Things they do anyway

By Negar Salek May 2002

In a country where laughing is a sin, where to show the hair or contours of a woman’s body is a sin, and where talking to the opposite sex is a sin, Negar Salek discovers the methods teenagers use to still do these things anyway...

I wrapped my black cotton scarf under my chin and over my hair, tucking away any loose strands under my scarf, and pulled my Monto overcoat around my body to hide its contours.

No, it wasn’t the middle of an icy-cold season, and no, I wasn’t having a bad hair day. I was simply dressing according to the dress code imposed on Iranian women after the 1979 Islamic revolution.

My 16-year-old cousin Sherry ‘kidnapped’ me and became my tour guide around the streets of Tehran, Iran’s capital city. It was just three days after I had arrived with my mother to visit our family after a seven-year absence.

I was 17. It was the first time I was required to walk the streets wearing the hijab. The butterflies in my stomach were fluttering frantically and I wished I had a permanent reflection in front of me so I could keep an eye on any loose strands of hair. After all the stories I had heard over the years about women being shot, hung or stoned to death because they had worn incorrect clothing, you can probably understand my wish.

Not only does the Islamic government dictate women’s dress code, but it also controls and suppresses many other human rights that we take for granted in the west. Teenage girls and boys are forbidden to make contact or to do anything that draws attention to themselves, such as laughing loudly in public.

We went to Bazaar Safavieh, across the road from Iran’s national park, Parkeh Meli, a few kilometres west of the central business district. The arcade has no more than 20 or 30 shops, and to my surprise they stocked brands such as Calvin Klein and Adidas – both brands that I used back home in Australia. Eventually I realised that shopping or a city tour were not part of the day’s agenda: instead, Sherry was distracted by groups of boys loitering around the arcade.

I couldn’t shake the image of being caught by the guards in their military suits, with machine guns fixed to their bodies, out of my head. But this fear did not deter Sherry from attempting to make contact with the boys she thought attractive.

Groups of girls with rich red lipstick and thick black eyelashes roamed in and out of shops. It was like a fashion show – there were scarves and overcoats ranging in size, colour, and design. I realised that because girls only have their face, scarf and overcoat to attract the opposite sex with, they make an extra effort to ensure these three things look perfect. Boys have much more flexibility, but jeans and t-shirt were the most common outfits.

I was dumbfounded when a group of boys brushed past us and secretly placed a white piece of paper the size of a stamp into Sherry’s hand. She made no subtle movements or noise and was totally calm. In contrast, I was confused and curious to know what the paper said.

My consistent pestering caused her to pull me into a hidden corner and show me the paper: “Ali 531 2166”. It was his name and phone number written with a black pen. I didn’t understand – had he just given her his phone number? And was my cousin actually supposed to ring?

Sherry said this is how boys and girls make contact. This way the guards can’t see anything and the teenagers can communicate. Young men write their numbers on small pieces of paper and put them on stand-by in their pockets, ready to pass them on to girls. I ended up collecting three that day. One was even typed and printed neatly.

Back at home we spread out the phone numbers across my double bed. Between us there were seven. We laughed and discussed who they were from, reminding ourselves of what they were wearing and how they passed the number across. Deep down I didn’t actually think she’d call, but I was proven wrong. She didn’t necessarily want to have a relationship with any of them. Instead it was more like a flirtatious game played by rebellious youths.

I lived the lives of these teens for two months and learnt that, despite living in a gaol – albeit one without bars – they’re still smiling and enjoying the little they have in life. In a way, they find life more interesting because it’s a challenge filled with inventive methods of doing things anyway…

<May 2002>