Leave/ Return/ Leave/ Return

When I was in Isfahan, to pass the time, and to spend time with my cousins who work ridiculous hours, I occasionally joined them at the internet café they run at the top of a small shopping centre near my house. I was struck by the fact that a large amount of their customers are using their services to apply for Visas. As passports are scanned and forms filled, I noticed Canada and Australia are currently the most popular,. Both countries have more relaxed immigration laws, plus require lower TOEFL or IELTs grades. A visa to the USA is still the most coveted, but very hard to come by. The UK isn’t so popular, partly given the worries about how expensive it is once living there. The only people I’ve met going to Britain are doing so as students. Many people I have met, have at some time or another considered emigrating, or are currently in the process of doing so. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever met an Iranian who didn’t have family abroad somewhere. The most successful are those who are going to continue their education, although many still rely on scholarships as international tuition fees are impossible for the average Iranian.

Iranian Armenians are lucky enough to be awarded visas easier than the rest. Most end up in Gelndale, California. Once awarded a visa, they have to spend 2 months in Austria on the way to the USA. Holed up in temporary accommodation, isolated, lonely and broke, many turn home. I had a private English student, and Armenian boy from Isfahan, who was leaving his mother, brother and successful computer business behind and heading for Glendale, via Vienna. His English is fairly atrocious but he is incredibly charming and sweet so I feel fairly confident he will be a success. I asked him why he wanted to leave, and he didn’t seem to sure, but just felt that it made sense, that he’ll be successful and that life will be better for him. I’m worried it won’t. He looked to me for reassurance of the good life he will stumble upon in the Sates. I tried to be positive, but say the same I say to anyone who asks me about emigrating, you’ll have to work 10 times harder than you do here in Iran. Without the support of friends, family and the extended community you’ll feel quite how different life is. Its hard to give a truthful answer, what do I really now? Luck of birth meant I was born in England, the product of immigrants, but not one myself.

Now living in Tehran I have found myself entangled in a Diaspora community of my own. I promised myself to make sure I have ‘Tehrani’ friends, but have inevitably ended up spending a lot of time with an extensive network of people just like me. I guess it is the comfort of speaking my mother tongue, sharing our experiences of Iran, and just being around people in a similar position. In that way I guess I’ve mirrored my father’s circles of Iranian friends in London.

The majority are American, here for different reasons and having different relationships with Iran. Some have come and gone many times, some have lived half their lives here and half their lives there, some have never been here before, some with all their family here and some with none at all. One joked he’s here seeking political asylum from Bush’s America. Interestingly, out of the Brits I have come across, four of us are do rageh’s all via Iranian fathers. I find when I’m amongst them I want to remind everyone of my half-ness, perhaps as explanation for my Farsi (although much improved, can’t help feeling ashamed and bitter in front of those who speak it as fluently). I wonder if it was my first time here would I like it more? Would I be struck with the same awe that I see in some of the people around me? There is still so much that is new for me, but I also find comfort in the familiarity of its strangeness too.

It fascinates me in contrast to so many people wanting to leave, we have all arrived- many for Farsi, many for business, many to be big fish in small ponds. Interesting that we have chosen to live here, with all its immense problems. But allof us enjoy the luxury of 2 passports and having a foreign currency in our bank accounts. Some talk of staying here permanently, others definitely have an expiration date. As expats opportunity is at our feet. As one reminds me ‘I’ve had diplomats round for dinner, and the woman’s national basketball team playing at the courts behind my house, do you think this would ever happen in California?’. The same can be said for my recent presence at a variety of embassy parties… did I ever find myself being served Ferrero Rochers at the French Ambassadors in Kensington? No, never. I haven’t been served ferrero rocher here either, but I have drunk champagne and danced salsa behind heavy doors and the diplomatic guard.

Amongst this group conversations often turn to politics, continually returning to the threat of attack from the West. Popular belief is it won’t happen, Iran is in too strong a position for various reasons. The USA is not. Gathering to watch the US elections, everyone on the same side, the chat turns to what will happen in an Obamam world. Listening to the constant to and fro, who has what weapons, who has what resources, who has what allies, I’m struck by how different this is to other political conversations I’ve been involved in. The day to day chat, in taxis, with family, is nearly always about inflation and the constant rise in prices. Each day is worse, the price of rice, cooking oil, petrol. I imagine the same conversations being repeated in taxis, streets, cities across the country. The contrast of these conversations has really struck me. The returned diaspora focusing on the outside threat, what that would mean for global politics and how Iran would respond. Econmics and social issues, barely get a look in, as we almost somehow float above many of those daily struggles. Economics is not really an issue for most, human rights, a dark side I think no one in this group wants to look to closely at, indeed all are ready to cite numerous violations by so and so and so and so, in defense and almost justification of Iran.

While in Iran people continually and regularly ask why I am here, tell me I am crazy and should leave. Many have said Iran aiandeh nadare– Iran has no future. It’s hard being in a nation that so many people feel unhopeful and frustrated about. It doesn’t have a positive effect on the national psyche as the high statistics on depression and other psychological ills demonstrate. I can’t imagine how it would affect me if I felt this was ‘my country’. However within the expat community I have found myself in this doesn’t seem to be the consensus. Iran is looked at with an often endless, although shaky, positivity. With skills and funds from outside, Iran has potential to be tapped. I do question how much of that potential is for the benefit of Iran though, and how much is for the benefit of individuals?

Hi, my name is.................

I’ve experienced my entire life as someone with an unusal and somewhat long name. Ordering things over the phone is always a time-consuming ordeal as I have to spell out all three parts. Introductions can also take time, especially in a loud environment:

What’s your name?
Leili.
What, Hailey?
No, Leili.
Huh? Leila.
No Leili, like Hailey with an L.
But it already has an L.
No, an L at the beginning.
Huh?
Leili.
Did you say Lady?
No, Leili
Leili ?
Yes, Leili
Ah, Leili. How do you spell that?
L-E-I-L-I.
What?
…. And so on.

Being in Iran my experience is completely different. My double barreled surname- the first part Polish and coming from my mother, the second part Iranian, and coming from my father, is reduced to just the Iranian name in Iran. Being called Mohammadi is like being called Smith. It is so very common There aren’t so many Leili’s these days, but they can still be found. Leili is like the Persian Juliet, the main character in a famous love story by Nizami called Leili and Majnoon. It means that everyone has heard of the name. Its an old fashioned name, sort of, but not in the way that Gertrude is, its just been around for a long time, but still considered a pretty name. Blending in is cool. Being able to introduce myself simply, not having to spell my name, it’s a weird kind of luxury.

Modern day Leili & Majnoun- a new film

In my nine months of life in Iran I’ve only met another Leili. It was odd, as up until now I have only ever met one once before, we both worked at the same Iranian instituition, but in different departments so rarely were we in the same room together. It meant I never had the experience of someone calling my name butn not actually calling me, until now. The second Leili I met was at the house of a mutual friend. After being introduced, I had that moment most other people do when people say your name but they are talking to someone else and you turn around. Then an awkward laugh spreads contagiously around the room. Then someone suggests we are called by our last names to stop any confusion. This pleased the host, as he is named Mohammad, so he liked the idea of calling me Mohammadi.

At the salon I waited to be called in for my manicure. When my name was finally announced , three Miss. Mohammadi’s stood up. I’ve turned round when a mother called her child in an ice cream shop, and a friend shouted to her companion in the swimming pool. In taxis I hear songs about Leili, mainly about Leili and Majnoun. On the TV I see music videos too- a new song called 'Laili Jaan' (I couldn't find the clip to upload here.) There are Leili alleys, Mohammadi alleys, but I’ve yet to find a Leili Mohammadi alley. I’ve always wondered what you need to do to get an airport or a park named after you but maybe I should aim smaller and go for a small alley in Isfahan? Hearing and seeing my name everywhere sort of makes up for when I was little and wanted Leili stickers, or pencils or anything with my name on it, but of course could never find it. Now I am everywhere!

Leili Alley

I guess my way of experiencing my name in Iran mirrors a lot of my experience here in general. Just as my name fits right in, so does my face. I can pass by completely anonymously, can now get through most daily transactions without a raised eyebrow or a barrage of questioning about who I am and where I have come from. In Iran I experience a variety of different identities at any one time. In Isfahan, I would put on my maghneh and walk to work, feeling as if I was just another ordinary Iranian girl, with the same worries and woes. Invitiations to the houses of my father’s friends would come flying in, and he’d regularly respond with ‘She grew up in the West. She does what she wants, I can’t force her to go’. My status once again returning to selfish foreigner. In Tehran I once spent the day with three English boys from my Farsi school. We spent the day in a coffee shop and walking around Northern Tehran. Two grils passed us and we heard them say ‘Look at that girl, pesar baz' . From the outside I appeared to be a pesar baz, a flirty Iranian girl sticking to these foreign boys, and not a jolly foreigner like them. Taking them to restaurants and tea houses I would be encouraged by waiters to order traditional food for them and would then be asked the same series of nosey questions. But for once the focus wouldn’t be on me.

Leili 'Joon' graffitti

My Iranianess is constantly being tested or questioned or accepted. Amongst the hypehanted Iranian crowd I spend most of my time with in Tehran I can move up and down the scale of Iranianess instantly: my use of different slippers for different areas of my house makes me very Iranian, my inability in the kitchen makes me un-Iranian, my good grasp of Farsi lets me in, but then we’ll stumble across a phrase that pushes me out again. I am compared, and compare myself to the others, especially the half ones - Whose Farsi is the best? Who ta’arof’s the most? My American-Iranian friends claim I am very Eastern, which I like, but I wonder how my Easterness is being quantified? In a discussion about public displays of affection with American Iranians, English Iranians, an English boy and myself, it was unanimously claimed that I was very Iranian with my displays of my affection, and my English friends ended up shouting that I wasn't even English! Ok, back over the line I guess.

At Farsi school we had a variety of discussions about bohran-e hoviat or identity crisis. My class was 90% Farsi zaban, farsi speakers as my teacher called it. She wouldn’t call us Iranians, as she said we weren’t quite that. The majority were full Iranian, brought up in the States, and one from Sweden, there were three of us who were do rageh (meaning two veined, the farsi term for mixed), then two nice Korean ladies and an increibibly strange Syrian girl. The topic would come up at least bi-weekly, as we’d talk about funny childhood stories, or odd phrases we learnt when we were younger. One day our teacher finally layed down the verdict; two of the class members were very Iranian, the rest of us were failry Iranian, and Jesse, a half- American, Half Iranian, who was in Iran for the first time and spoke Farsi with a strange, mixed up Turkish- American accent which meant the whole class strained to understand him when he spoke, was branded with not Iranian at all. I realised how pleased I was to have gotten into the 'fairly Iranian' box, as if my whole time here, getting to know Iran and my Iranianess, was validated by my sweet Farsi teacher who really barely new me. Relief.