12/27/2004
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As we left Behesht Zahra, Maliheh and Narges pointed to a sweet cottage across
the street. It was the first home rebuilt after the earthquake by two lovers
who decided to marry after that deadly day in December. As people walked by the
beautifully rebuilt home, they smiled, whispered to one another, and continued
on their journey. Maliheh told me that this home has become the pride of post-earthquake
Bam. It reminded me of an Abbas Kiarostami film, “Life Goes On.” The film depicts
another earthquake stricken town in Iran in the early 1990s. Kiarostami traveled
there to document the misery of the survivors, but instead found stories of hope,
survival, and the desire to continue living. He filmed a couple who had a marriage
ceremony in the midst of rubble, youth attempting to fix an antenna to watch the
World Cup games, and laughter amongst tears. And, as I traveled back from Behesht
Zahra to the SIB center, I tuned my ears and opened my eyes to the incredible
human capacity to continue living. Passing cars blasted Persian pop music, young
guys and girls stole secret glances at each other, Maliheh and Narges joked in
the car, kids played in the streets. As soon as we returned to SIB, we turned
on the stereo and started to dance—letting the rhythm and movement of our bodies
wash over the tears. Behesht Zahra seemed far away as we pranced around the room,
comforted by the warmth of each other’s presence.
As Maliheh and I later walked from home to home informing people of SIB’s activities
and taking down names for their upcoming classes, we encountered life and hope
amongst the deep pain. At one house we had to knock for several minutes because
the loud music emanating from the home drowned our calls. As soon as the door
opened, we were welcomed with laughter and smiles from three women and one young
girl. They joked with us, invited us in for tea, and were grateful for news on
the classes, “We need to get out of our homes. It’s driving us crazy to sit here
and see this destruction—I need to get my mind working again and get it off of
this rubble,” remarked one of the women who enthusiastically signed herself up
for the classes. Her remarks were seconded by a young woman in tent who had a
small, malnourished child on her hip. This young woman, with her large and smiling
eyes, looked forward to computer classes. It was amazing to see that most women,
regardless of age, signed up for computer classes as opposed to sewing and handicraft
classes. Realistically, learning how to use a computer will not provide income
for these women and their families given the current situation of Bam. But, that
did not seem to matter to them—these women wanted to pick their lives up—to become
active citizens again.
This willingness to continue, combined with the pride and remarkable warmth of
the people of Bam, amazed me. Despite the fact that people have lost virtually
everything, every family I encountered invited me into their “homes.” I politely
refused, not wanting to be a burden—but, Mr. Bani-Asadi, who works for SIB and
drove me around the city for three days invited me to his home for dinner to meet
his family. Adamant on my attendance, he drove me to their home where his wife
prepared a feast and his three darling children kept me entertained all night.
As I sat in what remained of their humble, yet beautiful home, Mr. Bani-Asadi
recalled the horrors of “that night,” trying in vain to dig out his wife’s family
from the rubble. Hearing their voices and seeing parts of their bodies, he dug
helplessly, instead coming out of the rubble with hands full of blood, but no
bodies. As he relayed the stories of burying almost 30 members of his family,
I could do nothing but listen—listen, and promise to tell others that although
10 months have passed, Bam is far from being rebuilt, and it needs our attention.
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The pride and warmth of the people of Bam
Written for PeaceReporter by
Narghes Bajoghli
As we left Behesht Zahra, Maliheh and Narges pointed to a sweet cottage across
the street. It was the first home rebuilt after the earthquake by two lovers
who decided to marry after that deadly day in December. As people walked by the
beautifully rebuilt home, they smiled, whispered to one another, and continued
on their journey. Maliheh told me that this home has become the pride of post-earthquake
Bam. It reminded me of an Abbas Kiarostami film, “Life Goes On.” The film depicts
another earthquake stricken town in Iran in the early 1990s. Kiarostami traveled
there to document the misery of the survivors, but instead found stories of hope,
survival, and the desire to continue living. He filmed a couple who had a marriage
ceremony in the midst of rubble, youth attempting to fix an antenna to watch the
World Cup games, and laughter amongst tears. And, as I traveled back from Behesht
Zahra to the SIB center, I tuned my ears and opened my eyes to the incredible
human capacity to continue living. Passing cars blasted Persian pop music, young
guys and girls stole secret glances at each other, Maliheh and Narges joked in
the car, kids played in the streets. As soon as we returned to SIB, we turned
on the stereo and started to dance—letting the rhythm and movement of our bodies
wash over the tears. Behesht Zahra seemed far away as we pranced around the room,
comforted by the warmth of each other’s presence. As Maliheh and I later walked from home to home informing people of SIB’s activities
and taking down names for their upcoming classes, we encountered life and hope
amongst the deep pain. At one house we had to knock for several minutes because
the loud music emanating from the home drowned our calls. As soon as the door
opened, we were welcomed with laughter and smiles from three women and one young
girl. They joked with us, invited us in for tea, and were grateful for news on
the classes, “We need to get out of our homes. It’s driving us crazy to sit here
and see this destruction—I need to get my mind working again and get it off of
this rubble,” remarked one of the women who enthusiastically signed herself up
for the classes. Her remarks were seconded by a young woman in tent who had a
small, malnourished child on her hip. This young woman, with her large and smiling
eyes, looked forward to computer classes. It was amazing to see that most women,
regardless of age, signed up for computer classes as opposed to sewing and handicraft
classes. Realistically, learning how to use a computer will not provide income
for these women and their families given the current situation of Bam. But, that
did not seem to matter to them—these women wanted to pick their lives up—to become
active citizens again. This willingness to continue, combined with the pride and remarkable warmth of
the people of Bam, amazed me. Despite the fact that people have lost virtually
everything, every family I encountered invited me into their “homes.” I politely
refused, not wanting to be a burden—but, Mr. Bani-Asadi, who works for SIB and
drove me around the city for three days invited me to his home for dinner to meet
his family. Adamant on my attendance, he drove me to their home where his wife
prepared a feast and his three darling children kept me entertained all night.
As I sat in what remained of their humble, yet beautiful home, Mr. Bani-Asadi
recalled the horrors of “that night,” trying in vain to dig out his wife’s family
from the rubble. Hearing their voices and seeing parts of their bodies, he dug
helplessly, instead coming out of the rubble with hands full of blood, but no
bodies. As he relayed the stories of burying almost 30 members of his family,
I could do nothing but listen—listen, and promise to tell others that although
10 months have passed, Bam is far from being rebuilt, and it needs our attention. 
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