Lebanon: People replace their Argentina and Germany flags for Palestinian ones

The FIFA World Cup is over. Here in Beirut, Lebanese are passionate for soccer. It’s hard not to be. Everywhere you look, from restaurants to cafes, to people’s houses and cars, you see flags of–not Lebanon–but of the major popular soccer teams, especially Germany, Brazil, Argentina, Italy and France. Following Germany and Argentina’s advance from the semi-finals to the final match, the last few days have mostly been a sea of blue and white with Argentina fans, and black, red, and yellow for the Germany fans. When Germany defeated Argentina in extra time, Lebanese poured to the streets on their motorcades waving Germany flags and shouting from the tops of their lungs. People lit firecrackers, shot their guns in the air, and celebrated in the streets

A few days ago while with my classmates here at the American University of Beirut, I commented about the sheer number of people with Germany and Argentina flags (and of course those somber, but till proud Brazil fans). I also remarked about how people care more about their World Cup than they do about Palestine–ironic, considering we are in an Arab country. Following the kidnapping and murder of 3 Israeli teens near Hebron by unknown Palestinian assailants, Tel Aviv launched a massive offensive against Hamas in the Gaza Strip that has left almost 500 dead–Most of whom, women and children, according to the United Nations. There have been more children killed than “militants”. Here, people call them “freedom fighters”. Afterall, if you don’t recognize a people’s existence, then expect resistance.

If it’s the one cause that brings Lebanese together, it’s the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Well, at least most Lebanese. Many Maronite Christians are still divided when it comes to Palestinian human rights, because of the Lebanese Civil War that was a consequence of the rise of Palestinian refugees into Lebanon. However the other confessional groups–Sunni, Shi’ites, Druzes, Greek Orthodox, etc. largely support the Palestinian cause. Today was a perfect example of that. The protest was held in Ramlet El Bayda, an area that straddles both north and south Beirut. Lebanese from all over the city came to unite in solidarity for the Palestinians. Apparently these occasions are rare.

Now that the World Cup has come to an end, people are beginning to focus on Israel’s assault on Gaza. It’s strange, but heartening to be a in country where the vast majority of the people are actually on the right side of humanity. In class, we learn words like “oppression” and “resistance” while referring to the Palestinian cause without having to fear whether or not we are “offending” anyone. What is happening in Palestine is accepted as a truth here in Beirut. This is largely attributed to the fact that Lebanon experienced Israel’s full military capabilities in 2006, after Hezbollah kidnapped 2 Israeli soldiers. Israel responded by bombing Beirut–all of it, not just the south which is largely controlled by Hezbollah. Ruins from the war that left over 1,000 dead–almost a third of those believed to have been under the age of 13.

If it’s anyone who would come remotely close to understanding what the Palestinians are undergoing in Gaza, it’s the Lebanese. Even though I am closer than ever to Israel and Palestine, I have never felt so useless in helping end the onslaught of the Palestinians. There is nothing that Lebanon can do to end the war, or to even help the Palestinians, under than helping the Palestinain refugees currently residing in Lebanon (which are treated like second-class citizens here). Most everyone here agrees that Israel is committing war crimes that are unjustifiable in Gaza. The protests express our solidarity with the people in Gaza. But they fall short in pressuring Israel to stop their “military operation”. Only in the US, where mass protests throughout the country have forced the Obama administration to demand Israel to stop the attacks do they have fruitful outcomes.

Nevertheless, the protests in Beirut are still important, and I only wish more people came. It’s one more country that disagrees with Israel’s actions and the US’ (and Egypt’s) complicity with. Pouring into the streets is one way we can express that. The World Cup is over. It’s time to take down the Germany and Argentina flags, and come together to fight for what really matters.

Check out this video of one of the protests in Ramlet El Bayda, Beirut:

Iran: On Passion pt.1

The Shrine of Imam Reza, the 8th Imam for Shi’ite Muslims

If you’ve ever met an Iranian, it won’t take long before you realize how passionate they are–about everything. From the Persian language to religion, politics, and of course–love, Persians are some of the most passionate people in the world, for better or for worst.

I’ll begin with what inspired me to write this blog post. No, I did not meet a husband in Iran, as many of my family members hope I would. It’s the birthday of Imam Mahdi, which here in Iran is widely celebrated. It is one of the most important holidays here in Iran because he is one of the key figures in Shi’ite Islam. Shi’ism is the official religion of the Islamic Republic of Iran. Iran is majority (90%) Shi’ite, containing a majority of the Shi’ite population worldwide. While most of the contemporary differences between Shi’ite and Sunni Islam are political, the split stems from after the Prophet’s death.

It began began after the death of the Prophet Muhammad [peace be upon him]. Muhammad never named a clear successor to guide Muslims. Some believed that Abu Bakr, the Prophet’s closest companion should take on the leadership, while others believed that Ali, Muhammad’s cousin and male next-of-kin, rightly deserved to takeover. Shi’ites believe that only Imams, who are blood-related to the first Imam for Shi’ites, Ali, or the 4th Rightly Guided Caliphate for all Muslims, have the divine knowledge to succeed Muhammad. The Sunnis however disagreed with this notion that authority over the Ummah (Muslim community) rested with Muhammad’s family. Each Imam would be targeted and assassinated. Poison was usually the popular weapon of choice.

Imam Mahdi was the Twelfth, and last Imam. Shi’ite Muslims believe that he went into “occultation”, or hiding in order to not be killed like his counterparts. At first he guided Muslims through deputies, or mediators who passed on his message. This is referred to as the “minor occultation”. There were four deputies who represented him. The fourth deputy announced on behalf of the Imam Muhammad al-Mahdi, that after the deputy’s death the deputyship would end. This would begin a new chapter in Shi’ite Islam, the Major Occultation, which continues to this day. Imam Mahdi will only reappear when “the world has fallen into chaos and civil war emerges between the human race for no reason”. Half of the “true believers” (referring to Shi’ites) will travel to Yemen carrying white flags to Mecca, and the other half will travel from Karbala, Iraq to Mecca, where the Imam will emerge. After the Imam’s reappearance, Jesus will also return. Together they will bring peace to the world.

Shi’ites pray for the Imam Mahdi to return soon. Many are convinced that it will be soon, considering the recent turmoil in the region. Their prayer for his return isn’t mechanic however, or felt as dutiful. Instead it’s genuine. I witnessed this when I followed my Grandmother and Aunt to a celebration of the Imam Mahdi’s birthday, at our family member, Aga Mousavi’s house. All the men filed into a separate room, while the women went upstairs to watch a live TV feed of the men’s room.

We sat huddled around the small TV in the women’s designated apartment. One of the women set tissue boxes on every table, which at the time I assumed was to clean our hands after eating all the customary fruits and treats you are given when visiting someone’s house. It wouldn’t be long until I learned how wrong I was. The TV was finally turned on, and we got an imperfect view of the room below with all the men. They were standing in front of a makeshift stage where Aga Mousavi and some other men were standing. Aga Mousavi spoke into the microphone, or rather yelled–I’m still not sure exactly what he was saying, but the men raised their arms above their head and started clapping–faster, then faster, and faster. They kept repeating the same thing over and over again while clapping. The women in the room followed suit, although they remained sitting. That’s when I learned what the tissues were really for. Many of the women began wailing, and crying for the Imam Mahdi to return. This basically went on for 4 hours. Check out this audio recording I took of the ceremony:

The passion Iranians have for the Imams in Shi’ism is like none other. It’s not just for the hidden Imam. I was fortunate enough to visit the shrine of Imam Reza, the 8th Imam. His shrine is magnificent. After going through meticulous security (following a massive terrorist attack on the shrine in 1994 by the Mujahiden-e Khak) you will find Shi’ites from around the world coming to pay their respect to the Imam. Some spend the whole day at the shrine, sitting down on carpets provided by the caretakers of the shrine and simply taking it all in for hours. I went inside to make a dua, or a prayer. The first dua you ever make is an important one–a lifelong wish you have for example. The ones after that are typically praying for the well being of your family, relatives and close friends. While it was definitely a spiritual experience, it was a little terrifying as well.

Many of the women worshipers (I was of course in the women’s section) revolved all their attention to Imam Reza’s tomb, and forgot the existence of everyone else around them. The only people in that room was them and the Imam’s tomb. People shoved, and pushed to get closer to his tomb. As someone not accustomed to this aggressive religious nature, I was a little frightened and flustered when it came time to leave the tomb, because I didn’t have it in me to push people out of my way. To be honest, this aggression took away from my spiritual experience visiting Imam Reza’s shrine. But it also speaks to the passion Shi’ites have toward their Imams.

I still remember one woman–I’m pretty sure she was Iraqi–Who walked all the way backwards to the entrance of the hall that houses Imam Reza’s shrine. She did not want to turn her back to him. I also remember all the worshipers crying, and wailing as if one of their own loved ones had died. Women sat against the walls for hours facing the tomb and reading prayers for the 8th Imam. They are truly devoted to their religion, God, his Prophet, and the Imams. For many Iranians, this is what their life revolves around.

Religion isn’t the only form in how Iranians’ profess their passion. It can be seen in other aspects of Iranian culture as well–Most prominently,  language, customs, and love, which I will talk about later. Religion however is definitely the most potent expression of passion I have seen in Iran. Passion isn’t just a Shi’ite characteristic. It’s an Iranian one. This is because it’s not only shared by the most ardent followers of Islam in Iran, but also by the more secular, “westernized” Iranians, as you will see in the second part on Iran’s passion.

 

 

 

Dubai, UAE: First Impressions

“This plane is for Dubai, right? Or are we going to the Philippines?” My dad asked jokingly to the airport official as he scanned my dad’s ticket. We were one of the only Iranians actually on board the Kish Airline flight headed to Dubai. The majority of the passengers held Filipino passports. I understood why they were going to Dubai—they were probably one of the many migrant workers there. I didn’t understand what they were doing in the small island Kish in the Islamic Republic of Iran. Our Iranian friends in Dubai later told us that it was cheaper to buy a flight to Kish and return to Dubai and renew their visa than going to the government office and paying the renewal fee. They wouldn’t be the last migrant workers I would see.

When we finally arrived in Dubai, our long-time Iranian friends took us straight to one of the biggest malls that could possibly exist—the Dubai Mall. While I was impressed by the sheer size of the mall and all the western stores you could imagine in it (from H&M, to Victoria’s Secret, to Zara to MNG, among all the brand-name stores) I was taken aback by all the people. I thought the United States was the most diverse place in the world. I was wrong. Dubai is a mosaic of people, from every corner of the globe you can imagine. This is probably one of the only places you see Americans, Europeans, and Arabs (in thobe, kaffiya, and everything!) interacting frequently and coexisting with each other. In addition, there were many, many Asians and Africans there. Instead of going inside any of the stores I took pictures of the people. It was much more interesting to me. I wondered what brought everyone together to Dubai. I’d soon find out.

One of the things you absolutely need to see in Dubai are the hotels. All of them are huge, and many of them are themed. Although we ourselves were not staying at hotel, we visited a few of them. Dubai’s economy thrives off tourism, and the government strives to maintain the steady flow of tourists. In 2013 alone, hotels welcomed in over 11 million guests . Dubai is slated to be the number one tourist destination by 2020. Staying in one of Dubai’s many magnificent hotels is what lures people from around the world to come to the Emirati city. One of its most family-friendly, and popular hotels is the Atlantis, and yes, it’s exactly what it sounds like. When you walk in you really start to believe that you are in a castle under the sea. The hotel was built like a palace, complete with an actual gigantic aquarium where you can scuba dive in and swim with the cat fish, sting rays, and sharks, among others. Outside is a massive water park with multiple pools, water slides, and more. It was strange seeing European women walking around in tiny bikinis, alongside Arab women fully covered in niqabs holding hands with their shirtless, swim trunks-adorning husbands. At the same time, it’s one of the only places you’ll see such a sight.

You realize quickly being in Dubai that English is the main language spoken. Although we are in the Middle-East, and are in an Arab country, naturally the one language that all these different people can communicate with each other is English. English is imperative in Dubai, Arabic is not. The schools here are taught in English, although Arabic is one of the most widely offered, and most popular second language to learn here. For me, Dubai is a lot easier to navigate than Iran since I speak English fluently.

Dubai is a city of the future. In Farsi, we say it’s peesh-raft, meaning advanced. It is the capital of enterprise in the Middle-East. The architecture of the buildings, the way some of them twist, defy physics, and just the sheer amount of sky-scrapers concentrated in a single area is unheard of. I half expected to see people commuting places by jets. But I guess air-trams will due for now. Dubai has everything you can imagine—a “Knowledge Village” with university chapters from around the world. Media city that hosts global and regional news organizations, including Al-Arabiya and Al Jazeera, which I hope to intern for one day. Internet City, for those who want to work for the biggest technology corporations. All the best restaurants from around the world in one place. A thriving night life. Man-made beaches with outdoor cinemas. Malls with indoor ski-bowls. As one person told me, Dubai’s the perfect place for an up-and-coming young professional with a lot of money, and no responsibilities.

In the beginning, all I could think about is about returning to Dubai. Dubai’s peesh-raftness, liveliness, and the fact that it’s still young—it looks entirely different than it did 3 years ago, and it will look completely different in 3 years from now—makes it an exciting place to live. This all comes at a price, one that I’m not sure I’d be willing to pay. Yes, I’m partly talking about the fact that you need to be rich to live here. Dubai is a very expensive city. At the tourist shops there’s even a travel mug that says “Dubai is so expensive that the only thing I could afford was this mug”. The mug was too expensive though. I am mostly, however, talking about the human rights abuses that it cost the UAE to build Dubai into what it is today, and what it will be tomorrow.

Everywhere you look, there are migrant workers. They are mostly from the Philippines, Bangladesh, India, among other South Asian countries. These migrant workers, or “guest workers” as the government calls them, work in the simmering, humid summer heat to build Dubai’s skyscrapers. Many of them live in factories, cramped together with no privacy or space. The lucky ones are housekeepers, maids, and nannys who live in the house of the families they work for. But most aren’t. They live in squalid conditions, often crammed into a single room. They are paid meager wages that would make the US’ pathetic minimum wage a standard to fight for. Safety standards, mostly non-existent, makes working in Dubai for migrant workers extremely dangerous.

Locals may shrug off the condition of migrant workers, because Dubai has provided them an opportunity to make money they would not be able to otherwise in their home country. This is true—the remittances they send back home help support their families. Maybe some do have better living conditions here; at least they have some sort of roof, although dilapidated, falling apart, above their heads, food, and make some money, no matter how little it may be. This mindset however is dangerous. Just because things may be relatively better working in Dubai than not, this not make the treatment of migrant workers acceptable. Having the richest people around the world, and the poorest people all in a single city is a recipe for disaster. While outside groups work  adamantly raise awareness of the migrant workers’ living and work conditions in the UAE, and press the government for reform, change won’t come unless the local population demands for it. From what I’ve seen, this is unlikely.

Will I return to Dubai? I would like to. I think it’s an amazing city, that mirrors none other. Would I recommend others to visit Dubai? Yes—but be weary of the treatment of migrant workers. Treat them with respect. Be thankful for them that they made the existence of this city possible. Encourage those living in Dubai to do the same. It’s the least we can do.

Iran: Isfahan’s Waterless Zayanderud River

Si-o-se Pol Bridge and what was the Zayanderud river

Tehranis and Isfahanis don’t really have a problem with each other, but their strong pride in identifying with either Tehran or Isfahan has created a rivalry between Iranians. My family lives in Tehran–We are Tehrani. In the United States, there is constant bickering between Tehranis and Isfahanis, who always argue that their city is better than the other. Well, I had the chance to visit Isfahan and judge for myself which city is better.

Si-o-se Pol Bridge

Isfahan is well known for its beauty and lush environment. When you first drive into the ancient city from Chahar Bagh street, on your right will be a seemingly endless row of small stores, and on your left a park bordered by trees that provide a much-needed shade in the smoldering dry summer heat. Already you notice how remarkably more green Isfahan is than Tehran, a more modern metropolitan city with only pockets of green here and there. After a 5-hour road trip from Tehran to Isfahan, our first stop was to see the historical bridge Si-o-se Pol. It is one of Isfahan’s 11 bridges, but is the longest one crossing the Zayanderud river.

Except there is no river.

What remained of the Zayanderud was a swatch of dry, cracked dirt with bits of grass sticking out throughout. Nearby laid an old boat rental station. The boats sat there neatly in a row. The owner was either too lazy to move them, making a statement, or hopeful that the water would soon return. The Zayanderud river has been without water for almost 5 years now. The official explanation is that the water dried out because of the region-wide water shortage due to climate change and declining rainfalls throughout the year. However when you ask Isfahanis where the water went, they will give you an entirely different story.

Boat Rental Station at the Zayanderud River

During his presidential campaign in 2009, incumbent Mahmoud Ahmadinejad traveled to the capital city of the Chaharmahal and Bakhtiari Province, Shahrekord. Before the Islamic Revolution in 1979, Shahrekord and Isfahan belonged to the same province. Since then they have been separated into their own provinces, and like Tehran and Isfahan, adopted a rivalry with each other. Seeking votes for his re-election, Ahmadinejad told Shahrekord that the water that flows into the Zayanderud river belongs to them. Shahrekord subsequently built a dam, and offered to sell the water to Isfahan. Isfahan, believing that no single city could possibly “own” water, rejected to buy it. Shahrekord instead sold the water to Yazd and Kerman, and blocked off the water from Isfahan. Without a steady flow of water from the Chaharmahal and Bakhtiari Province, the water in the Zayanderud river dried up over time. Ahmadinejad gained popular support from Shahrekord, which would later help him maintain his seat.

Contrary to popular belief, Ahmadinejad was very popular in Iran. He, in a sense, was the marginalized, and the lower-class’s Robin Hood who prioritized their needs over the needs of the middle-class. He was famous for traveling to smaller cities like Shahrekord and handing out money, ordering the construction of much-needed infrastructure and fixing what needed to be fixed. It typically came at the expense of the more well-off population, like that in Isfahan who overwhelmingly voted for his reformist opponent Mir-Hossein Mousavi.

The Zayanderud river remains without water. The Isfahani government has said it plans to dig a tunnel to another water source, but Shahrekord has pledged to bomb it if it does. While I have not been able to confirm these stories online about the seemingly water-politics of the Zayanderud river, I feel confident that there at the least must be some truth to it, because of the consistency of the stories by the people I have talked to, both in Isfahan, and Tehran.

Even without the Zayanderud river, Isfahan is undoubtedly more beautiful than Tehran. But there’s something about the liveliness of Tehran that makes me want to stay there. The hustle and bustle of life, the seemingly endless possibilities of what to do and see there, and metropolitan character is something I personally prefer. I won’t deny that there’s an absence of beauty in Tehran, but with the empty Zayanderud river and the obsolete bridges in Isfahan, you can’t deny that there’s also a more apparent absence in Isfahan, which is, afterall, known for its beautiful landscape.

Iran: On Money

A few years ago, I started a blog called “Sanction Stories” to express the grievances of ordinary Iranians under crippling sanctions imposed by the West in objection to Iran’s nuclear program. I had a hard time finding people to share their stories though, so I had shut it down. Now that I’m actually in Iran, I have the opportunity to live under sanctions myself. More importantly, I have the opportunity to talk to Iranians about the impact of sanctions on their lives.

I had the impression that the economy was improving now that nuclear negotiations between Iran and the P5+1, or the United Nations’ Security Council and Germany, were underway. Late last year, these major state actors agreed to an interim nuclear agreement where Iran would slow down uranium enrichment in exchange for an easing of sanctions. Although some sanctions have been lifted, and the GDP for the first time in years has seen a growth, my cousin tells me the average Iranian isn’t benefiting. In fact, she continues, oil prices have risen. Oil today is approximately $1.50 per gallon in Iran (I made the conversion from Rials and klos to Dollars and gallons). When I left Oregon, the price of gas was $4.10. It’s all relative though. Gas used to be a lot cheaper in Iran. It’s also surprising that the prices are rising although sanctions are being eased.

I, admittedly embarrassingly, experienced the drastic change in the Iranian economy I tried to pay back my cousin for a manteau she bought me. After finally getting some Iranian cash, the Rial, at lunch one day when we were alone I took out approximately 120,000 Rials and handed it to her. She of course ta’arof’d–a uniquely Iranian cultural gesture in which she refuses to accept the money, but did after a few times of me insisting. Ta’arof can apply to many things, especially when it comes to someone offering you food. I’ll blog about this later. Anyway, my cousin finally accepted the money. When we returned to our table where my other cousin and aunt were sitting, my aunt looked at the money an asked why it was so little in Farsi, thinking that I wouldn’t understand. My cousin, whispering quickly in Farsi repeatedly told her “nagu”, meaning “don’t tell”. My aunt and other cousin started laughing, and I begged them to tell me what was going on. My aunt pulled out her iPhone to use a dictionary app, and typed the Farsi translation for mistake, trying to tell me I had made one. “What?” I kept pressing them to tell me. What mistake did I make?

My manteau cost around $40 US dollars. I still didn’t understand. Was there two currencies? Had I paid my cousin with the wrong one? Apparently I had given my cousin 120,000 rials instead of 120,000 tomans. Here’s the mistake I made.

There is only one currency in Iran, and it is the rial. However, because of soaring inflation over the past few decades, the government introduced the toman system to make it easier to count, and keep track of money. The value of the rial has always, since under the Shah, been very small. The toman is a rial, but 10x smaller (or to make it easier to calculate, one less 0 than the rial). So, I owed my cousin 120,000 tomans, not rials. Or, I technically owed her 1,200,000 rials. I had given her 120,000. My other cousin later tells me I could barely buy a bag of cheese puffs for 120,000 rials.

In Iran, instead of carrying large wads of rials and high number bills, people have resorted to using debit cards. My uncle got me a debit card instead of exchanging my US dollars for rials, because I would have awkwardly, and literally, have walked from the bank with bags of cash, since the value of the USD is so strong compared to the rial. My family jokes its probably better that I have a debit card. If, I try to buy something, and the shopkeeper tells me I owe him 100,000 tomans, instead of handing him 100,000 rials and thinking he’s trying to rip me off when he asks for more money, I can just hand him my debit card and not think about it.

Please don’t make the same mistake I made.

Iran: First Impressions

When I first approached the immigration desk in the Imam Khomeini Airport (IRA) after leaving the Turkish Airline plane, I grew nervous. My father’s friends constantly warned us about the government’s severe crackdown on journalists and activists in Iran, and there was a chance that they would see me as a threat. I am an aspiring journalist and political analyst on Middle-East politics, and have written many articles on the region, including Iran. While I have always been cautious, and kept my involvement around Iranian politics minimal in the US, it, nonetheless, was perceived as too much by my father’s friends.

The immigration officer behind the desk hardly looked at me as he scanned my passport and stared at my files on the computer. He had these remarkably icy blue eyes that clashed with his fading green uniform. “Esme to Dina?” He asked without looking up. I froze. After a few seconds of not responding, he looked up, annoyed. “Are…Baleh” I replied, correcting myself to answer in the formal tense. He handed me back my passport without saying another word.

There was no security to go through after that. I greeted my family I hadn’t seen for 11 years, and my cousins got my luggage for me. And that was that. All the paranoia, fear, and nervousness, for what turned out to be an easier time getting through immigration than in the US was for nothing. I would soon learn that Iran’s not as scary as a place as everyone makes it to be.

Although my family is more religious than the average for Tehran, I chose to wear the manteau (the mandated knee-length jacket) and roosari (a loose scarf), instead of the chador (a veil from head to two revealing only the face, but more flexible than the niqab) that the women in my family wear. As the days would pass, my roosari would go back further and further down my head to reveal more hair. I would soon begin to resemble the average Tehrani woman, pushing the limits of the state’s legal dress code. No one has ever given trouble for it. After multiple times of my roosari falling off without my realizing it in public, my cousin warns me of the “police hijab”, or morality police as we like to call them in the US. I’ve been in Iran for over a week and a half, and I have yet to see any hijab police. My cousin tells me ever since the election of the moderate cleric Hassan Rouhani, enforcement of the dress code is much more relaxed. Indeed, just before coming to Iran, thousands of religious hardliners took to the streets to demand stricter enforcement of the Islamic dress code.

Whenever I ask these girls my age, who are the daughters of our neighbors’ I’ve befriended questions about what I can wear (they too just wear the roosari), they answer “it’s okay!” to everything. It’s okay to wear your hair down. It’s okay to wear nail polish. It’s okay to wear make-up (and a lot of it). It’s okay! The women in the streets of Tehran look like women from any other country, just with more make-up, and a scarf (barely) on their head.

My family is different of course. I’m in this unique position where I get to navigate both worlds of Iranian society, the religious, and non-religious. Both worlds of politics–the reformers (liberals), and hardliners (conservatives). And by having all my family here, I get to experience living as an Iranian, and not as a tourist. That’s why I started this blog, to share stories and my experiences during my time here in Iran. To show you an Iran you wouldn’t see otherwise.