Seyyed of Quarters 15 (3)

Memories of Iranian Released POW, Seyyed Jamal Setarehdan

2016-10-22

Seyyed of Quarters 15

Memories of Iranian Released POW, Seyyed Jamal Setarehdan

Edited and Compiled by: Sassan Nateq

Tehran, Sooreh Mehr Publications Company

‎2016 (Persian Version)‎

Translated by: Zahra Hosseinian

Chapter 2

I was becoming a man

I saw the photo on the way of school. The photography shop was near Imam Intersection. I saw myself and my brother with clenched fists ahead of demonstrators, when I looked it carefully. The photographer had stuck a few photos on front glass and written a number under each one. I got into the shop excited. I gave the number of that photo and asked him to print it. "You can take it tomorrow." He said.

The next day, I took the photo, went home, and showed to my brother. The spirit of that day pictured in front of my eyes. I put the photo between the pages of Nahj al-Balagha, which was on the niche, so not to lose it.

I heard from my friends that the members of Basij were enrolled in Sarcheshmeh Square. I went there with Seyyed Hojat. I saw one of my acquaintances. His name was Jafar Hejazi[1]. We had met and knew each other here and there. A young man had sat behind the table. He asked about Seyyed Hojat’s specifications and age and registered his name. "Are you brother?" The young man turned to me and asked.

• Yeah.
• What's your name?
• Seyyed Jamal.
• How old are you?
• Thirteen.

He took his pen and said: "you are still a child. Go and come one year later."

I got angry. I screamed: "Who said I am a child. I am the captain of our neighborhood football team. Who do you take me for?!"

Jahazi laughed and said to the young man, "Do not bother him. Register his name. I know him. You can cross his name out, if he couldn’t continue training course."

When my name was registered, I was relieved; it was like I had proved my manhood!

I went to the army barracks in summer 1980 and training began. Several fifteen or sixteen years old boys also were between volunteers. They teach us how to use M3 and M1 gun, and took us to different directions more than enough until we worked up a good sweat.

Sometimes Shapour Barzgar[2] took us to Safavi School[3] and we practiced the way of halt and inspection. During training we forgot some things, so we caused others to laugh and have a fun time. We crawled on our bellies in the football field of school. I dragged myself on the ground so long time that my elbows were sore and my pants wore down. Tall, stout Barzgar with his grizzled bushy beard looked at us and noted our mistakes. He said that we shouldn’t raise our head and chest much, or in the real battlefield our lives will be at risk.

Sometimes, the younger bragged for each other. Because of this, two or three ones kicked up a row. They had refused to talk to each other and kept distance from each other during the exercise and snubbed to each other. Realizing that, instructors called them in front of the rest and tried to reconcile them.

Training was finished in the twinkling of an eye and they issued a card for us at the end of the course. A few days later, we went to Tehran to visit my paternal uncle’s family. We talked about everything and I said that some training courses were held in Ardabil. I felt pride. I got out my card from my pocket and showed them. My uncle rolled up his sleeves and began performing ablution, when the sound of muezzin was heard from the mosque. I accompanied him and went to the mosque for evening prayers. Along with most of locals and shopkeepers and young men, I stood behind a middle-aged clergy and prayed. After praying, my uncle introduced me to his friends.

• My nephew, Seyyed Jamal, has come from Ardabil.

He took my training card, showed them, and said: "they’ve held training course for this little lad, but still have done nothing for us!"

My card turned among them from hand to hand and they looked at me with surprise. One of them said: "we should ask them to hold training course for us."

Others confirmed him by nodding. A few days later, we came back.

***

Post office building had become Basij center. Watching posts was set up in electricity power plants, gas stations, administrative centers, and sensitive parts of the city every day; but they didn’t register my name in watching tablet. I protested and said, "Why don’t you allow me to stand watching?"

One said: "You are not fit for this job!"

I wasn’t indifferent and said, "What do you do that I can’t do?"

• Watching in power station is very hard. There are many dogs there.
• I am not afraid of dogs.

Grumbling I chased after them. They got bored of me and said: "OK, we write your name for watching the door of the front."

They called the entrance, the door of the front. Whatever it was, it wasn’t bad for starting. I watched in front of the door of the front for the first time at three to six o'clock in the morning with Meysam Rezaeian. They didn’t give us any gun and said: "If something happened, come upstairs quickly and inform us."

The street was quiet and deserted at that time of morning. Rezaeian and I walked in front of the building and were all eyes as we watched over. It was five in the morning and the weather was growing light. Abu Sharif came with unleavened breads in his hand. He looked at us and said: "well done, brothers!"

We nodded. He gave me one of unleavened breads and went into building. His name was Jafar and he was a municipal employee. He was known to Abu Sharif[4] among friends because of his long beard. I divided the bread in half and ate it with Rezaeian. We went up at six in the morning and slept two hours.

After a few times watching the door of the front, again I disagreed obstinately and said, "There is no use of watching the door of the front. Give me a gun to watch in a properly place."

To be continued…