A part of “The Soup for the Front” memoirs

The Revolutionary Teacher; The Pro-Shah Schoolmaster

Narrated by Shahnaz Zaki

Selected by Faezeh Sasanikhah
Translated by Mandana Karimi

2025-2-15

I entered the Quds middle school’s yard. The schoolmaster was staring and glaring at me from behind the office’s window. It was as she was whispering something bad about me. I entered the office. The schoolmaster and school secretaries were sitting next to each other with skirted suits and their hair falling on to their shoulders. I put my communique on the schoolmaster’s desk. Without even raising her head, she said: “We don’t have any empty classes ma’am. All classes are full.”

It was my first day and I should have not been disappointed. I gathered my chador and said “It’s Ok. I’ll find a class myself”. I took a walk in the school and tried to find a room for my class. The schoolmaster and teachers style showed what they were upset about. Even though the revolution was a couple of years ago, no one was wearing hijab and my chador was quite a bummer to them. I was thinking about the events of the schoolmaster’s room that I came across a classroom full of broken and dusty desks and chairs. It was a treasure in that situation. I tied my chador to my waist and asked a couple of the kids that were playing in the yard, to come and help me. I took the extra things to the corner of the yard and started cleaning the classroom with water and broom. There was not much time until the kid’s last class. I untied my chador and sat with that untidy look. I guided the kids to sit at their sits. When they settled, I opened The Quran and recited one of the verses for them. In the middle of reciting, one of the kids raised her hand and said: “Ma’am, you’re a teacher?!”. I took a look on myself and laughed. With that dusty chador and clothes, of course she would mistake me for the janitor.

 - “Do I not look like a teacher?”

I recited and translated the verse «وَ وَصَّیْنَا الإْنْسانَ بِوالِدَیْهِ إِحْساناً».[1]

- God has advised all of you my dears and me to be kind to our parents and respect them.

In the little time I had, I recited and translated some more verses. Only few of the kids had The Quran in their houses; Qurans with straw pages and usually with no translation. Therefore, my fragmentary translation and explanation was pleasant to them. Their reaction showed this. Other days and on breaks, I went to other classes and translated some of the Quran verses. Later months, I got religious and storybooks from Islamic Development Organization and introduced them to kids in class. The books were so well received, that with my husband’s help, I started a library inside the school. The books were a good excuse for me to get close with the kids and listen to them and talk to them about hijab and religious topics. The Fajr ten-day ceremonies of 1981, I killed two birds with one stone. With the kid’s help, I started a large exhibition circling books and hijab. Of course, the schoolmaster was against it. From the first impression and the first few months, I realized her heart is not with the revolution and is with the coup plotters of Hamedan[2]. One day that I was sitting with the kids in the exhibition, she could not bear it anymore and came forward. I stood up and prepared myself for hearing anything.

- “Why only you?”

- “What why only me?”

- “Why only you get to talk about religion and the revolution? Other people want to talk too. They want to defend their beliefs too.”

- “I’m sorry but I’m not stopping anyone.”

The day after my conversation with the schoolmaster, the kids who supported the Mujahidin and the Fedai Guerrillas, with the schoolmaster’s support, started a book exhibition in front of ours and promoted their books. An unwanted competition arose between us. It was so crowded around me and people kept asking questions, that I did not have the time to breath. Sometimes there was so many questions that no one could hear anything. The opposite exhibition was not so crowded. The Mujahidin and Fedai fans did not say much; but I could feel their blood boiling. I did not stop trying and continued my work. The end of the year came. There were 300 students at the exam session. I counted every single kid who had hijab. 270 people had appeared in the exam session wearing hijab. I shed tears of joy and thanked God who had helped me. Seeing this scene, the fatigue of nearly a year of running and stings and taunts of the schoolmaster and her teachers, left out of my body.

Source: Babai, Zeynab, Ash-e Posht-e Jebheh (The Soup for the Front). Rah-e Yar Publishing Co. 2021. Pp. 104.