It was the morning of my fifth birthday. Mum was putting my nice shoes on, ‘we’re visiting your uncle’ she said ‘you want to look your best to welcome your little cousin into the world’. I nodded.
We walked into the front room where I rushed to show my father my shoes, he brushed me off and reminded me how much he hated when I interrupted his TV program.
My mother told me to go and wait at the front door, that she’d just be a second.
I overheard her trying to explain that it was rude of him not to come with us, he wasn’t responding to her. ‘We’re leaving tonight, at least come and say your goodbyes’.
I heard something smash.
I walked into the room to see his plate in pieces and food splashed against the wall. A familiar sight by this time. He had her against the wall with his hand wrapped around her throat. I froze for a second then began to plea for him to let her go. He did, eventually.
She ran to the mirror, I followed her. She fixed her headscarf and she put her hand out for me to hold. We walked out of the house as if nothing had happened, we’d got really good at that.
We even learned to stop speaking about it after a while. I preferred it this way.
We got to my uncle’s house where all of my family were gathered to say hello to the new addition to the family, as well as goodbye to their beloved. It was very bittersweet. My grandmother sobbed uncontrollably as she held me, I watched my mother being taken into a room by her sisters while still in my grandmother’s arms. I knew they were trying to talk her out of going. Some time later she came back out, again she wiped her eyes, fixed her headscarf and put out her hand for me to hold.
We walked the streets of Iran for the last time.
Photo – Craig Boehman.
