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.

Merry Noruz

It has been the new year in Iran for over a month, but I have been distracted and haven't posted for awhile. Here is my slighlty out of date story of my first proper Noruz (from start end) in Iran.

It is the new year. The past few weeks have involved a huge amount of preparations for this moment. It is now the 14th day, which means the13 days of national holiday are over. Today life resumes as normal. The Noruz break is one of those national holidays when you are never sure if things are open or not, if people are at work or not, like the 2 weeks of Christmas and New Year we have in England. Preparations for Noruz ususally take longer than the 13 days of holidays. In my household started in earnest 3 weeks ago. First, 2 days were spent doing khune tekooni, or spring cleaning. All the furniture was moved, all the walls were washed, everywhere was dusted and in the end the house sparkled. A few days later was the big samanu cooking event (see previous post) which meant we now had the first of our seveb things needed for the haft sin. My grandmother then spent two days ordering me to wash various china, move furniture around, and generally make the house ready for the fifty something family members who would drop in on us for eid didani (the first 13 days of the new year are spent visiting family and friends, starting with the oldest person first).

For Noruz a haft sin is made. Haft Sin means seven sin's (a letter from the alphabet) although more than seven objects (each with symbolic meaning) are put out on a table, and not all of them start with sin. Haft sin’s take on many shapes and sizes nowadays. Ours would be fairly simple, but there is a new art to haft sin making, and you can even go to classes to learn how to decorate the dishes or where to tie ribbons around your table. Over Noruz haft sin's are everywhere, not just in homes, but in offices, shops, schools....so I could compare the different styles at my chemist, cake shop etc. At a gallery in Tehran I saw a very arty haft sin, that meant you really had to search to see the seven sin's. We pushed a table intop the corner of the room, covered it with a table cloth, pulled a mirror of the wall and leant it on the corner of the table. I was then sent in search of candlesticks whil my grandmother pulled out seer (garlic), senjed, serke (vinegar) and sekkeh (coins). We added an apple and then she boiled eggs with red onions so that they became an off purple colour. My Ameh was making sabzeh (wheatgrass) for us and would bring it round just before the new year, so all that was left was the goldfish and sonbol (hyacinth). There is a risk they will both die, so I had been advised not to buy them until the last minute. Over night florists had put out tables covered in sabzeh and sonbol and tanks full of feeble looking goldfish. Over night florists had put out tables covered in sabzeh and sonbol and tanks full of feeble looking goldfish. My dad and I proudly spoke of the fact our goldfish has lasted 2 whole Noruz’s. Everyone had warned me that the shops get ridiculously busy over eid, and so I saw the popluar shopping street near our house was five deep in people traffic. For the new year you are supposed to wear new clothes, so an excuse to get a new outfit, plus with all the mehmouni’s (parties) to go to, most women head out to buy a new roosari or two. So the house was pretty much ready as was the haft sin, I would buy a goldfish and sonbol on new years eve.

Traditional Haft Sin



Arty Haft Sin



Salon Haft Sin (with ribbons)


Chemist Haft Sin

The last Wednesday before new years is chahar shanbe suri, which is usually spent at a big garden jumping through fires on the previous evening. I went to a friends garden with my Ameh and her family. There was indeed a fire, but a pretty small one and logs around for everyone to sit on. I was scared about jumping through fire, I’ve neved done it, although I understand why you don’t burn, but still, it seemed dangerous. First there was a round of firecracking throwing, the small kind that make a loud bang, a puff of light and a lot of smoke. Then it was time for sandwiches, then car stereos were turned up and it was time for dancing round the fire, and running and jumping through it. Everyone started jumping without warning. My cousin grabbed my and and we jumped, really not a big deal, actually quite invigorating and warming. Jumping through the fire is supposed to be a form of cleansing, getting rid of the bad things of the past year, and getting ready to the good things in the year ahead. Driving home that night there was the smell of smoke in the air, and remnants of fires all over the streets. Shops were open and people were busy buying last minute shireeni and goldfish. It did sort of have a new years eve feel, people seemed excited and there was a sense that people had had fun that evening, something that is some times hard to find here.

On new years eve I dutifully went out and chose a healthy looking goldfish and a full hyacinth. Different family members dropped nuts and shireeny over during the day. My grandmother spent a long time mixing all the nuts together and filling up the huge bowl that would dominate the mehmun khune (drawing room) for the next 2 weeks. In the evening six cousins, one aunty and her husband came over and together with my dad and grandmother, we ate the traditional mahi va sabzi polo (fish filled with herbs and nuts and rice with fresh herbs), drank vodka and danced around the living room.

It became the new year at 9:15am the following morning. We didn't count it down, and we weren't even in the same room together, instead all of us occupied with normal morning activities like breakfast and washing. We then put on our finest and... waited. During Noruz it is traditional to visit the oldest family member first, which meant today, new years day, would see the whole family drop in at some point or another. So we waited. At 11am my cousin came over with his wife and two children. The chai (tea) had been brewing for awhile and I immediately jumped to attention, as the only able bodied female in the house, pouring tea, filling plates with fruit and nuts and repeadetly offering shireeni. After about 40 minutes they left, I cleaned up and then.. we waited. We had lunch, we waited some more, we had naps, we waited some more. Finally at 5pm the doorbell rang again and would continue to ring relentlessly throughout the evening. From that point on 30 or more family members poured in at different points throughout the night. After all the waiting I had forgot about prepartion, and ran around pouring more chai, filling plates with fruit and nuts and repeadetly offering shireeni. I am not very experienced at Iranian style hosting, so I recruited young female cousins to carry round trays of chai, re-stock a depleting fruit bowl, and help me wash all the tea cups in time for the next thirsty guests. By the end of the night I was completely knackered, I hadn't really sat down, or actually spoken to most of the guests. But my grandmother had been telling all of my aunties how hard I had been working, what a lovely girl I was and so forth. It was as if I had passed some sort of initiation, I may still be a khareji (foreigner) but I can host and ta'arof as good as the locals!

Knotting the sabzeh

Over the next week the eid didani would start in earnest, each day spent at a different family member or friends house. I was escaping to Tehran which means I would miss most of it, although the day after new years we visited my oldest aunty for lunch and my oldest uncle for tea in the afternoon. I returned to Isfahan in time for Sizdah be dar (13th day out) which is traditionally spent outside in a park or private garden. Nearly every year the family pile over to my aunties house and garden outside of the city, and this year was no exception. The ususal eating and dancing enused, both inside and outside the house. By late afternoon, storm clouds were looming, so my cousin came round with the basket of sabzeh before it rained. Using only one hand each girl has to try to tie a knot in the stem of one of the buds. This will bring her good luck in the coming year, and of course, hopefully a husband too. I was allowed two go's and managed to do it the second time, but then protested I really didn't want a husband in the next year to which I got the response 'Ok, well if not this year, then next year'.