Life in Khorramshahr

Narrated by the Wife of Martyr Seyyed Mohammad Ali Jahanara

Selected by Fariba Almasi
Translated by Kianoush Borzouei

2024-10-14

Khorramshahr was one of the country's key commercial hubs. Consequently, the goods available in its markets were not only of superior quality but also far more affordable compared to other cities. I distinctly recall how much cheaper products were in Khorramshahr than in Tehran for the same items. The markets of Khorramshahr were filled with a variety of foreign brands, ranging from foodstuffs to kitchenware, household items, and decorative products—essentially anything one could need. This bustling trade greatly bolstered Khorramshahr’s economy, and the city’s residents enjoyed a relatively prosperous lifestyle. Personally, I was able to manage quite comfortably on the modest salary I earned—3,500 tomans from the Ministry of Education—and I could purchase an abundance of necessary goods. Most residents enjoyed similar economic ease. In addition to trade, Khorramshahr boasted a thriving agricultural sector, with its produce being exported to other cities. The price disparity between Khorramshahr's agricultural products and those of other cities was also quite striking.

Interestingly, due to the long-standing presence of foreign nationals in Khorramshahr before the revolution, many English words had found their way into the local dialect. The locals often replaced Persian words with their English counterparts in everyday conversation. For instance, instead of "maghazeh," they said “store,” for “gojeh farangi," they said "tomato," and for “khiaban" they said "line." This usage was common among all walks of life—whether among workers, educated professionals, homemakers, or merchants, regardless of gender.

Khorramshahr’s population was divided into two primary groups: Fars and Arabs, with the Fars population outnumbering the Arabs. The two communities had distinct living areas, and if I’m not mistaken, most Arabs resided in the Talaghani district. In some instances, Fars and Arab households lived side by side. However, apart from a few main streets, many parts of the city, especially the Arab-populated areas, were not well-maintained. There was a noticeable gap between the residents' expectations for the city's cleanliness and its actual state at that time.

Some aspects of the local lifestyle were unfamiliar to me, and I found it difficult to comprehend. For example, a traditional breakfast in Khorramshahr consisted of shir berenj (rice pudding) and a type of soup. However, instead of preparing these dishes at home, the locals would wake up and buy them from outside. This practice baffled me; after all, who buys shir berenj? It was a dish meant to be cooked at home! There were many other such peculiarities.

Shortly after settling in Khorramshahr, my first priority was securing a teaching position. I soon began teaching at the Irandokht Girls' High School on Ferdowsi Street, but my tenure lasted only three months. The Khorramshahr Department of Education assigned me to head the city’s National Library.

Mohammad's work was extremely demanding, and he was rarely home. I recall during that period, he and his comrades were preoccupied with taking control of the Iraqi consulate in Khorramshahr. Additionally, Iraqi movements along the border had already begun. Mohammad often mentioned that Iraq was preparing for an attack. As a result, he was away most of the time. Early in our marriage, he also went on a mission to Kuwait as part of a government initiative to send various groups abroad to promote the Islamic Revolution. Mohammad, along with Ayatollah Mohammad Yazdi and another individual whose name escapes me, traveled to Kuwait for a four- or five-day mission.

About two months after arriving in Khorramshahr, Mohammad and I agreed that for the sake of some semblance of normalcy in our lives, he would spend every other night at home, from 10 PM to 7 AM. Even with this arrangement, his workload was so heavy that he sometimes couldn’t make it home on time. When he did, he would be so exhausted that he’d immediately fall into a deep sleep. No matter how many times his comrades tried to contact him via radio, he would remain unresponsive. Sometimes, when the matter on the other end seemed urgent, I would wake him up so he could respond. If I needed to speak with him during the day, I would go to the IRGC headquarters, have a quick ten-minute conversation, and then return home.

Despite the deep emotional bond we shared during that period, I accepted these circumstances fully and never once complained to Mohammad. Not only did I refrain from expressing dissatisfaction about his absence, but even when I had personal grievances or felt lonely, I kept it all to myself and never burdened Mohammad with my troubles. After all, the IRGC in Khorramshahr was in its infancy, and a group of dedicated but inexperienced youth had come together to serve, which required considerable time and effort to organize. I didn't want to disturb Mohammad with my problems. I remember him once saying to me, “Since I got married, many of the IRGC members have started thinking about getting married too.” I asked, “Why? What made them think that?” He responded, “Well, they see that you don’t interfere with neither my work nor my schedule, and they get ideas! I tell them, ‘Guys, think it through carefully! Not all wives and marriages are the same!’”

Before long, Mohammad started looking for a house. Although his family, particularly his sisters, were warm toward me, there were some differences in lifestyle and outlook that made me ask Mohammad if we could live independently. For example, most of the food they prepared was very spicy, with a distinct local flavor that didn’t suit my taste. I couldn’t eat many of their dishes and would often just pick at the food during meals.

One day, Mohammad came home and said, “I did something today that I’m sure you’ll be happy about!” I asked, “What did you do?” He replied, “Mr. Akbari, the religious magistrate of Khorramshahr, sent me a message to come see him. So I went. He asked me, ‘I hear you’re looking for a house?’ I said, ‘Yes, why do you ask?’ He said, ‘We’ve arranged a 500-square-meter plot of land for you. Come and take it. We’ll also help you secure a loan, so you can start building quickly and move in.’ I accepted, got the permit, and as I was leaving, I encountered a few Arabs who were also looking for a house and land. I realized they were more in need than I was, so I gave them the land Akbari had offered me so they could divide it among themselves and build homes. Are you satisfied with what I did or not?” I said, “Of course! Why not?”

Not long after, I found out that the family of one of my colleagues at the library was offering a large room on the lower floor of their house for rent. I asked them to reserve it for us and not to rent it to anyone else. After informing Mohammad and getting his approval, we moved from his parents' house into that room. It was slightly larger than the previous one, located on the ground floor, while the upper floor was occupied by the landlord. The bathroom and kitchen were shared, and the toilet was in the yard. I remember wanting to hang curtains in the room, but the landlord objected, not wanting any holes drilled into the walls for the curtain rod.

By the time we moved into the new house, I was four months pregnant, and the entire burden of managing the household fell on me. After the formation of the IRGC, Mohammad didn’t receive a salary for several months, so we lived off my earnings from the Ministry of Education. With my first paycheck, I bought a few essentials for the house—pots, plates, trays, a three-burner gas stove, a water cooler, and a twelve-meter carpet, all of which I arranged in one corner of the room. I also ordered a three-door wardrobe and a bed from one of Mohammad’s carpenter friends. However, the bed wasn’t one you could sleep on; I used the space beneath it for storage and piled mattresses on top. Mohammad never objected to these purchases, except once when I bought a six-piece set of Chinese plates. He was upset and said, “Why did you buy a chineese set? Didn’t we agree not to live a luxurious life?” The next day, I returned the set and replaced it with a Melamine one. At Mohammad’s family home, the laundry was done with a washing machine, but in our new place, I washed clothes by hand. We also didn’t have a TV.

Despite the challenges, our new home gave us a sense of independence, which brought a lot of peace to our lives. I had accepted being alone, though it was difficult, and I never allowed it to affect Mohammad’s work. At that time, I suffered from severe migraines. I vividly remember one night around 10 or 11 PM when I was struck by an excruciating headache. I felt so unwell that I had to hold onto the walls to keep myself from falling. Yet, I didn’t call Mohammad. I told myself it wasn’t right to pull him away from his duties just to take me to the clinic for a headache. If I did, I’d have to answer to God later. So, despite my condition, I went to the clinic alone. The on-duty doctor, an Indian physician, asked me, “Who did you come with?” When I told him I had come alone, he was visibly concerned and said, “Given your condition, how are you planning to get home?”

During the time we were in Khorramshahr, on some holidays, I would occasionally come to Tehran by myself, as Mohammad was too busy to accompany me. Only once, a few days after I had come to Tehran, he also arrived, and from there, we drove to Mashhad to visit Imam Reza’s shrine. We stayed there for a few days. This was the only trip I ever took with Mohammad during our married life.^[1]