We were home and it was late afternoon. I had a religion test the next day. Although I was a straight A student and sat front row center, in the nerdiest seat of the class, I often left things for the last minute. I wasn’t prepared for the test.
All of a sudden, out of no where and with absolutely no warning, there was a very loud noise and our house shook in one strong jolt. The noise was unmistakable. We all knew what it was. We lived through the early days of bombings on Tehran and knew the drill. Only this time, the noise was much louder and the shaking was much stronger. In fact, later on during the “mooshak baroon” a similar shock catapulted me off a chair.
After what appeared to be a long period of calm in Tehran, my parents had removed the duct taped “X” from all the windows. Apparently, if an explosion happened close to home, the windows would only break along the lines of the duct tape, or at least they wouldn’t shatter every where. The risk of injury was supposed to be minimized. We weren’t prepared for it all to start over again.
That night, I could still remember the early days of the Iran Iraq war when one night, my little sister was crying and my mom wanted to warm up some milk but we weren’t supposed to turn the lights on after dark. With me clinging to her night gown and my sister in her arms maman fumbled with the pots and pans and finally decided to turn the lights on for just a few seconds. Long enough to figure out what she was doing. Last thing we needed was for boiling milk to fall over a child. Almost instantly there were knocks on the door. A soldier yelled at my father about the light and said we almost killed the whole neighborhood by giving the Iraqis an easy way of identifying our populated area. As the war wore on, this problem was solved because the electricity was cut off automatically.
Going back to the first missile that hit Tehran, I’m pretty sure it was in the late afternoon. We had an early supper and my parents put on some cartoons and went to see the neighbor who was in the military. He served in the Shah’s army and later he was forced to fight for the new regime. My mom wanted to talk to him and hear from his mouth that indeed, the noise was from a bomb.
That night and for the next few months my mother walked around like a Parkinson’s patient, shaking. She setup sleeping mats in a hallway like a make shift shelter. There wasn’t enough room for everyone so my father’s pillow faced the bathroom door. He used to make jokes before bed time, threatening us with tickles if we farted too much.
The next day, it was as if nothing happened. This time, I really hadn’t studied at all and the thought of getting anything less than 20 on 20 was giving me knots in my stomach. I was holding my head scarf tight and pushing it into my stomach so I wouldn’t feel my tummy ache. For some reason, I wished for Tinker Bell. I was too old for her but I wished she could write the exam for me.
Right before the test papers were distributed, we called them “poleecopee”, the principle walked in and whispered something in my teacher’s ear and walked out. Immediately, we were told to move all the desks toward the wall and stay away from the windows.
We weren’t done moving our desks when we heard another loud noise and the single loud shake. To her credit, the teacher was very calm. She quickly gathered us 2 by 2 and lead us to the hall way. All the other teachers did the same thing. The walls of the school was red brick, I remember everything about it.
They moved us to the ground floor in a window less, wide hall way. Each teacher sat in a different corner with her class. It must have been really terrifying for them to be responsible for so many girls. And I’m sure they had their own children to worry about. The principle turned the radio on and broadcasted the red danger signal which was a warning that people were supposed to seek shelter.
Then there were more missiles and explosions. Although on this point, I can’t be sure. It seems to me there were. I guess I would have to look it up to see exactly how many missiles hit Tehran and their dates.
In order for the children to get distracted and not hear the sounds, the teachers started shouting revolutionary slogans and we all had to join. We lived in a very non revolutionary area and I knew my grade five teacher very well, so I asked her if there were going to be bombs. She said no. I was perfectly fine and engrossed in the experience until they started with the yelling. The more they yelled about Khomeini and Saddam and whatever else they were asking us to repeat, the more I panicked.
Eventually, I joined the other girls and I was crying and crying and oh my God someone save me because I am going to die here today and I will never see my Cabbage Patch dolls and my parents and my family ever again…It was so dramatic. Looking at the other children crying and seeing the expression less faces of the teachers made it worse. I couldn’t see my best friend who was a year older than me and in a different class.
Through the crowd which must’ve been several hundred students, I saw my father in his home slippers and his t shirt and jeans. He must’ve had the day off and just dashed out of the house when it all started.
The janitor went against school orders and let the parents in. But the stupid religion teacher was standing guard, full of revolutionary fervor and religious obligation to the troops defending the new republic, she wouldn’t let us leave. We were told to sit still. I just dashed to my father and others did the same. I don’t know what happened to those who didn’t have a ride until after school.
I know now that many people weren’t sure what was going on and as it turned out, the missile experience was something new for us. So everyone sent their kids to school that day and my parents reluctantly did the same. There were almost no absences in my class. It was a full house. That was the last day I attended elementary school in Tehran.
