The House of My Bibi is essentially a tribute to my maternal grandmother, who passed away in May 1996, and to my older brother, Mohammad, who was arrested at 22, in the first student movement in 1981, and brutally tortured during his twenty-eight months of imprisonment in the Shiraz Adelabad political prison. Initially He was sentenced to life in imprisonment, but later his sentence was changed and sadly was executed in 1983 at age 24.

              Although the central part of the narration is told in the present tense, my goal has been to step back in time, preserving and reclaiming a forcefully buried past, for I find the past too precious to be forgotten. When I look back at what has happened to me as well as my generation at such young age, experiencing all that pain and sufferings, witnessing and enduring imprisonments, torture, and executions, how I can see it is “a curse and a blessing.” I say a curse, because no human being should undergo such cruel and horrendous experience, especially at such young age. A blessing since being so young and resilient helps one to somewhat get over that horrible experience and try at least to move forward.

              When I left Iran, all I had to leave with was my memories, still haunts me to this day, no matter where I go and how hard I try to forget. When my grandmother died in 1996 and I wasn’t able to go to Iran and say my final goodbye, it seemed that suddenly the old wounds opened and the pains gushed through me all over again and the only way I could cope with this grief was through writing, seeking, perhaps, solace and reconciliation. Writing, at that stage, was purely a form of mourning in ink, so to say. The more I dug deeper into a suppressed, yet terribly vivid memory, the more I could comprehend what great injustice has happened to my brother, my generation, my country, and myself. I just had to write and tell my story on paper so I could at least keep my brother’s memory alive, and many more individuals just like my brother whose only crime was demanding the basic human rights: freedom.

I believe in order to understand now one must look into the past. Today Iran is considered an Islamic country in the Middle East, a much controversial and misunderstood country in the west, yet one of the most ancient civilizations of the world. My hope is that The House of My Bibi will contribute to many curious readers who wish to explore Iran and to understand its recent history, its people, its culture, and its politics through the eyes of the ordinary people especially Iranian women. By telling my stories of struggle and survival, the catastrophic experiences of the events which shaped my life and the person I am today, I hope to depict the Iranians’ struggle for justice and freedom, especially the women’s resistance (on any level) against an oppressive regime. The House of My Bibi, therefore, aims to draw the world’s attention to a people’s plight with the hope of furthering justice and liberty for those still suppressed and subjugated, and with the hope that it will shed light on the current uncertain situation in Iran, bringing about a better understanding of a country and its people that many in the West still know very little about.

What helped you get through your brutal imprisonment? Did you always have hope you would be released?

Growing up with my grandmother was a very simple yet special and magical time. In my grandmother’s garden time shifted under my feet as seasons changed like a transparent fabric dancing over a canvas of colors, trancelike and tangible. What I cherished the most about my grandmother was our time spent over the rooftop under the stars on the summer nights. I loved and cherished her sense of compassion and respect for others regardless of what social class and background or ethnic groups they belonged to, or the way she would mesmerize me by telling stories so to convey its moral message. My grandmother was a natural storyteller who had a wealth of oral history, which she shared generously with so many around her. There are so many beautiful memories, but what I always love to remember is her easy laughter and her chubby, high cheekbones and the way she always reminded me in her beautiful idiom: “babam, it doesn’t matter how others choose to behave, you choose to be good!”    

Honestly, I don’t even know what I would have been without my brother Mohammad. I look back and feel so blessed to have known someone like him, let alone to have him for my brother. He was very protective of me, kind to everyone, exceptionally inelegant, compassionate, and sensitive towards the deprived and the oppressed, and very giving. He opened a new world of ideas to me and it was he who introduced me to literature, art, and raised my awareness of the reality surrounding our lives. He had such great sense of justice from early on. If my grandmother taught me to see the world with an intelligent eye, Mohammad taught me to stand up for justice and what is righteous. I am not nearly as brave as he was, and I always think of him when I find myself helpless in a situation and seek his strength. I often borrow his voice, and I only wish he had been still alive. He lived such a short life.

Unfortunately, I have not gone back to Iran since I left in 1986. It is my dream to go back to Iran, even for a visit. I often dream of going back to Iran, especially my hometown Shiraz, even living there, and perhaps teaching, but under the current government, I doubt that would be possible. I hope that someday I will be able to go back to Iran and contribute in whatever way I can. My heart goes out to Iran and the Iranian people.   

By definition, since I cannot go to my native country, Iran, for fear of the government’s brutal treatment of the expat community, I feel very much in exile. But even before leaving Iran, I felt marginalized and exiled in my own home country. Because of my political inclination, and the fact that I was imprisoned, I was banned from attending university or working. After my release, I felt the watchful eyes of Revolutionary guards everywhere. I was not allowed to leave the city without the permission of the Revolutionary Court. Almost four years of my teenage years either passed in hiding or behind the bars or confined to my house, not being allowed to be part of any aspect of the society. Before long, I among thousands and thousands of other dissident Iranians, were forced to seek exile. Torn apart from my own culture and language, I began a new life in the West. The struggle, however, did not end; it only began in a new form and shape. Since leaving Iran in 1986, I have experienced an unremitting life of migration and at times a sense of loss and displacement. Little did I know that these feelings were the direct result of living in exile and diaspora. Nevertheless, I believe that living in exile has its advantages and valuable outcomes; it offers the individual a profound sense of growth, compassion for all, and a worldly outlook. You might lose one country but you become the citizen of the world.

I must have asked myself this question a thousand times. It is almost 44 years after the 1979 Iranian Revolution. By now, you would hope that the government has found its way to offer this pain-stricken nation freedom, democracy, and stability. In the past four decades, the government has managed to eradicate the entire opposition groups, imprison and execute thousands of young people, and crushed brutally the student movement, the Green movement, and various uprisings. The Iranian people have been taken hostage by the regime who had managed to impoverish them. People have to deal with inflation, lack of proper employment and a secure future. The Iranian government continues to violate the human rights, imprison journalists, writers, and any political activists who dare to demand justice and freedom. All being said, it seems that Iran goes through cycles of changes; for instance under Khatami’s presidency, which the rules seemed to be a bit relaxed, and especially young people began to express their concerns. For a short period of time one could almost hope that the regime could be reformed. But soon that ended too when the student movement got crushed so brutally in 1998 and it continues to this day that we are witnessing this vibrant, brave Iranian led revolution. My only hope is that there would be concrete and constructive changes within the country through the young people, especially women, intellectuals, and academics. I would also hope that the international community would demand their governments to hold the Iranian government accountable for violating the human rights and genuinely support the Iranian people to achieve freedom and democracy. The Iranian people deserve to live a peaceful, democratic and secular life like anybody else in this world.    

I moved to the U.S. (Los Angeles) in 1990, though I had visited the U.S. a year before.  Growing up partially under the Shah regime and partially under the Islamic Republic, I think I grew up to have a love-hate relationship with the States. I read Hemingway and Mark Twain at the age of ten and fell in love with Mississippi and Pacific Coast and all that was American even though I could only locate these places on the map. I grew up on American TV series like “The Little House on the Prairie”, “The Waltons”, and “The Wild West” of John Wayne. My brothers and I knew the names of most American movie stars, and admired Elvis Presley and cheered for Mohammad Ali and Malcolm X all the same. And then the Revolution happened, and we learned about CIA Coupe and overthrowing of Mossadeq’s, the most democratically elected government of Iran in 1953. You can imagine the amount of confusion. Yet, America always fascinated me. The first year in the U.S. was one of the most challenging year of my life. I arrived in the U.S. not knowing a soul and without any financial backings. I wanted to continue with my education, and started a life here, so I started from the bottom again, and took whatever jobs were offered to me at the time to make ends meet. I worked during the day and went to school at night. It was not an easy time. All in all, from the very beginning, I knew I could make the U.S. my home away from home. I felt as if I belonged. I loved the Southern California climate, which reminded me of my hometown, Shiraz. And what I admired the most about Americans was their openness and their optimism as if anything is possible, always believing that tomorrow will be better. I resent the fact that because of the Iranian political situation I had to leave my native country, but I am grateful that America could offer me all what I could have.  

I think that Ahmad Mahmoud was one of the forerunners in Cotemporary Iranian writers who represented the socio-political struggle of his generation. He was very innovative, bold, and very candid. He came from a working class family and captured the pain and sufferings of everyday common people throughout his books. His  ideals and political views are often reflected in his writings, therefore he was arrested under the Shah’s regime and did not receive the kind of recognition he deserved to have under the Islamic Republic government. Besides, he comes from the Southern part of Iran, where I was born, so the language and the landscape rendered in his stories are very intimate to me. I feel such a strong connection to his writings. He practically put the south on the map.

             He has more than a dozen of novels and many short stories, but the most famous one is called The Neighbors, (Hamsayeha) which although captures the political struggles of his generation (two generations before mine) in the aftermath of the CIA Coup and the nationalization of the Iranian oil industry, nevertheless it has a lot in common, as if the history repeats itself for Iranian people.