her life.

Later on, I ran into them once in the neighborhood, walking hand in hand. She turned pale as soon as I called her, letting go of her hand. She quickly said hi and walked away. I found it awkward but thought to myself that it was just a silly friend thing, and she’d be back to normal soon. But it wasn’t long after that I realized it was more than a “friend thing”.

Determined to save our friendship, I decided to surprise her for her birthday. So, I bought her a present and went to her house. As I arrived at the door, I saw the woman’s car was parked there. I rang the bell and my friend opened herself. “What are you doing here?!” she asked, looking puzzled and uncomfortable. “I’ve come to say happy birthday!” I replied. “I’m sorry, today is not a very good day. I have a visitor”, she said. “I don’t care about your visitor. I’m here to see you for a while”, I said, as I walked in.

That vary afternoon she finally decided it was time to put it on the display for me. So, there they were, sitting face to face, holding hands, and looking into each other’s eyes passionately. The talking was smooth and the words were kind. Love was in the air!

Virginity has always been a sensitive issue among some cultures, including the Iranian one.

As an Iranian girl, I remember hearing many times, here and there, that “a girl’s virginity is the most important treasure she has, and it has to be saved for marriage”. Having a sexual affair for non-married girls is considered a shameful behavior, and is frowned upon by the society. Moreover, not only is it a sinful behavior, according to Islam, but also a crime, according to the Iranian laws. Hence, by law, those unmarried girls who are found out to have had sexual affairs, deserve severe punishments.

However, like everyone else in the world, Iranian girls are also curious about the mysteries of sex, and long to find out what all the fuss is about.

During high school I heard stories about a couple of girls having sexual relationships with their boyfriends. They had become the black sheep of the whole school. Some girls would avoid them, feeling shameful to even talk to them. Some, on the other hand, would tryto make friends with them, to find out more about their mysterious relationships.

When I entered university I heard more similar stories. There were more and more girls talking about their relationships with their boyfriends; all in secret, of course.

Interestingly, the concept of virginity has a different meaning in the Iranian culture than the Western one. In the Western sense, virginity and hymen are two separate concepts. A virgin is a woman “who has never had a sexual intercourse”; a girl may lose her hymen doing physical activities, but she only loses her virginity once she has an intercourse for the first time. In the Iranian culture, though, hymen, which is literally translated as ‘virginity-membrane’, is recognized as the symbol of virginity.

As a result of the same culture, many of those girls who confessed about their affairs would, at the same time, claim to still be a virgin! And once asked how that was possible, they all had one same answer- “My hymen is elastic; it is unbreakable”, they would boast!

There were also girls who felt brave enough to confess to losing their virginity. However, none had forgotten that in order to be able to get married they had to be virgin again. It appeared that the solution was in the hands of the gynecologists. Apparently, a simple but pricey surgical operation, a few days before the wedding, could make the girls’ dream of being a virgin bride come true. The operation is known as hymen restoration or “hymenoplasty”. It takes place in the doctors’ private clinics and with much caution, as it is not approved of by the Iranian medical association, and is considered illegal. (I would like to mention that Iran is not the only country where the girls undergo such an operation. Apparently it exists in some Arabic societies, and also in Korea, according to Wikipedia).

The operation sounds to me like killing three birds with one stone:

The girls would manage to save some embarrassment. The boys would finally meet a girl, who, unlike their past girlfriends, is intact. And the doctors would make a fortune out of it!

I’m in the last year of high school, studying hard to prepare for ‘concour’, the university entrance exam. My days include the normal school ours followed by extra concour preparation lessons until late afternoon.

One afternoon my friend, Sarah, and I are walking home from a lesson, laughing about the jokes the teacher made in the class, when suddenly a woman’s voice interrupts us. “Excuse me girls, come here please”, the voice says. We notice two female revolutionary guards in black chadors, and two male ones in green military uniforms, standing by the side of the road next to a small bus with the revolutionary guard signs on it. We can sense trouble. Every day they go around the city with their buses and arrest people. They arrest girls for not covering up properly, or even worse, for being seen with a boy. Our hearts start beating fast and we quicken our steps, pulling our head scarves down. One of the male guards runs to stop us. “Ma’am, we told you to come over here”, he shouts. We walk towards them with trembling steps. “Is there anything wrong sir?” I ask. “You’re not wearing a proper hejab”, one of the guards replies. “We’re so sorry, we’ll take care of it right now”, I say, pulling my scarf further down over my forehead. He tells us we need to sign a paper, promising to cover up properly in the future. “Just get on the bus to sign the paper and then we’ll let you go”, he tells us, leading us onto the bus. As we get on, I notice some other girls are already there. Suddenly, to my surprise, the bus starts moving. “You said you’d let us go immediately” I tell the guards. “Quiet! We won’t be long”, one of them replies. Sarah starts panicking. I feel angry and frightened. I look around and see many worried eyes. As the bus goes around the city more and more girls are pushed inside, until it’s almost packed. They are from different ages and backgrounds. Among all of us, there is a woman who claims to be an academic member of a university. Feeling offended, she keeps complaining to the guards, asking to let her get off. She finally loses her temper and starts shouting and swearing. A female guard pushes her and she attacks back. Suddenly one of the guards, a big man with a bushy black beard, handcuffs her to a pole and threatens everyone else to end up the same way if they complain. The woman keeps quite and so does everyone else.

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Place: a capital city somewhere

Time: 1980’s and 1990’s

Character: one of the many girls in the city

I’m a little girl. I’m about to start school and am extremely excited. They say schools are fun places to be in. “you’ll learn new things and meet interesting people. You’re going to love it!” So, I can’t wait to start.

Mum says we need to get a school uniform for me. I can’t wait to see myself in one. We go to school to get one that fits me. I’m not too impressed. My uniform is a long and loose dark grey coat, to wear with a pair of matching baggy trousers, and a matching head scarf. It’s not exactly what I had in my dreams but mum says we can color it up with a lovely colorful bag and a pair of colorful shoes. So I’m happy. Mum keeps her promise. She gets me a beautiful pink and purple bag with a picture of a beautiful Barbie on it, and a pair of white tennis shoes with touches of pink in them. Just like the ones in my dreams.

I finally go to school. I’m very excited about my new bag and shoes.  It doesn’t last too long though, because khanoome nazem, the school’s principal, calls me to the office and warns me that colorful bags and shoes are not allowed in the school. “only dark colors are allowed”, she says. I feel sad. I can’t show my beautiful bag and shoes to my class mates. Mum says we have to obey the school rules. The next day I’m carrying a black bag and am wearing black shoes. Read more…