12/25/2004
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As corruption and lack of proper management cause the government to move in slow
motion, Iranian and international NGOs have worked wonders in the city. The reconstructed
buildings that dot the city’s surface are paid for and managed by Iranian NGOs
and cultural organizations that have raised a substantial amount of money from
concerned citizens. The NGO I stayed with, SIB, recently finished construction
of a pre-school for children who have lost their parents, a dormitory, and a center
which teaches handicrafts, sewing, and computer skills. The center provides the
materials for the craft and allows the students to sell their products for income.
SIB, a Tehran based NGO funded by individuals and run by volunteers from the capital,
has employed a staff of ten Bamis to run the center and teach the children. It
is now working on building another site which will be a community center with
a theatre, spaces for music lessons, and an astronomy observatory.
The live-in teacher of the SIB center, Narges, a 34-year old woman is a humorous
and fun-loving soul. At times however, she lapses into depression bouts, tears
filling her eyes. Her friends notice and quickly turn on lively music and begin
to joke around with her, attempting to lift her spirits. As I stayed with her,
I felt her tear-stained eyes on me, searching my face, trying to peer into my
soul—perhaps hoping that I, who share the spirit of her name, could offer her
some of my calm. Perhaps I could take her back to her previous life—before that
night when she had to dig out the corpses of her three children, ages 11, four,
and a baby of six months. With her bare hands she wrestled with the moving earth,
losing to Mother Nature who greedily swallowed her babies’ whole. Perhaps I
could lead her back to a time before her journey to that hospital in Tehran, where
she hoped to save her husband who was severely wounded in the rubble of their
home. She traveled, with a broken leg and chipped teeth, to Tehran after burying
her children, trying to save their father, and came back from the capital with
another corpse in her arms.
This young, beautiful, broken mother asked me to accompany her and Maliheh to
Behesht Zahra (the graveyard), to share in the mourning of their dead. Every
Thursday all Bamis go to Behesht Zahra to pray for the souls of their loved ones.
I went with hesitation, knowing to expect the worst.
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"I have never seen a graveyard this full". Reportage from Bam, second part
Written for PeaceReporter by
Narghes Bajoghli
As corruption and lack of proper management cause the government to move in slow
motion, Iranian and international NGOs have worked wonders in the city. The reconstructed
buildings that dot the city’s surface are paid for and managed by Iranian NGOs
and cultural organizations that have raised a substantial amount of money from
concerned citizens. The NGO I stayed with, SIB, recently finished construction
of a pre-school for children who have lost their parents, a dormitory, and a center
which teaches handicrafts, sewing, and computer skills. The center provides the
materials for the craft and allows the students to sell their products for income.
SIB, a Tehran based NGO funded by individuals and run by volunteers from the capital,
has employed a staff of ten Bamis to run the center and teach the children. It
is now working on building another site which will be a community center with
a theatre, spaces for music lessons, and an astronomy observatory. The live-in teacher of the SIB center, Narges, a 34-year old woman is a humorous
and fun-loving soul. At times however, she lapses into depression bouts, tears
filling her eyes. Her friends notice and quickly turn on lively music and begin
to joke around with her, attempting to lift her spirits. As I stayed with her,
I felt her tear-stained eyes on me, searching my face, trying to peer into my
soul—perhaps hoping that I, who share the spirit of her name, could offer her
some of my calm. Perhaps I could take her back to her previous life—before that
night when she had to dig out the corpses of her three children, ages 11, four,
and a baby of six months. With her bare hands she wrestled with the moving earth,
losing to Mother Nature who greedily swallowed her babies’ whole. Perhaps I
could lead her back to a time before her journey to that hospital in Tehran, where
she hoped to save her husband who was severely wounded in the rubble of their
home. She traveled, with a broken leg and chipped teeth, to Tehran after burying
her children, trying to save their father, and came back from the capital with
another corpse in her arms. This young, beautiful, broken mother asked me to accompany her and Maliheh to
Behesht Zahra (the graveyard), to share in the mourning of their dead. Every
Thursday all Bamis go to Behesht Zahra to pray for the souls of their loved ones.
I went with hesitation, knowing to expect the worst. I have never seen a graveyard this full. Each person visited a minimum of six
graves—moving from tombstone to tombstone. Maliheh pointed to a row of six tombstones,
“This is my aunt, her husband, and her children. All gone. Not one single survivor
from her family.” Her finger, shaking, moved to a row of eight tombstones—there
laid her uncle’s family. Eighty percent of her family rests in this graveyard,
and in a culture where the social circle is the family, losing 80 percent translates
into immense loneliness.
As I walked by the graves, sharing in the incredible communal mourning, I noticed
that many of the dead were my age or younger. Overwhelmed by the tragedy of my
discovery, lightheaded and fighting with my body to suppress the sudden sobs,
I sent silent prayers to each of them, hoping their young souls are in a peaceful
rest. Looking up from the tombs, my eyes were insulted by the sea of crouched
bodies cleaning their loved-ones gravestones, placing flowers, food, Qur’an’s,
and pictures on the graves. With the energy left in my heavy and broken heart,
I prayed for the souls of Bam to eventually find peace and calm.
Third and last part of this reportage will be published tomorrow
Third and last part of this reportage will be published tomorrow
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